touch his emotions; but the glorious handiwork of
men long dead, the solemn stillness of an ancient sanctuary, made that
appeal to him which is independent of names.

'_Pereunt et imputantur_.'

He sat down where the soft, slow ticking of the clock could guide his
thoughts. This morning he had left London by the earliest train, and
after a night in Exeter would travel westward by leisurely stages,
seeing as much as possible of the coast and of that inland scenery
which had geological significance. His costume declared him bent on
holiday, but, at the same time, distinguished him with delicate
emphasis from the tourist of the season. Trustworthy sartorial skill
had done its best for his person. Sitting thus, he had the air of a
gentleman who enjoys no unwonted ease. He could forget himself in
reverie, and be unaware of soft footfalls that drew near along the
aisle.

But the sound of a young voice, subdued yet very clear, made claim upon
his attention.

'Sidwell!--Sidwell!'

She who spoke was behind him; on looking up, he saw that a lady just in
front had stopped and turned to the summons; smiling, she retraced her
steps. He moved, so as to look discreetly in the backward direction,
and observed a group of four persons, who were occupied with a tablet
on the wall: a young man (not long out of boyhood), a girl who might be
a year or two younger, and two ladies, of whom it could only be said
that they were mature in the beauty of youth, probably of
maidenhood--one of them, she who had been called back by the name of
'Sidwell'.

Surely an uncommon name. From a guide-book, with which he had amused
himself in the train, he knew that one of the churches of Exeter was
dedicated to St. Sidwell, but only now did his recollection apprise him
of a long past acquaintance with the name of the saint. Had not
Buckland Warricombe a sister called Sidwell? And--did he only surmise a
connection between the Warricombes and Devon? No, no; on that remote
day, when he went out with Buckland to the house near Kingsmill, Mr.
Warricombe spoke to him of Exeter,--mentioning that the town of his
birth was Axminster, where William Buckland, the geologist, also was
born; whence the name of his eldest son. How suddenly it all came back!

He rose and moved apart to a spot whence he might quietly observe the
strangers. 'Sidwell', once remarked, could not be confused with the
companion of her own age; she was slimmer, shorter (if but slightly),