by, and thank you again for your splendid
music. It's done me good."

"My dear!" exclaimed Mr. Dickinson, about a minute later,
bursting--rather than going--into his wife's small drawing-room,
"I've just met the most delightful woman, a goddess to look at, and as
charming as a siren brought up to be a saint."

"More epigrams, Henry!" murmured Mrs. Dickinson.

"She's staying with Canon Wilton. She's a thorough musician such as one
seldom comes across. There's a chance--I hope it materializes--of her
taking--"

"Your tea is nearly cold, Henry."

"Her name is Mrs. Dion Leith. If she really does come here we must be
sure to--"

"Scones, Henry?"

Thus urged, Mr. Dickinson's body for the moment took precedence of his
soul.

Rosamund knew she was going to like Mr. Robertson as she liked very few
people. She felt as if already she was his friend, and when they shook
hands in Canon Wilton's drawing-room she cordially told him so, and
referred to the Sunday evening when she had heard him preach. The rooks
were cawing among the elms in the Canon's garden. She could hear their
voices in the treetops while she was speaking. A wind was stirring
as the afternoon waned, and there came a patter of rain on the lofty
windows. And the voices of the rooks, in the windy treetops, the patter
of the rain, and the sigh of the wind were delightful to Rosamund,
because she was safely within the Precincts, like a bird surrounded by
the warmth of its nest.

"I'm coming to live here," she said to Mr. Robertson, as she poured out
tea for the two clergymen. "My husband has gone to South Africa with the
City Imperial Volunteers. He's in business, so we live in London. But
while he's away I mean to stay here."

And eagerly almost as a child, she told him about the house of the
Dean's widow, and described to him the garden.

"It's like a convent garden, isn't it?" she asked Canon Wilton, who
assented. "That's why I love it. It gives me the feeling of enclosed
peace that must be so dear to nuns."

Something in her voice and look as she said this evidently struck Mr.
Robertson, and when she presently left the room he said to Canon Wilton:

"If I didn't know that sweet woman had a husband I should say she was
born with the vocation for a religious life. From the first moment I
spoke to her, looked at her, I felt that, and the feeling grows upon me.
Can't one see her among sisters?"

"I don't wish to," said Canon Wilton bluntly. "Shall we