set her face, down into the muddy torrent of the world that went roaring down to the abyss--and who was responsible? There was Dame Avice, the Sacristan, with her businesslike movements going about the garden, gathering flowers for the altar, with her queer pursed lips as she arranged them in her hands with her head a little on one side; how annoying she used to be sometimes; but how good and tender at heart--God rest her soul! And there was Mr. Wickham, the old priest who had been their chaplain for so many years, and who lived in the village parsonage, waited upon by Tom Downe, that served at the altar too--he who had got the horses ready when the nuns had to go at last on that far-off May morning, and had stood there, holding the bridles and trying to hide his wet face behind the horses; where was Tom now? And Mr. Wickham too--he had gone to France with some of the nuns; but he had never settled down there--he couldn't bear the French ways--and besides he had left his heart behind him buried in the little Sussex priory among the meadows. And so the old lady sat, musing; while the light and shadow of reminiscence moved across her face; and her lips quivered or her eyes wrinkled up with humour, at the thought of all those old folks with their faces and their movements and their ways of doing and speaking. Ah! well, please God, some day her dream would really come true; and they shall all be gathered again from France and England with their broken hearts mended and their tears wiped away, and Mr. Wickham himself shall minister to them and make them sermons, and Tom Downe too shall be there to minister to him--all in one of the many mansions of which the Saviour spoke. And so she heard nothing of the talk of the others; though her sister looked at her tenderly once or twice; and Mary Corbet chattered and twitched her buckles in the sun, and Anthony sat embarrassed in the midst of Paradise; and she knew nothing of where she was nor of what was happening round her, until Mary Corbet said that it was time for the horses to be round, and that she must go and get ready and not keep Mr. James and Mr. Anthony waiting. Then, as she and Anthony went towards the house, the old lady looked up from the braying stag and found herself alone with her sister. Mistress Margaret waited until the other two disappeared up the steps, and then spoke. "I have told her all, sister," she said, "she can be trusted." Lady Maxwell nodded gently. "She has a good heart," went on the other, "and our Lord no doubt will find some work for her to do at Court." There was silence again; broken by the gentle little sound of the silk being drawn through the stuff. "You know best, Margaret," said Lady Maxwell.