floated up the little aisle an exquisite perfume of crushed violets, and
he heard the soft rustling of a gown which was surely worn by none of
those who were gathered together to listen to him. He opened his eyes
involuntarily, and met the steady gaze of the lady whose whim it had
been to enter the place.

He had never seen her before, nor any one like her. Yet he felt that,
in her presence, the task which lay before him had become immeasurably
more difficult. She was a type to him of all those things, the memory
of which he had been strenuously trying to put away from him, the
beautiful, the worldly, the joyous. As he rose slowly to his feet, he
looked half despairingly around. It was a stern religion which they
loved, this handful of weatherbeaten farmers and their underlings.
Their womenkind were made as unlovely as possible, with flat hair,
sombre and ill-made clothes. Their surroundings were whitewashed and
text-hung walls, and in their hearts was the love for narrow ways. He
gave out his text slowly and with heavy heart. Then he paused, and,
glancing once more round the little building, met again the soft,
languid fire of those full dark eyes. This time he did not look away.
He saw a faint interest, a slight pity, a background of nonchalance.
His cheeks flushed, and the fire of revolt leaped through his veins. He
shut up the Bible and abandoned his carefully prepared discourse, in
which was a mention of hellfire and many gloomy warnings, which would
have brought joy to the heart of Gideon Strong, and to each of which he
would slowly and approvingly have nodded his head. He delivered
instead, with many pauses, but in picturesque and even vivid language, a
long and close account of the miracle with which his text was concerned.
In the midst of it there came from outside the tinkling of many bicycle
bells--the rest of the party had returned in search of their host and
his companion. The Earl looked up with alacrity. He was nicely rested