reserve, however, did not last. Once through the station gates, that free holiday feeling which we have all experienced on being set down in an unknown town, with no duty before us save to explore it, soon possessed her; while he wished nothing better than to play the showman-a part we love. The day was fine and bright, though cold. She had eyes for beauty and a soul for the past, and soon forgot herself; and he, piloting the sisters through Magdalen Walks, now strewn with leaves, or displaying with pride the staircase of Christ Church, the quaint library of Merton, or the ancient front of John's, forgot himself also, and especially his new-born dignity, in which he had lived rather too much, perhaps, during the last three weeks. He showed himself in his true colors-the colors known to his intimate friends-and was so bright and cheery that Kate found herself talking to him in utter forgetfulness of his position and theirs. The girl frankly sighed when darkness fell and they had to go into the house, their curiosity still unsated.
She thought it was all over. But, lo! there was a cheery fire awaiting them in the "house" room (he had looked in for a few minutes on their first arrival and given his orders), and before it a little table laid for three was sparkling with plate and glass. Nay, there were two cups of tea ready on a side-table, for it wanted an hour yet of dinnertime. Altogether, as Daintry naïvely told him, "even Jack could not have made it nicer for us."
"Jack is a favorite of yours?" he said, laughing.
"I should think so!" Daintry answered, in wonder. "There is no one like Jack."
"After that I shall take myself off," he replied. "I really want to call on a friend, Miss Bonamy. But if I may join you at dinner-"
"Oh, do!" she said impulsively. Then, more shyly, she added, "We shall be very glad if you will, Mr. Lindo."
He felt singularly pleased with himself as he turned the windy corner of the Broad. It was pleasant to be in Oxford again, a beneficed clergyman. Pleasant to have such a future to look forward to, such a holiday moment to enjoy. Pleasant to anticipate the cheery meal and the girl's smile, half shy, half grateful. And Kate? – she remained before the fire, saying little because Daintry's tongue gave few openings, but thinking a good deal. Once she did speak. "It won't last," she said pettishly.
"Why, Kate? Do you think he will be different at Claversham?" Daintry protested.
"Of course he will!" She spoke with a little scorn in her voice, and that sort of decision which we use when we wish to crush down our own unwarranted hopes.
"But he is nice," Daintry persisted. "You do think so, Kate, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, he is very nice," she said drily. "But he will be in the Hammond set at home, and we shall see nothing of him."
But presently he was back, and Kate found it impossible to resist the charm. He ladled the soup and dispensed the mutton-chops with a gaiety and boyish glee which were really the stored-up effervescence of weeks, the ebullition of the long-repressed delight which he took in his promotion. He learned casually that the girls had been in London for more than a month staying with Jack's mother in Bayswater, and that they were very sorry to be upon their road home.
"And yet," he said-this was toward the end of dinner-"I have been told that your town is a very picturesque one. But I fancy that we never appreciate our home as we do a place strange to us."
"Very likely that is so," Kate answered quietly. And then a little pause ensued, such as he had observed several times before, and come to connect with any mention of Claversham. The girls' tongues would run on frankly and pleasantly enough about their London visit, or Mr. Gladstone; but let him bring the talk round to his parish and its people, and forthwith something of reserve seemed to come between him and them until the conversation strayed afield again.
After the others had finished, he still toyed with his meal, partly in lazy enjoyment of the time, partly as an excuse for staying with them. They were sitting in a momentary silence, when a boy passed the window chanting a ditty at the top of his voice. The doggrel came clearly to their ears-
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness,
Birds in the wilderness, birds in the wilderness;
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness,
Samuel asking for more.
As the sound passed on the young man looked up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and met their eyes, and all three burst into a merry peal of laughter. They were the birds in the wilderness, sitting there in the circle of light, in the strange room in the strange town, almost as intimate as if they had known one another for years, or had been a week at sea together.
But Kate, having acknowledged by that pleasant outburst her sense of the oddity of the position, rose from the table, and the rector had to say good-night, explaining at the same time that he should not travel with them next morning, but intended to go on by a later train, as his friend wished to see more of him. Nevertheless, he said he should be up to breakfast with them and should see them off. And in this resolution he persisted, notwithstanding Kate's protest, which perhaps was not very violent.
Notwithstanding, he was a little late next morning. When he came down he found them already seated in the coffee-room. There were others breakfasting here and there in the room, chiefly upon toast-racks and newspapers, and he did not at once observe that the gentleman standing with his back set negligently against the mantelpiece was talking to Kate. Arrived at the table, however, he saw that it was so; and the cheery greeting on his lips faded into a commonplace "Good-morning, Miss Bonamy." He took no apparent notice of the stranger as he added, "I am afraid I am rather late."
The intruder, a short dark-whiskered man between thirty and forty, seemed to the full as much surprised by the clergyman's appearance as Lindo was by his, and as little able to hide the feeling as Kate herself to control the color which rose in her cheeks. She gave Mr. Lindo his tea in silence, and then with an obvious effort introduced the two men. "This is Dr. Gregg of Claversham-Mr. Lindo," she said.
Lindo rose and shook hands. "Mr. Lindo the younger, I presume?" said the doctor, with a bow and a swagger intended to show that he was quite at his ease.
"The only one, I am afraid," replied the rector, smiling. Though he by no means liked the look of the man.
"Did I rightly catch your name?" was the answer-"'Mr. Lindo?'"
"Yes," said the rector again, opening his eyes.
"But-you are not-you do not mean to say that you are the new rector?" pronounced the dark man abruptly, and with a kind of aggressiveness which seemed his most striking quality-"the rector of Claversham, I mean?"
"I believe so," said Lindo quietly. "You want some more water, do you not, Miss Bonamy?" he continued. "Let me ring the bell." He rose and crossed the room to do so. The truth was, he hated the newcomer already. His first sentence had been enough. His manner was not the manner of the men with whom Lindo had mixed, and the rector felt almost angry with Kate for introducing Gregg-albeit his parishioner-to him, and quite angry with her for suffering the doctor to address her with the familiarity he seemed to affect.
And Kate, her eyes downcast, knew by instinct how it was with him, and what he was thinking. "I have been telling Dr. Gregg," she said hurriedly, when he returned, "how we missed our train yesterday."
"Rather how I missed it for you," Lindo answered gravely, much engaged apparently with his breakfast.
"Ah, yes, it was very funny!" fired off the doctor, watching each mouthful they ate. Daintry had finished, and was sitting back in her chair kicking the leg of the table monotonously; not in the best of tempers apparently. "Very funny indeed!" the doctor continued. "An accident, I hope?" with a
