_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 of the stream that
waters all the valley. The hamlet consisted of a tiny church and a group
of labourers' cottages, in one of which, presumably because there was no
other habitation for him, the curate in charge made his home. An
apple-faced old woman received me at the door, and hospitably invited me
to wait within for Mr. Austyn's return from morning service, which I
did, while the carriage, with the little boys and Tip in it, drove up
and down before the door. The room in which I waited, evidently the one
sitting-room, was destitute of luxury or comfort as a monk's cell.