me subject Holmes had interrupted. "The House is going to the Devil,
Charley, headlong."

"There's no use in saying no," said the other; "you'll call me a lying
diviner."

Knowles did not listen.

"Seems as if I am to go groping and stumbling through the world like
some forsaken Cyclops with his eye out, dragging down whatever I touch.
If there were anything to hold by, anything certain!"

Vandyke looked at him gravely, but did not answer; rose and walked
indolently up and down to keep himself warm. A lithe, slow figure, a
clear face with delicate lips, and careless eyes that saw everything:
the face of a man quick to learn, and slow to teach.

"There she comes!" said Knowles, as the lock of the gate rasped.

Holmes had heard the slow step in the snow long before. A small woman
came out, and went down the silent street into the road beyond. Holmes
kept his back turned to her, lighting his cigar; the other men watched
her eagerly.

"What do you think, Vandyke?" demanded Knowles. "How will she do?"

"Do for what?"--resuming his lazy walk. "You talk as if she were a
machine. It is the way with modern reformers. Men are so many ploughs
and harrows to work on 'the classes.' Do for what?"

Knowles flushed hotly.

"The work the Lord has left for her. Do you mean to say there is none
to do,--you, pledged to Missionary labour?"

The young man's face coloured.

"I know this street needs paving terribly, Knowles; but I don't see a
boulder in your hands. Yet the great Task-master does not despise the
pavers. He did not give you the spirit and understanding for paving,
eh, is that it? How do you know He gave this Margret Howth the spirit
and understanding of a reformer? There may be higher work for her to
do."

"Higher!" The old man stood aghast. "I know your creed, then,--that
the true work for a man or a woman is that which develops their highest
nature?"

Vandyke laughed.

"You have a creed-mania, Knowles. You have a confession of faith
ready-made for everybody, but yourself. I only meant for you to take
care what you do. That woman looks as the Prodigal Son might have done
when he began to be in want, and would fain have fed himself with the
husks that the swine did eat."

Knowles got up moodily.

"Whose work is it, then?" he muttered, following the men down the
street; for they walked on. "The world has waited six thousand years
for help. It comes slowly,--slowly, Vandyke; even through