en that night.

As soon as he had put up the last shutter, Craven Kyte rushed off to his
humble lodgings, stuffed a carpet-bag full of needed clothing and
hurried to the railway station to catch the train.

It came thundering along in due time, and caught up the waiting victim
and whirled him along on his road to ruin, as far as Richmond, where it
dropped him.

It was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning, and all the church bells
were ringing, when the train ran in to the station.

Craven Kyte, carpet-bag in hand, rushed for the gentlemen's
dressing-room nearest the station, hastily washed his face, combed his
hair, brushed his clothes, put on a clean collar and bosom-piece, and
fresh gloves, and hurried off to old St. John's Church, which he thought
the most likely place on that Sunday forenoon to meet Mary Grey.

The service was more than half over when he reached the church, but he
slipped in and seated himself quietly on one of the back seats near the
door and looked all over the heads of the seated congregation to see if
he could discover his beloved in the crowd.

Yes, there she was, in a front pew of the middle aisle, immediately
under the pulpit.

To be sure he could only see the back of her head and shoulders, but he
felt that he could not be mistaken.

And from that moment he paid but little attention to the service.

Do not mistake the poor soul. He was not impious. He had been
religiously brought up in the family of the late Governor Cavendish. He
was accustomed to be devout during divine worship. And on this occasion
he wrestled with Satan--that is, with himself--and tried to fix his mind
in succession on anthems, psalms, collects and sermon. All to little
purpose. His mind went with his eyes toward Mary Grey.

And even when he closed those offending orbs he still found her image in
his mind.

At length the sermon was finished and the benediction pronounced.

The congregation began to move out.

Craven Kyte went out among the first, and placed himself just outside
the gate to wait until his adored should pass by.

In a continued stream the congregation poured forth out of the church
until nearly all had passed out, but still he did not see Mary Grey.

In truth, that popularity-seeking beauty was lingering to bestow her
sweet smile and honeyed words upon "all and sundry" who would give her
the opportunity.

At length, among the very last to issue from the church, was Mrs. Grey.

She came