were talking, and sat listening to
the last part of the conversation.

"I have just the sort of 'neat little cot in a quiet spot, with a
distant view of the rolling sea' that you yearn for, Beth," he said,
smiling, when she paused, "and I have come to ask you and Angelica to
drive over with me to see it."

"You mean Ilverthorpe Cottage," said Angelica, jumping up. "O Daddy!
it's the very place. Two storeys, Beth, ivy, roses, jasmine, wisteria
without; and within, space and comfort of every kind--and the sea in
sight! Such a pretty garden, too, grass and trees and shrubs and
flowers. And near enough for us all to see you as often as you wish.
Beth, be excited too! I must bring my violin, I think, and play a
triumphal march on the way."

Ilverthorpe Cottage was all and more than Angelica had said, and Beth
did not hesitate to take it. It was Mr. Kilroy's property, and the
rent was suspiciously low, but Beth supposed that that was because the
house was out of the way. She and Angelica spent long happy days in
getting it ready for occupation, choosing paper, paint, and
furnishments. Mr. Kilroy saw to the stables, which he completed with a
saddle-horse and a pony-carriage. There was a short cut across the
fields, a lovely walk, from Ilverthorpe House to the Cottage, and when
Angelica could not accompany her, Beth would stroll over alone to see
how things were getting on, and wander about her little demesne, and
love it. Outside her garden, in front of the house, the highroad ran,
a sheltered highroad, with a raised footpath, bordered on either side
with great trees, oak and elm, chestnut and beech, and a high hawthorn
hedge just whitening into blossom. The field-path came out on this
highroad, down which she had to walk a few hundred yards to her own
gate. Day after day there was an old Irish labourer, a stonebreaker,
by the wayside, kneeling on a sack beside a great heap of stones, who
gave her a cheery good-morrow as she passed. Once she went across the
road and spoke to him. He had the face of a saint at his devotions.

"You kneel there all day long," she said, "and as you kneel you pray,
perhaps. Will you pray for me? Pray, pray that I may"--she was going
to say succeed, but stopped--"that I may be good."

The man raised his calm eyes, and looked her in the face. "You _are_
good, lady," he said simply.

"Yet pray," she entreated; "and pray too that all I do may be good,
and of good effect."

"All you do is good