y he took so much pains to
compose his sermon for that Sunday. Without possessing any special
claim to eloquence, he had always been earnest and painstaking,
bestowing much labor on the construction and finish of his sentences,
which were in consequence more elaborate than original. At times, when
he took less pains and was simpler in style, he seldom failed to
satisfy his hearers. His voice was pleasant and well modulated, and
his delivery remarkably quiet and free from any tricks of gestures.

But on this occasion his subject baffled him; he wrote and rewrote
whole pages, and then grew discontented with his work. On the Sunday
in question he woke with the conviction that something out of the
common order of events distinguished the day from other days; but even
as this thought crossed his mind he felt ashamed of himself, and was
in consequence a little more dictatorial than usual at the
breakfast-table.

The inhabitants of Hadleigh were well accustomed to the presence of
strangers in their church. In the season there was a regular influx
of visitors that filled the lodging-houses to overflowing. Hadleigh
had always prided itself on its gentility, as a watering-place it was
select and exclusive; only the upper middle classes, and a sprinkling
of the aristocracy, were the habitual frequenters of the little town.
It was too quiet; it offered too few attractions to draw the crowds
that flocked to other places. Mr. Drummond's congregation was well
used by this time to see new faces in the strangers' pew;
nevertheless, a little thrill of something like surprise and
excitement moved a few of the younger members as Nan and her sisters
walked down the aisle, with their mother following them.

"The mother is almost as good-looking as her daughters," thought
Colonel Middleton, as he regarded the group through his gold-mounted
eye-glasses, and Miss Middleton looked up for an instant from her
prayer-book. Even Mrs. Cheyne roused from the gloomy abstraction which
was her usual approach to devotion, and looked long and curiously at
the three girlish faces before her. It was refreshing even to her to
see anything so fresh and bright-looking.

Nan and her sisters were perfectly oblivious of the sensation they
were making. Nan's pretty face was a trifle clouded: the strange
surroundings, the sight of all those people unknown to them, instead
of the dear, familiar faces that had always been before her, gave the
girl a dreary feelin