ng gone oftener to Dalton Street. And
yet, if Mr. Bentley and Sally Grower had been unable to foresee and
prevent this, what could he have done?

At police headquarters he got no news. The chief received him
deferentially, sympathetically, took down Kate Marcy's description,
went so far as to remark, sagely, that too much mustn't be expected
of these women, and said he would notify the rector if she were found.
The chief knew and admired Mr. Bentley, and declared he was glad to meet
Mr. Hodder. . . Hodder left, too preoccupied to draw any significance
from the nature of his welcome. He went at once to Mr. Bentley's.

The old gentleman was inclined to be hopeful, to take Sally Grower's view
of the matter. . He trusted, he said, Sally's instinct. And Hodder
came away less uneasy, not a little comforted by a communion which never
failed to fortify him, to make him marvel at the calmness of that world
in which his friend lived, a calmness from which no vicarious sorrow was
excluded. And before Hodder left, Mr. Bentley had drawn from him some
account of the more recent complexities at the church. The very pressure
of his hand seemed to impart courage.

"You won't stay and have dinner with me?"

The rector regretfully declined.

"I hear the bishop has returned," said Mr. Bentley, smiling.

Hodder was surprised. He had never heard Mr. Bentley speak of the
bishop. Of course he must know him.

"I have my talk with him to-morrow."

Mr. Bentley said nothing, but pressed his hand again . . . .

On Tower Street, from the direction of the church, he beheld a young man
and a young woman approaching him absorbed in conversation. Even at a
distance both seemed familiar, and presently he identified the lithe and
dainty figure in the blue dress as that of the daughter of his vestryman,
Francis Ferguson. Presently she turned her face, alight with animation,
from her companion, and recognized him.

"It's Mr. Hodder!" she exclaimed, and was suddenly overtaken with a
crimson shyness. The young man seemed equally embarrassed as they stood
facing the rector.

"I'm afraid you don't remember me, Mr. Hodder," he said. "I met you at
Mr. Ferguson's last spring."

Then it came to him. This was the young man who had made the faux pas
which had caused Mrs. Ferguson so much consternation, and who had so
manfully apologized afterwards. His puzzled expression relaxed into a
smile, and he took the young man's hand.

"I was going to write to