nd Helen, who was much interested with her, turned
to see how she was taking it. Her lips were as white as her face. Helen
attributed the change to anger, and was silent also. The same moment the
rector moved toward the place where the luncheon-tables were, and they
all accompanied him, Helen still walking, in a little anxiety, by
Juliet's side. It was some minutes before the color came back to her
lips; but when Helen next addressed her, she answered as gently and
sweetly as if the silence had been nothing but an ordinary one.

"You will stay and lunch with us, Mr. Faber?" said the rector. "There
can be no hypocrisy in that--eh?"

"Thank you," returned the doctor heartily; "but my work is waiting me,
and we all agree that _must_ be done, whatever our opinions as to the
ground of the obligation."

"And no man can say you don't do it," rejoined the curate kindly.
"That's one thing we do agree in, as you say: let us hold by it, Faber,
and keep as good friends as we can, till we grow better ones."

Faber could not quite match the curate in plain speaking: the pupil was
not up with his master yet.

"Thank you, Wingfold," he returned, and his voice was not free of
emotion, though Juliet alone felt the tremble of the one vibrating
thread in it. "--Miss Meredith," he went on, turning to her, "I have
heard of something that perhaps may suit you: will you allow me to call
in the evening, and talk it over with you?"

"Please do," responded Juliet eagerly. "Come before post-time if you
can. It may be necessary to write."

"I will. Good morning."

He made a general bow to the company and walked away, cutting off the
heads of the dandelions with his whip as he went. All followed with
their eyes his firm, graceful figure, as he strode over the grass in his
riding-boots and spurs.

"He's a fine fellow that!" said the rector. "--But, bless me!" he added,
turning to his curate, "how things change! If you had told me a year
ago, the day would come when I should call an atheist a fine fellow, I
should almost have thought you must be one yourself! Yet here I am
saying it--and never in my life so much in earnest to be a Christian!
How is it, Wingfold, my boy?"

"He who has the spirit of his Master, will speak the truth even of his
Master's enemies," answered the curate. "To this he is driven if he does
not go willingly, for he knows his Master loves his enemies. If you see
Faber a fine fellow, you say so, just as the Lord would,