he steep ascent which formed the one street of Feldwick village. It
was a Sunday morning, and the place was curiously empty. Their little
scraps of gay conversation and laughter--they were men and women of the
smart world--seemed to strike almost a pagan note in a deep Sabbatical
stillness. They passed the wide open doors of a red brick chapel, and
several of the worshippers within turned their heads. As the last two
of the party went by, the wheezings of a harmonium ceased, and a man's
voice came travelling out to them. The lady rested her hand upon her
host's arm. "Listen," she whispered.

Her host, Lord of the Manor, Lord Lieutenant of the County, and tenth
Earl of Cumberland, paused readily enough and leaned his machine against
a kerbstone. Bicycling was by no means a favourite pursuit of his, and
the morning for the time of year was warm.

"Dear lady," he murmured, "shall we go a little nearer and listen to the
words of grace? Anything for a short rest."

She leaned her own bicycle against the wall. From where she was she
could catch a sideway glimpse of a tall, slight figure standing up
before the handful of people.

"I should like to go inside," she said, indifferently. "Would they
think it an intrusion?"

"Certainly not," he answered, with visions of a chair before him. "As a
matter of fact, I have a special invitation to become a member of that
flock--temporarily, at any rate."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"The land here" he answered, "is not entailed, and they are very anxious
to buy this little bit and own their chapel. I had a letter from a
worthy farmer and elder, Gideon Strong, on the matter yesterday. He
wound up by expressing a wish that I might join them in their service
one morning. This is their service, and here we are. Come!"

They crossed the street, and, to the obvious amazement of the little
congregation, stood in the doorway. A gaunt shepherd, with
weather-marked face and knotted fingers, handed them clumsily a couple
of chairs. Some of the small farmers rose and made a clumsy obeisance
to their temporal lord. Gideon Strong, six feet four, with great unbent
shoulders, and face as hard and rugged as iron, frowned them down, and
showed no signs of noticing his presence. Elsewhere he would have been
one of the first, proud man though he was, to stand bareheaded before
the owner of his farm and half a county, but in the house of God, humble
little building though it was, he reckoned all