already reached his
secluded parish, filling him with doubt and apprehension. He was glad
to gain what further information his friendly visitor could afford him. We
may conclude, from the observations of the vicar, that her communication
was unsatisfactory.

"It is a cowardly thing, madam," said he, "to withdraw from a scene of
contest in the hour of danger, and when all our dearest interests are at
stake; and yet I do thank my God, from the bottom of my heart, that I am
not an eyewitness to the dishonour and the shame which men are heaping on
our blessed faith. Are we Christians? Do we come before the world as the
messengers of glad tidings--of _unity_ and _peace_? We profess to do it,
whilst discord, enmity, hatred, and persecution are in our hearts and on
our tongue. The atheist and the worldling live in harmony, whilst the
children of Christ carry on their unholy warfare one against the other.
Strange anomaly! Can we not call upon our people to love their God with
all their hearts--and their neighbours as themselves? Can we not strive by
our own good example to teach them how to do this? Would it not be more
profitable and humane, than to disturb them with formalities that have no
virtue in themselves--to distress them with useless controversies, that
settle no one point, teach no one doctrine, but unsettle and unfix all the
good that our simple creed had previously built up and made secure?"

"It is very true, sir;--and it is sweet to hear you talk so."

If the lady desired to hear more, it was unwise of her to speak so plainly.
The vicar was unused to praise, and these few words effectually stopped
him. He said no more. The lady remained silent for a minute or two, then
rose and took her leave. The night was very fine, and the vicar's servant
maid accompanied her to John Humphrys' door. Here she found a wholesome
bed, but her pillow did not become a resting-place until she moistened it
with tears--the bitterest that ever wrung a penitent and broken heart.

* * * * *

CHAPTER II.

RETROSPECTIVE

James Mildred was a noble-hearted gentleman. At the age of eighteen he
quitted England to undertake an appointment in India, which he had
obtained through the interest of his uncle, an East Indian Director. He
remained abroad thirty years, and then returned, a stranger, to his native
land, the owner of a noble fortune. His manners were simple and
unassuming--his mind was masculi