continued high, and showed no sign of abating. It was depressing weather,
and Mrs. Orton Beg sighed more than once unconsciously.

But presently the cathedral clock began to strike, and she raised her head
to listen. One, two, three, four, the round notes fell; then there was a
pause; and then the chime rolled out over the storm-stained city:

[Illustration: (musical notation); lyrics: He, watch-ing o-ver Is--ra--el,
slumbers not, nor sleeps.]

Mechanically Mrs. Orton Beg repeated the phrase with each note as it
floated forth, filling the silent spaces; and then she awoke with a start
to thought once more, and knew that she had been a long, long time alone.

She was going to ring, but at that moment a servant entered and announced:
"Mrs. and Miss Beale."

They were the wife and daughter of the Bishop of Morningquest, the one a
very pleasant, attractive elderly lady, the other a girl of seventeen,
like her mother, but with more character in her face.

"Ah, how glad I am to see you!" Mrs. Orton Beg exclaimed, trying to rise,
"and what a delicious breath of fresh air you have brought in with you!"

"My dear Olive, don't move," Mrs. Beale rejoined, preventing her. "We have
been nearly blown away walking this short distance. Just look at Edith's
hair."

"I feel quite tempest tossed," said Edith, getting up and going to a glass
before which she removed her hat, and let down her hair, which was the