ked beside her.

"Just a minute, please," he urged. "Miss Van Horne, I do understand. I
do respect your uncle. We have a mutual friend, you and I, and through
her I have come to understand many things."

Grace turned and looked at him.

"A mutual friend?" she repeated. "Oh! I know. Mrs. Coffin?"

"Yes; Mrs. Coffin. She's a good woman and a wise one."

"She's a dear! Do you like her, too?"

"Indeed, I do."

"Has she told you about me--about uncle, I mean?"

"Yes. Why, she told me--"

He began to enumerate some of the things Keziah had told concerning the
Hammond family. They were all good things, and he couldn't help seeing
that the recital pleased her. So he went on to tell how his housekeeper
had helped him, of her advice, of her many acts of kindness, of what
he owed to her. The girl listened eagerly, asking questions, nodding
confirmation, and, in her delight at hearing Keziah praised, quite
forgetting her previous eagerness to end the interview. And, as he
talked, he looked at her, at the red light on her hair, the shine of
her eyes, like phosphorus in the curl of a wave at night, at her long
lashes, and--

--"Yes," said Miss Van Horne, "you were saying--"

The minister awoke with a guilty start. He realized that his sentence
had broken off in the middle.

"Why! why--er--yes," he stammered. "I was saying that--that I don't know
what I should have done without Mrs. Coffin. She's a treasure. Frankly,
she is the only real friend I have found in Trumet."

"I know. I feel the same way about her. She means so much to me. I love
her more than anyone else in the world, except uncle, of course--and
Nat. I miss her very much since--since--"

"Since I came, you mean. I'm sorry. I wish--I hate to think I am the
cause which separates you two. It isn't my fault, as you know."

"Oh! I know that."

"Yes, and I object to having others choose my friends for me, people
who, because of a fanatical prejudice, stand in the way of--If it wasn't
for that, you might call and see Mrs. Coffin, just as you used to do."

Grace shook her head. They had moved on to the bend of the bluff, beyond
the fringe of pines, and were now standing at the very edge of the high
bank.

"If it wasn't for that, you would come," asserted the minister.

"Yes, I suppose so. I should like to come. I miss my talks with Aunt
Keziah more than you can imagine--now especially. But, somehow, what we
want to do most seems to be what we mustn't, and