coverings to please the eyes of the young ladies of their species, and
that they noted the gradual metamorphosis of one animal into another.
For, if you tell me that this illustrious romance-writer is but a
cautious man of science, and that we must accept his inventions
according to the sober laws of evidence and fact, there is not the
most incredible ghost story which does not better satisfy the common
sense of a sceptic. However, if you have no such books, lend me the
most unphilosophical you possess,--on magic, for instance,--the
philosopher's stone"--

"I have some of them," said the vicar, laughing; "you shall choose for
yourself."

"If you are going homeward, let me accompany you part of the way: I
don't yet know where the church and the vicarage are, and I ought to
know before I come in the evening."

Kenelm and the vicar walked side by side, very sociably, across the
bridge and on the side of the rivulet on which stood Mrs. Cameron's
cottage. As they skirted the garden pale at the rear of the cottage,
Kenelm suddenly stopped in the middle of some sentence which had
interested Mr. Emlyn, and as suddenly arrested his steps on the turf
that bordered the lane. A little before him stood an old peasant
woman, with whom Lily, on the opposite side of the garden pale, was
conversing. Mr. Emlyn did not at first see what Kenelm saw; turning
round rather to gaze on his companion, surprised by his abrupt halt
and silence. The girl put a small basket into the old woman's hand,
who then dropped a low curtsy, and uttered low a "God bless you." Low
though it was, Kenelm overheard it, and said abstractedly to Mr.
Emlyn, "Is there a greater link between this life and the next than