y-piece. For a
momentary flash of thought had brought vividly before him the sinful
Babylonish garment which troubled the camp of Israel. Perhaps that
sinful money might be equally malign to his own household.

He had resolved to take it to Mrs. Burrell in the afternoon, for the
morning was his time for study and writing. But he found it impossible
to think of his sermon. That sovereign on the mantelpiece was in all
his thoughts. His back was to it, and yet he saw the dull shining
disc. In spite of his reason and his faith, in spite of a very strong
will and of a practiced command over himself, he felt the presence of
the rejected coin to be a weight and an influence he could not pretend
to ignore.

So he resolved to leave every other duty and go to Burrell Court,
though it was a long walk, and the thick misty Cornish rain had begun
to fall. Indeed, there was nothing but a vapourish shroud, a dim, grey
chaos, as far as his eye could reach. The strip of road on which he
trod was apparently the only land left to tread on--all the rest of
creation had disappeared in a spectral mist. But above the mist the
lark was singing joyously, singing for the song's sake, and the melody
went down into his heart and preached him a better sermon than he was
ever likely to write.

Listening to it, he reached, before he was aware, the great gates of
the Court. Mrs. Burrell was at home, and he sent a request for an
interview. Elizabeth instantly suspected that he had come on some
affair relating to that wretched business. She was in trouble enough
about it, but she was also proud and reticent, and not inclined to
discuss Roland with a stranger.

Quite intentionally she gave to her manner a good deal of that
haughtiness which young wives think dignity, but which is in reality
the offensive freshness of new-made honour. The preacher offered her
his hand, but she did not see it, being fully occupied in arranging
the long train of cashmere, silk, and lace which, in those days, made
morning dresses a misnomer.

"I am the Wesleyan preacher from St. Penfer, Mrs. Burrell."

"Can I do anything for you, sir? though really, if yours is a
charitable visit, I must remind you that my own church looks to me for
all I can possibly afford."

"I do not come, Mrs. Burrell, to ask for money. I bring you this
sovereign, which belongs to Mr. Roland Tresham."

The gold fell from his fingers, spun round a few times, and, dropping
upon the polished maho