a spring; somebody was rapping at the open door. A young woman, in
white clothes, with roses in her hat, stood there--refreshing as a cool
breeze, he thought; with that, as if the thought, as if she, perhaps,
had brought it, all at once there was a breeze; a heavenly, light touch
on his forehead, a glorious, chilled current rushing about him.

"Thank Heaven!" he brought out involuntarily, and the girl, standing,
facing him, looked surprised and, hesitating, stared at him. By that
his dignity was on top.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked gravely. The girl flushed.

"No," she said, and stopped. He waited. "I didn't expect--" she
began, and then he saw that she was very nervous. "I didn't
expect--you."

He understood now. "You expected to find the rector. I'm sorry. He
went off to-day for his vacation. I'm left in his place. Can I help
you in any way?"

The girl stood uncertain, nervous, and said nothing. And looked at
him, frightened, not knowing what to do. Then: "I wanted to see
him--and now--it's you!" she stammered, and the man felt contrite that
it was indubitably just himself. Contrite, then amused. But his look
was steadily serious.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "If I would possibly do, I should be glad."

The girl burst into tears. That was bad. She dropped into a chair and
sobbed uncontrollably, and he stood before her, and waited, and was