with a nose and mouth cut as sharp as chisel could cut
them out of marble, all of which graced the Angel but none of which
belonged to the Colonel. Nor were these the chief of the graces which
made the Angel so glorious to her. There was a depth of poetry about
him, deep and clear, pellucid as a lake among grassy banks, which
make all things of the world mean when compared to it. The Angel of
Light lived on the essence of all that was beautiful, altogether
unalloyed by the grossness of the earth. That such a one should come
in her way! Oh, no; she did not look for it! But, having formed such
an image of an angel for herself, would it be possible that she
should have anything less divine, less beautiful, less angelic?

Yes; there was something of the Angel about him; even about him,
Colonel Jonathan Stubbs. But he was so clearly an Angel of the earth,
whereas the other one, though living upon the earth, would be of the
air, and of the sky, of the clouds, and of the heaven, celestial.
Such a one she knew she had never seen. She partly dreamed that
she was dreaming. But if so had not her dream spoilt her for all
else? Oh, yes; indeed he was good, this red-haired ugly Stubbs. How
well had he behaved to Tom! How kind he had been to herself! How
thoughtful of her he was! If it were not a question of downright
love,--of giving herself up to him, body and soul, as it were,--how
pleasant would it be to dwell with him! For herself she would confess
that she loved earthly things,--such as jumping over the brook with
Larry Twentyman before her to show her the way. But for her love, it
was necessary that there should be an Angel of Light. Had she not
read that angels had come from heaven and taken in marriage the
daughters of men?

But was it right that she should go to Stalham, seeing that there
were two such strong reasons against it? She could not go without
costing her uncle money, which he could ill afford; and if she did go
would she--would she not confess that she had abandoned her objection
to the Colonel's suit. She, too, understood something of that which
had made itself so plain to her aunt. "Your uncle thinks it is right
that you should go," her aunt said to her in the drawing-room that
evening; "and we will set to work to-morrow and do the best that we
can to make you smart."

Her uncle was sitting in the room at the time, and Ayala felt herself
compelled to go to him and kiss him, and thank him for all his
kindnes