And then all at once, his face, so virile yet so delicate, so young and yet so sad, reminded me of one I had seen in an old picture--the face of an angel watching beside the dead Christ; and I cried-- "But are you certain He has made no sign; not hundreds of years ago, but in your own lifetime? not to saint or apostle, but to you, yourself? Has nothing which has happened to you, nothing you have ever seen or read or heard, tempted you to hope in something better?" "Yes," he said deliberately; "I have had my weak moments. My conviction has wavered, not before religious teaching of any kind, however, nor before Nature, in which some people seem to find such promise; but I have met one or two women, and one man--all of them unknown, unremarkable people--whom the world never heard of, nor is likely to hear of, living uneventful obscure lives in out-of-the-way corners. For instance, there is a lady in this very neighbourhood, a relation of Sir George Atherley, I believe, Mrs. de No--" "Her ladyship would like to see you in the drawing-room, sir," said Castleman, suddenly coming in. The doctor bowed to me and immediately left the room. CHAPTER III MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL "No, they have not seen any more ghosts, sir," replied Castleman scornfully next day, "and never need have seen any. It is all along of this tea-drinking. We did not have this bother when the women took their beer regular. These teetotallers have done a lot of harm. They ought to be put down by Act of Parliament." And the kitchen-maid was better. Mrs. Mallet, indeed, assured Lady Atherley that Hann was not long for this world, having turned just the same colour as the late Mr. Mallet did on the eve of his death; but fortunately the patient herself, as well as the doctor, took a more hopeful view of the case. "I can see Mrs. Mallet is a horrible old croaker," said Lady Atherley. "Let her croak," said Atherley, "so long as she cooks as she did last night. That curry would have got her absolution for anything if your uncle had been here." "That reminds me, George, the ceiling of the spare room is not mended yet." "Why, I thought you sent to Whitford for a plasterer yesterday?" "Yes, and he came; but Mrs. Mallet has some extraordinary story about his falling into his bucket and spoiling his Sunday coat, and going home at once to change it. I can't make it out, but nothing is done to the ceiling." "I make it out," said Atherley; "I make out that he was a little the worse for drink. Have we not a plasterer in the village?" "I think there is one. I fancy the Jacksons did not wish us to employ him, because he is a dissenter; but after all, giving him work is not the same as giving him presents." "No, indeed; nor do I see why, because he is a dissenter, I, who am only an infidel, am to put up with a hole in my ceiling." "Only, I don't know what his name is." "His name is Smart. Everybody in our village is called Smart--most inappropriately too."