cheerfully. "The people
can't govern themselves,--only Bedloe doesn't know it. Some day he'll
find it out."...

The French window beside him was open, and Hodder slipped out,
unnoticed, into the warm night and stood staring at the darkness. His
one desire had been to get away, out of hearing, and he pressed forward
over the tiled pavement until he stumbled against a stone balustrade
that guarded a drop of five feet or so to the lawn below. At the same
time he heard his name called.

"Is that you, Mr. Hodder?"

He started. The voice had a wistful tremulousness, and might almost
have been the echo of the leaves stirring in the night air. Then he
perceived, in a shaft of light from one of the drawing-room windows near
by, a girl standing beside the balustrade; and as she came towards him,
with tentative steps, the light played conjurer, catching the silvery
gauze of her dress and striking an aura through the film of her hair.

"It's Nan Ferguson," she said.

"Of course," he exclaimed, collecting himself. "How stupid of me not to
have recognized you!"

"I'm so glad you came out," she went on impulsively, yet shyly, "I
wanted to tell you how sorry I was that that thing happened at the
table."

"I like that young man," he said.

"Do you?" she exclaimed, with unexpected gratitude. "So do I. He really
isn't--so bad as he must seem."

"I'm sure of it," said the rector, laughing.

"I was afraid you'd think him wicked," said Nan. "He works awfully hard,
and he's sending a brother through college. He isn't a bit like--some
others I know. He wants to make something of himself. And I feel
responsible, because I had mother ask him to-night."

He read her secret. No doubt she meant him to do so.

"You know we're going away next week, for the summer--that is, mother
and I," she continued. "Father comes later. And I do hope you'll make us
a visit, Mr. Hodder--we were disappointed you couldn't come last year."
Nan hesitated, and thrusting her hand into her gown drew forth an
envelope and held it out to him. "I intended to give you this to-night,
to use--for anything you thought best."

He took it gravely. She looked up at him.

"It seems so little--such a selfish way of discharging one's
obligations, just to write out a cheque, when there is so much trouble
in the world that demands human kindness as well as material help. I
drove up Dalton Street yesterday, from downtown. You know how hot it
was! And I couldn't help t