That was a never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, and, oh, how very quickly to two of the inmates of the Mill House it slipped away! To Mavis and Mrs. Grey, the hours seemed to fly. They attended the services in the village church in the morning and evening, and the little girl, as she knelt between her mother and aunt at the latter service, felt that her heart must surely break, for it was aching so painfully. And when the Vicar ascended the pulpit to preach, she was glad that the light from the oil lamps with which the church was lit was so inferior, because she did not want any one to notice the misery which she was sure was depicted on her face. The Vicar, Mr. Moseley, was quite an old man, and Mavis had heard her uncle tell her mother at dinner-time that he had had a very troublous life, that his best years had been spent in hard work in the metropolis, and that he had been presented with the living of W— five years previously. In a corner of the yard outside the church, he had laid his wife quite lately. She had been his faithful helpmeet for more than forty years, and yet there was no sign of trouble on his face as Mavis saw it by the light of the wax candles in the pulpit, but rather was its expression one of contentment. In a voice which, without being loud, was deep and distinct, he gave out his text— "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." It was a sermon about loneliness. The words of his text, the preacher reminded his congregation, were the words with which Jesus had consoled His disciples after He had told them He was going to leave them. He had promised them the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, even the Spirit of truth, to abide with them for ever. Jesus had not left the world comfortless, He had left His peace, not such peace as the world gives, it was something higher, mightier than that, something all-satisfying, for its root was faith in God. They were not to be troubled, neither were they to be afraid. Mavis listened with rapt attention as the Vicar proceeded in such simple language that she found no difficulty in following him. It seemed to her that he was preaching to her alone, for all he said fitted in with her mood. Perhaps God had told him what to say, she reflected; yes, she was sure He had. She slipped her hand into her mother's and kept it there, and the sigh she gave at the conclusion of the sermon was one of contentment. Then the Vicar gave out the number of a hymn, which was a favourite of hers, and she joined in singing it heartily. "'Saviour, again to Thy dear Name we raise With one accord our parting hymn of praise; We stand to bless Thee ere our worship cease; Then, lowly kneeling, wait Thy word of peace.'"