ercy, Miss Clibborn. I cannot
help thinking that you are eminently suitable for the position which I
make so bold as to offer you."

"I won't deny that nothing could attract me more than to be the wife of
a clergyman. One has such influence for good, such power of improving
one's fellow-men. But I love Captain Parsons. Even if he has ceased to
care for me, I could never look upon him with other feelings."

"Even though it touches me to the quick, Miss. Clibborn," said the
curate, earnestly, "I respect and admire you for your sentiments. You
are wonderful. I wonder if you'd allow me to make a little confession?"
The curate hesitated and reddened. "The fact is, I have written a few
verses comparing you to Penelope, which, if you will allow me, I should
very much like to send you."

"I should like to see them very much," said Mary, blushing a little and
smiling.

"Of course, I'm not a poet, I'm too busy for that; but they are the
outpouring of an honest, loving heart."

"I'm sure," said Mary, encouragingly, "that it's better to be sincere
and upright than to be the greatest poet in the world."

"It's very kind of you to say so. I should like to ask one question,
Miss Clibborn. Have you any objection to me personally?"

"Oh, no!" cried Mary. "How can you suggest such a thing? I have the
highest respect and esteem for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget the
great compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as the
best friend I have."

"Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate,
despondently.

Mary stretched out her hand. "I will be a sister to you."

"Oh, Miss Clibborn, how sad it is to think that your affections should
be unrequited. Why am I not Captain Parsons? Miss Clibborn, can you give
me no hope?"

"I should not be acting rightly towards you if I did not tell you at
once that so long as Captain Parsons lives, my love for him can never
alter."

"I wish I were a soldier!" murmured Mr. Dryland.

"Oh, it's not that. I think there's nothing so noble as a clergyman. If
it is any consolation to you, I may confess that if I had never known
Captain Parsons, things might have gone differently."

"Well, I suppose I had better go away now. I must try to bear my
disappointment."

Mary gave him her hand, and, bending down with the utmost gallantry, the
curate kissed it; then, taking up his low, clerical hat, hurriedly left
her.

* * *

Mrs. Jackson was a woman of singular pene