and surged there while he stood, not raising his eyes to this
ill-starred woman. It was child's play to read one's Bible; it was
child's play to read about sin; it was bald and commonplace to receive
converts after service, or to attend death-beds of repentance; here was
that suffering entity, the Sinner, alone with him, weak in her strength
and strong through her weakness, and with her delicate, guilty,
perverted impulses he had to deal, and no longer with pulpit
abstractions. But while they stood thus, another turn in the affairs
which revolved around the lonely barn carried with it a new sound; a
horse's trot was plainly heard, likewise the humorous lilt of a shanty
song.

"It is Mr. Poussette!" whispered Pauline, rushing to the lantern and
extinguishing it. "He is coming for me and I shall have to go with
him. I can manage him--better than the priest--but you--what must I do
with you? He is a gossip--that one--and it will work you harm in your
religion, in your church, if he finds you here with me."

"Oh, why are you so impetuous!" returned Ringfield. "You should not
have blown out the light! He knew doubtless that I was coming for
you--there would be nothing in that. Where is the lantern--I will
light it again."

"You cannot reach it, I have hidden it down behind those boxes. No,
no--I could not have him find you here with me. The loft--the loft!
There is the ladder!"

And in two minutes he found himself, after scrambling up in the dark,
crawling about on his hands and knees in the same heap of straw that
had served to conceal Edmund Crabbe a few hours before, and doomed, in
his turn, to overhear the conversation of any who might be below.

In a few moments the horse came to a standstill, and Poussette
approached, carrying his lantern, Miss Clairville receiving him with
just that successful mixture of hauteur and coquetry, which kept him
admiring but respectful. His delight at being the first, as he
supposed, to reach her, was as absurd as it was genuine, but there was
no delay, and she was soon comfortably wrapped up in Poussette's
_voiture_ and being rapidly driven to the manor-house. When he thought
it was quite safe, Ringfield shook himself free from the hay and straw
that encumbered him, and prepared to descend the ladder, but he had
scarcely enjoyed the luxury of stretching his long limbs (for he could
not stand upright in the loft) when he heard footsteps approaching, and
looking down, he p