elements were a little too bare and simple for one so used to the rich
effects of the Old World, Mr. Arbuton might have been touched by the
vigil which this poor chapel was still keeping after three hundred years
in the heart of that gloomy place. While he stood at least tolerating
its appeal, he heard voices of people talking in the obscurity near the
church door, which they seemed to have been vainly trying for entrance.

"Pity we can't see the inside, isn't it?"

"Yes; but I am so glad to see any of it. Just think of its having been
built in the seventeenth century!"

"Uncle Jack would enjoy it, wouldn't he?"

"O yes, poor Uncle Jack! I feel somehow as if I were cheating him out of
it. He ought to be here in my place. But I _do_ like it; and, Dick, I
don't know what I can ever say or do to you and Fanny for bringing me."

"Well, Kitty, postpone the subject till you can think of the right
thing. We're in no hurry."

Mr. Arbuton heard a shaking of the door, as of a final attempt upon it,
before retreat, and then the voices faded into inarticulate sounds in
the darkness. They were the voices, he easily recognized, of the young
lady who had taken his arm, and of that kinsman of hers, as she seemed
to be. He blamed himself for having not only overheard them, but for
desiring to hear more of their talk, and he resolved to follow them back
to the boat at a discreet distance. But they loitered so at every point,
or he unwittingly made such haste, that he had overtaken them as they
entered the lane between the outlying cottages, and he could not help