t in
business."

"Yes," she said.

"And I'm tired of London. The eternal fogs and grey skies of the winter
oppress me. For years I've longed to live in the country. Even at The
Beeches we are more and more invaded by the London fogs. Besides, there
is no necessity for me to live near London any longer. I have quite as
much money as I need, and, added to this, I have been able to trust more
and more in the heads of the various departments of my business. An
occasional visit will be quite enough for me."

"Well, father?"

"Well, some little time ago a fine old estate in Devonshire fell into
the market."

"In Devonshire!"

"Yes, about thirty miles from Taviton. I did not speak to you about it,
because I wished to surprise you. I instructed a man to make an offer
for it; but owing to some hitch, the affair was not settled, and I was
informed that it had passed into other hands. I was awfully disappointed
because--because--well, Olive, I wanted to give it to you for a wedding
present, and then invite myself as your perpetual guest."

Olive did not speak.

"When matters turned out as they did, I was almost glad that I had not
bought it; but among the letters which Mr. Sackville brought down to us
a little while ago was this."

He handed her a letter as he spoke. As she read, a look of interest came
into her eyes, which her father noted with pleasure.

"It is a beautiful place," went on John Castlemaine, "and situated in
the loveliest part of Devonshire. The house stands high, and the
climate, so I am told, is the finest in England. The neighbourhood has
been frequently recommended by the doctors for its healthfulness."

In spite of herself she was interested.

"You have visited it, have you, father?" she said.

"Yes, I spent two days there some time ago. In its way, the estate is
unique. It is very large, and most of the land is very fertile; but
there is a large tract of moorland, where there is some very fine
shooting. The late owner neglected it terribly. There is a large village
which is very squalid, and wretched. You see, neither the squire nor the
parson cared for it. The former refused to spend a penny on the estate,
while the latter--well, he belongs to that class which is happily
growing less and less in the English Church--that class which cares far
more about fox-hunting than his parish work. As a consequence the people
have become drunken, thriftless, godless."

"But I thought the Free Churches