a
certain amount of satisfaction, that it was not Charlotte whom Mrs. Law
had delighted to honour.

It was a memorable visit to Joyce, and in a way she little expected. The
first evening passed pleasantly; and with a white muslin fichu, which
Miss Falconer insisted upon making for her, crossed over her black gown,
Joyce looked her best. The sleeves of best gowns in those days were cut
rather short, and Joyce wore on her round, white arms a pair of black
lace mittens, which Charlotte had lent her.

Her beautiful hair needed no adornment; it fell round her forehead in
natural curls, and was piled up without the help of cushions or
frizzettes, a natural crown of chesnut and gold. As at Barley Wood, so
at the palace; Joyce was too simple-minded to be stiff or constrained in
manner, and she conversed so pleasantly with a young son of the bishop,
who gave her his arm when they went to dinner, that he, in his turn, did
his best to be agreeable, and she was soon telling him of her little
sailor brothers, of Piers and his collection of butterflies, of Ralph
and his love of study, and the brave way in which he had come to live
at Fair Acres and do his best to turn into a farmer.

If the Saturday evenings were pleasant, how delightful was the Sunday,
when, in the sunshine of the early February day, the party from the
palace crossed to the cloister door, and went to the morning service in
the cathedral. It has been said of Wells that it is always Sunday there;
no sounds but the ringing of bells for service; no business, and no
traffic in the streets. But certain it is, that nowhere is the real
Sabbath stillness more profound, nor more refreshing to the tired in
spirit, on a day like that February day, when Joyce was seated in the
high pew belonging to the Bishop. The cathedral is always a vision of
beauty, and when the swelling of the organ and the voices of the
choristers are hushed, and a pause occurs after the benediction has been
pronounced, the sounds without the building seem in direct harmony with
those within; for the Lady Chapel abuts on the lawn of the Sub-Dean's
residence, where the waters of St. Joseph's Well lie deep; and there is
the murmur of the streams, the chirp of birds, the soft coo of pigeons,
and the distinct chatter of the jackdaw from the West front.

Joyce went out of the cathedral filled with peaceful thoughts of the
temple, of which this was but the faint shadow, the temple which has no
need of the su