Mr. Raby--he passed
an hour ago with the parson; but there is only wee Johnnie with him
now."

"Is he coming in? I am sure I heard him lift the latch of the gate;
you will keep your faith with me, Catharine?"

"Yes--yes, have I ever failed you; bide quiet a bit, he can not see
you. He is only standing in the porch, for a sup of milk. I'll fetch
it from the dairy, and he'll drink it and go."

"If only Johnnie were not there," murmured the girl, anxiously.

"No, no, he has sent him on most likely to the vicarage."

"My good Catharine," observed a quiet voice from the porch, "how long
am I to wait for my glass of milk?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Raby, I am indeed," answered Catharine's cheery tones
in the distance.

"Don't be sorry," returned the same voice; "waiting will do me good."
And then there was silence.

The stranger stole out and peeped through the half-opened door.

There was a tall man standing in the porch; a man so tall that the
clustering ivy round the trellis-work quite trailed about him and
touched his forehead; a man broad-shouldered and strong, but with a
stooping gait like a giant worn out with labor; he was in clerical
dress, but his soft felt hat was in his hand, and the grand powerful
head with its heavy dead-brown hair and pale face were distinctly
visible under the shadow of the ivy. He did not more at the sound of
the stealthy footstep or at the light shadow that fell across him,
though the girl crept so close that he could have touched her with his
right hand; but on Catharine's reappearance she shrunk back with a
gesture of mingled entreaty and command.

"There is the milk, Mr. Raby, and it is yellow and rich with cream to
reward your patience, sir."

"Thank you," he replied, smiling, and putting out a large white hand;
the stranger took the glass from Catharine and held it to him; he
drank it with seeming unconsciousness and with lowered eyes. "A most
delicious draught; but your hand is trembling, Catharine; are you
tired or unwell?"

"Neither, sir, thank you," replied Catharine, huskily, while the girl
drew back in evident alarm. "Ah, there is Johnnie come for you, he is
waiting at the gate; here is your stick, Mr. Raby. Don't forget your
hat, for the sun is very powerful."

"No, no," returned the clergyman, absently. "Good-morning, Catharine."
Then, as he walked down the little brick-paved path, "How strange;
Catharine's hand never felt like that; it always seemed puckered and
rough