ee Prothero, who used to be a good friend of mine in old
times, and whilst I was waiting for him and looking out of the window, I
saw this Gladys in the garden, and made the attempt you are pleased to
praise. Certainly she is about the loveliest specimen of country beauty
I ever saw in my life.'

'Do you admire her, Colonel Vaughan? I think the ith tho very pale and
thupid.'

'I never contradict a young lady, and suppose you must be right; but in
the present company, one cannot think of other belles. It would be a
case of looking for stars in the presence of the sun.'

Colonel Vaughan glanced from one to the other of the ladies. Freda bent
more closely over her sketch, but coloured perceptibly. Miss Nugent
simpered and looked very handsome withal.

Miss Hall was struck with her beauty as she then appeared; a perfect
profile, perfect complexion, perfect features, beneath a most becoming
straw hat and feathers. Such a colour and complexion, but no expression,
not even the sarcastic turn of the lip of the mother.

'Perfectly child-like, amiable, and silly,' thought Miss Hall, 'and yet
Colonel Vaughan admires that statue more than the noble face and grand
expression of my Freda.'

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE PREACHER.

As Mr Jonathan Prothero's sprain proved to be a very bad one, Rowland
was obliged to undertake his weekly as well as his Sunday duty, and
being summoned to the vicarage early on Saturday morning for a wedding,
and finding other clerical duty in the afternoon, he had no time to
revise his sermon until the morning on which he was to preach it. His
mind was still in a state of so much excitement, that he found, on
reading it over, that he had no power to amend what he had written
hastily, but feeling that it was what he earnestly desired to act up to
himself, and to bring his own mind down to, he hoped the words would not
be without effect on his hearers. If Miss Gwynne took them as intended
personally to touch her, why, he could not help it, and besides, she
probably would be at Llanfawr church, to avoid seeing him.

But this was not the case. Gwynnes, Nugents, Protheros, and many others
of Rowland's neighbours, helped to fill the little church that Sunday,
all anxious to hear him preach; this made him feel nervous in spite of
himself. In vain he reasoned with himself, prayed to forget himself, and
those present--he could not get rid of those haunting words of Miss
Gwynne's, or of the consciousne