Mr. Castlemaine.

"My sister's husband has just died," he replied simply.

"Ah, I see, and your sister will need you. You have my deepest sympathy,
my friend; if there is anything I can do to lighten her burden--or
yours----"

"Thank you, Mr. Castlemaine, you are always very good."

"But you will remember what I have said?"

"Yes, thank you, I will remember; but at present she only needs me. You
don't mind my hurrying away, do you? Good-bye."

"I shall go with you to the station," said Mr. Castlemaine. "You cannot
leave for two hours yet."

"And I will go too," said Olive. "I am so sorry you are going, Mr.
Sackville."

Her words were more than an empty convention, and the minister felt it.
His heart had gone out with a great pity towards the girl whom he had
baptized as a baby, whom he had romped with as a child, and whom he had
received into the Church in after years. He loved her almost as much as
John Castlemaine himself, and no one had sympathised with her more
deeply than he.

"Thank you, Olive," he said. "Do you know what I've been thinking about
all the morning?"

The girl was silent.

"I am sure it's right," he said, "God never makes a mistake."

"But we do," replied Olive.

"Yes, but it's all right. I am not an easy-going optimist, as you know,
and I don't see how what I have said can be true. But it is. It helps me
to bear my own sorrow to say it. God bless you, my little girl."

He went back to the hotel, leaving father and daughter together. In
spite of the sad news he brought, in spite of the fact of his going
away, his words comforted her. There is always help in the words and
presence of a good man.

"If I were sure I did right," she said presently.

"You could have done nothing else," said John Castlemaine.

She did not answer for some time, neither did she turn to the letters
and papers which Mr. Sackville had laid by her side. She was thinking of
the words which Leicester had spoken to her. She remembered how he had
said that if there was a God, He had used her as a means of his
salvation, and she wondered how much truth there was in what he had
said. Even yet she did not understand her own heart; all she knew was
that since she had read the letter which had destroyed her hopes, life
had been a great pain. Anger, pride, disappointment, and love had each
in their turn fought for the mastery, and her heart had seemed to be
broken in the struggle.

"No," she said, "I suppose I coul