Mr. Evandale had felt the same distaste for her society that she had
expressed for his visits, and troubled himself not a little about the
want of charity that he discovered in himself. To his clear and
penetrating eyes there was a vein of falseness apparent in Mrs. Vane's
most honeyed speeches; her narrowed eyes were too subtle for his taste;
there were lines about her mouth which he had seen on faces of women
whom he did not love. For the life of him he could not repress a certain
honest gravity and even sternness of manner in addressing her; something
in her revolted him--he did not know how or why. He almost pitied the
General--the hearty, good old man who seemed so fond of his fair wife.
And he was sorry for Enid too, not only on account of her sad story, but
because she lived with this woman whom he distrusted, because she was
ruled by her fancies and educated according to her desires. And he was
even sorry--still without knowing why--for little Dick, whose quaint
childish face always expanded into a broad smile at the sight of him,
and whom he often met in the village, clinging fondly to Enid's hand.

When he dined at the Hall, he had scarcely seen Enid, for, on some plea
of illness or fatigue, Mrs. Vane had kept her away from dinner, and her
presence in the drawing-room for the last half hour of Evandale's stay
had been a very silent one. But he often saw her in church. The Vanes'
pew was just in front of the pulpit, and the Rector could not preach
without noticing the steady attention given to him by the girl in the
Squire's pew, could not fail to be struck by the sweetness of the fair
uplifted face, the beauty of the pathetic eyes, in which there always
lurked the shadow of some past or future pain. The Rector fell into the
habit of preaching to that fair young face. But, strangely enough, he
did not preach as men usually preach to the young and innocent--his
words were often of consolation for bitter grief, tender counsel for the
afflicted, even of future hope and amendment for the guilty. Nothing
less peculiarly appropriate to a young girl of seventeen than some of
his sermons could be imagined--and yet they were all addressed to Enid
Vane. It was as if he were trying to strengthen her for some dread
conflict, some warfare of life and death, which his foreseeing eye
discerned for her in days to come.

Enid was allowed to do a little district-visiting in the parish, and Mr.
Evandale had often heard reports o