ingled sadness and vexation, "you deal me hard
measure."

"My daughter," answered the monk very gently, "the pitcher must be
voided ere it can be filled. If you go to the Well with your vessel
full of the water of earth, there will be no room there for the Living
Water."

"Is it only for saints, then?" she asked in a disappointed tone.

"It is only for sinners," answered he: "and according to your own
belief, you are not a sinner. The Living Water is not wasted on
pitchers that have been filled already at other cisterns, `I will give
unto him that is athirst'--but to him only--`of the Fountain of the
Water of Life, freely.'"

"But tell me, in plain words, what is that Water of Life?"

"The Holy Spirit of God."

Philippa's next question was not so wide of the mark as it seemed.

"Are you a true Dominican?"

"I am one of the Order of Predicant Friars."

"From what house?"

"From Ashridge."

"Who sent you forth to preach?"

"God."

"Ah! yes, but I mean, what bishop or abbot?"

"Is the seal of the servant worth more than that of the Master?"

"I would know, Father," urged Philippa.

The monk smiled. "Archbishop Bradwardine," he said.

"Then Ashridge is a Dominican house? I know not that vicinage."

"Men give us another name," responded the monk slowly, "which I see you
would know. Be it so. They call us--Boni-Homines."

"But I thought," said Philippa, looking bewilderedly into his face, "I
thought those were very evil men. And Archbishop Bradwardine was a very
holy man--almost a saint."

A faint ironical smile flitted for a moment over the monk's grave lips.
The gravity was again unbroken the next instant.

"A very holy man," he repeated. "He walked with God; and he is not, for
God took him. Ay, took him away from the evil to come, where he should
vex his righteous soul no more by unlawful deeds--where the alloyed gold
of worldly greatness, which men would needs braid over the pure ermine
of his life, should soil and crush it no more."

He spoke rather to himself than to Philippa: and his eyes had a far-away
look in them, as he lifted his head and gazed from the window over the
moorland.

"Then what are the Boni-Homines?" inquired Lady Sergeaux.

"A few sinners," answered the monk, "whose hearts God hath touched, that
they have sought and found that Well of the Living Water."

"But, Father, explain it to me!" she cried anxiously, perhaps even a
little querulously. "Put it in plain