graver things to-night," he said, "I will take a look
at Hester's story. I showed her my paper on "Dissent," so, of course, I
can dip into her book. I hate lopsided confidences, and I dare say I
could give her a few hints, as she did me. Two heads are better than
one. The Pratts and Thursbys all think that bit in _The Idyll_ where the
two men quarrelled was dictated by me. Strictly speaking, it wasn't, but
no doubt she picked up her knowledge of men, which surprises people so
much, from things she has heard me say. She certainly did not want me to
read her book. She said I should not like it. But I shall have to read
it some time, so I may as well skim it before it goes to the printers. I
have always told her I did not feel free from responsibility in the
matter after _The Idyll_ appeared with things in it which I should have
made a point of cutting out, if she had only consulted me before she
rushed into print."

Mr. Gresley lifted the heavy mass of manuscript to his writing-table,
turned up his reading-lamp, and sat down before it.

The church clock struck nine. It was always wrong, but it set the time
at Warpington.

There were two hours before bedtime--I mean "Bedfordshire."

He turned over the first blank sheet and came to the next, which had one
word only written on it.

"_Husks!_" said Mr. Gresley. "That must be the title. Husks that the
swine did eat. Ha! I see. A very good sound story might be written on
that theme of a young man who left the Church, and how inadequate he
found the teaching--the spiritual food--of other denominations compared
to what he had partaken freely of in his Father's house. Husks! It is
not a bad name, but it is too short. 'The Consequences of Sin' would be
better, more striking, and convey the idea in a more impressive manner."
Mr. Gresley took up his pen, and then laid it down. "I will run through
the story before I alter the name. It may not take the line I expect."

It did not.

The next page had two words on it:

"TO RACHEL."

What an extraordinary thing! Any one, be they who they might, would
naturally have thought that if the book were dedicated to any one it
would be to her only brother. But Hester, it seemed, thought nothing of
blood relations. She disregarded them entirely.

The blood relation began to read. He seemed to forget to skip. Page
after page was slowly turned. Sometimes he hesitated a moment to change
a word. He had always been conscious of a gift f