tituted during wartime, to which but few ever came. He had
hurried back to lunch, scamping it so that he might get to his piano for
an hour of forgetfulness. At three he had christened a very noisy baby,
and been detained by its parents who wished for information on a variety
of topics. At half-past four he had snatched a cup of tea, reading the
paper; and had spent from five to seven visiting two Parish Clubs, and
those whose war-pension matters he had in hand, and filling up forms
which would be kept in official places till such time as the system
should be changed and a fresh set of forms issued. From seven to eight
he was at home again, in case his flock wanted to see him; to-day four
sheep had come, and gone away, he was afraid, but little the wiser.
From half-past eight to half-past nine he had spent in choir practice,
because the organist was on his holiday. Slowly in the cool of the
evening he had walked home, and fallen asleep in his chair on getting
in. At eleven he had woken with a start, and, hardening his heart, had
gone back to his sermon. And now, at nearly midnight, it was still less
than twenty minutes long. He lighted one of his rare cigarettes, and
let thought wander. How beautiful those pale pink roses were in that old
silver bowl-like a little strange poem, or a piece of Debussy music, or
a Mathieu Maris picture-reminding him oddly of the word Leila. Was
he wrong in letting Noel see so much of Leila? But then she was so
improved--dear Leila!... The pink roses were just going to fall! And
yet how beautiful!... It was quiet to-night; he felt very drowsy.... Did
Nollie still think of that young man, or had it passed? She had never
confided in him since! After the war, it would be nice to take her
to Italy, to all the little towns. They would see the Assisi of St.
Francis. The Little Flowers of St. Francis. The Little Flowers!... His
hand dropped, the cigarette went out. He slept with his face in shadow.
Slowly into the silence of his sleep little sinister sounds intruded.
Short concussions, dragging him back out of that deep slumber. He
started up. Noel was standing at the door, in a long coat. She said in
her calm voice:

"Zeps, Daddy!"

"Yes, my dear. Where are the maids?"

An Irish voice answered from the hall: "Here, sir; trustin' in God; but
'tis better on the ground floor."

He saw a huddle of three figures, queerly costumed, against the stairs.

"Yes, Yes, Bridgie; you're safe down here." T