ad time to
turn back, Mr. Alwynn had seen him, and had gone forward a step to meet
him, holding out a welcoming hand. Charles was obliged to stop a moment
while his hand was inquired after, and a new treatment, which Mr.
Alwynn had found useful on a similar occasion, was enjoined upon him. As
they stood together on the church steps a fly, heavily laden with
luggage, came slowly up the road towards them.

"What," said Mr. Alwynn, "more visitors! I thought all the Slumberleigh
party arrived yesterday."

The fly plodded past the Slumberleigh lodge, however, and as it reached
the steps a shrill voice suddenly called to the driver to stop. As it
came grinding to a stand-still, the glass was hastily put down, and a
little woman with a very bold pair of black eyes, and a somewhat
laced-in figure, got out and came towards them.

"Well, Mr. Dare!" she said, in a high distinct voice, with a strong
American accent. "I guess you did not expect to see me riding up this
way, or you'd have sent the carriage to bring your wife up from the
station. But I'm not one to bear malice; so if you want a lift home
to--what's the name of your fine new place?--you can get in, and ride up
along with me."

Dare looked straight in front of him. No one spoke. Her quick eye
glanced from one to another of the little group, and she gave a short
constrained laugh.

"Well," she said, "if you ain't coming, you can stop with your friends.
I've had a deal of travelling one way and another, and I'll go on
without you." And, turning quickly away, she told the driver in the same
distinct high key to go on to Vandon, and got into the fly again.

The grinning man chucked at the horse's bridle, and the fly rattled
heavily away.

No one spoke as it drove away. Charles glanced once at Ruth; but her set
white face told him nothing. As the fly disappeared up the road, Dare
moved a step forward. His face under his brown skin was ashen gray. He
took off his cap, and extending it at arm's-length, not towards the sky,
but, like a good churchman, towards the church, outside of which, as he
knew, his Maker was not to be found, he said, solemnly, "I swear before
God what she says is one--great--_lie_!"

CHAPTER XXIV.

If conformity to type is indeed the one great mark towards which
humanity should press, Mrs. Thursby may honestly be said to have
attained to it. Everything she said or did had been said or done before,
or she would never have thought of say