pon him made him
realise that he could not continue to frequent the house merely to
satisfy his curiosity.

He was destined to know more.

That night, long after dark, he was called to visit a dying man, and the
messenger led him somewhat out of the town.

He performed his duty to the dying with wistful eagerness. The spirit
passed from earth while he yet knelt beside the bed. When he was
returning home alone in the darkness, he felt his soul open to the power
of unseen spirit, and to him the power of the spiritual unseen was the
power of God.

Walking on the soft, quiet road, he came near the house where he had
lately loved to visit, and his eye was arrested by seeing a lantern
twinkling in the paddock where Trilium grazed. He saw the forms of two
women moving in its little circle of light; they were digging in the
ground.

He felt that he had a right to make sure of the thing he suspected. The
women were not far from a fence by which he could pass, and he did pass
that way, looking and looking till a beam of the lantern fell full on
the bending faces. When he saw that Miss Torrance was actually there, he
went on without speaking.

After that two facts became known in the village, each much discussed in
its own way; yet they were not connected with each other in the common
mind. One was that the young minister had ceased to call frequently upon
Miss Torrance; the other, that Trilium, the cow, was giving her
milk.

IX

THE GIRL WHO BELIEVED IN THE SAINTS

Marie Verine was a good girl, but she was not beautiful or clever. She
lived with her mother in one flat of an ordinary-looking house in a
small Swiss town. Had they been poorer or richer there might have been
something picturesque about their way of life, but, as it was, there was
nothing. Their pleasures were few and simple; yet they were happier than
most people are--but this they did not know.

'It is a pity we are not richer and have not more friends,' Madame
Verine would remark, 'for then we could perhaps get Marie a husband; as
it is, there is no chance.'

Madame Verine usually made this remark to the Russian lady who lived
upstairs. The Russian lady had a name that could not be pronounced; she
spoke many languages, and took an interest in everything. She would
reply--

'No husband! It is small loss. I have seen much of the world.'

Marie had seen little of the world, and she did not believe the Russian
lady. She never said anything ab