ent of
pause which was rather curious. The men's eyes met and for a few moments
rested upon each other. The Vicar's were still and grave, but there was
a growth of deep feeling in them. This suggested a sort of profound
human reflection.

Lord Coombe's expression itself changed a shade. It might perhaps be
said that his eyes had before this moment scarcely seemed to hold
expression.

"She is very young," he said in an unusual voice. "In
this--holocaust--she needs protection. I can protect her."

"It is a holocaust," the Vicar said, "--a holocaust." And singularly the
words seemed an answer.

* * * * *

On a morning of one of London's dark days when the rain was again
splashing and streaming in rivulets among the mounds and leaning and
tumbling stones of the forgotten churchyard, there came to the church
three persons who if they had appeared in more frequented edifices would
have attracted some attention without doubt, unnoticeably as they were
dressed and inconspicuous as was their manner and bearing.

They did not all three present themselves at the same time. First there
appeared the tall elderly man who had visited and conferred with the
Vicar. He went at once to the vestry where he spent some time with the
incumbent who awaited him.

Somewhat later there stepped through the little arched doorway a
respectable looking elderly woman and a childlike white-faced girl in a
close black frock. That the church looked to them so dark as to be
almost black with shadows was manifest when they found themselves inside
peering into the dimness. The outer darkness seemed to have crowded
itself through the low doorway to fill the groined arches with gloom.

"Where must we go to, Dowie?" Robin whispered holding to the warm, stout
arm.

"Don't be timid, my dearie," Dowie whispered back. "His lordship will be
ready for us now we've come."

His lordship was ready. He came forward to meet them and when he did so,
Robin knew--though he seemed to be part of the dimness and to come out
of a dream--that she need feel no further uncertainties or fears. That
which was to take place would move forward without let or hindrance to
its end. That was what one always felt in his presence.

In a few minutes they were standing in a part of the church which would
have seemed darker than any other shadow-filled corner but that a dim
light burned on a small altar and a clergyman whose white vestments made
h