t take any plate. It was money, and money Lucinda
gave him herself for bringing her letters from her father."

"Where was her father, then?" I inquired, much interested.

"Well, he was--a--he was dead," answered Lady Atherley; "and after some
time, a very low sort of person called upon Lucinda and said she wrote
all the letters; but Lucinda could not get the money back without going
to law, as some people wished her to do; but I am glad she did not, as I
think the papers would have said very unpleasant things about it."

"The apostle I liked best," said Atherley, "was the American one. I
really admired old Stamps, and old Stamps admired me; for she knew I
thoroughly understood what an unmitigated humbug she was. She had a fine
sense of humour, too. How her eyes used to twinkle when I asked posers
at her prayer-meetings!"

"Dreadful woman!" cried Lady Atherley. "Lucinda brought her to lunch
once. Such black nails, and she said she could make the plates and
dishes fly about the room, but I said I would rather not. I am thankful
she does not want to bring this baron with her."

"I would not have him. I draw the line there, and also at spiritual
seances. I am too old for them. Do you remember one I took you to at
Mrs. Molyneux's, Lindy, five years ago, when they raised poor old
Professor Delaine, and he danced on the table and spelt bliss with one
_s_? I was haunted for weeks afterwards by the dread that there might be
a future life, in which we should make fools of ourselves in the same
way. What is this?"

"It is the carriage just come back from the station. Mr. Lyndsay and the
little boys are going over to Rood Warren with a note for me. I hope you
will see Mr. Austyn, Mr. Lyndsay, and persuade him to come over
to-morrow."

"What! To dine?" said Atherley. "He won't come out to dinner in Lent."

I thought so myself, but I was glad of the excuse to see again the
delicate, austere face. As we drove along, I tried to define to myself
the quality which marked it out from others. Not sweetness, not marked
benevolence, but the repose of absolute spiritual conviction. Austyn's
God can never be my God, and in his heaven I should find no rest; but,
one among ten thousand, he believed in both, as the martyrs believed who
perished in the flames, with a faith which would have stood the
atheist's test;--"We believe a thing, when we are prepared to act as if
it were true."

Rood Warren lay in a little hollow beside an armlet