"You--you'll find the rectory about a quarter of a mile in front of you, just round the bend in the road. If--if you'll excuse me, I have a most important visit I must make." Miss Vesey's father slapped him heartily--too heartily!--upon the back, again after the fashion of the comedy fathers. "Don't put yourself out for us, my boy! Don't neglect your duties, as is too often the case with the young. Tell us where the bottles are, and we'll make ourselves snug till you come in." The curate did not tell them where the bottles were; in fact, there was only a solitary bottle of cod-liver oil in the house, and probably the speaker's thoughts did not incline that way; but they went on to the rectory alone. Miss Vesey waved her parasol, and kissed her glove to him so long as she was in sight. He stood watching them till they were round the bend in the road, then he re-entered the doctor's house. This time he passed through the back door, straight into the kitchen. "Lauk, sir!" cried the maid-of-all-work; "who'd a thought of seeing you?" The Rev. Alan addressed her in a fever of excitement. "Tell Miss Ellen I must speak to her at once." He went into the parlour, and the maid-of-all-work went upstairs. Presently she returned with a message. "If you please, sir, Miss Ellen's compliments, and she's got a headache." Mr Macleod was pacing up and down the room, very much in the manner of the carnivora about feeding time at the Zoo. "A headache!" He took his note-book from his pocket. Tearing out a page he scribbled on it these two or three strongly-worded lines. "I entreat you to see me, if you ever called yourself my friend. It is a matter of life or death; almost, I would venture to say, of heaven or hell.--A. M." The maid-of-all-work bore these winged words above. The result was presently visible in the form of the lady herself. She entered with the air of a martyr, conscious of her crown. "You are my priest. I have come." "It is not as a priest I have summoned you, Ellen, but as a friend." The use of the Christian name was perhaps unintentional, but the lady marked her sense of the familiarity at once. "Sir!" Her lip curled, possibly with scorn. His answer was sufficiently startling. "Ellen, I entreat you to be my wife." "Your wife, Mr Macleod! Are you mad?" "I am--nearly! I shall be quite if you don't accede to my request at once." "I think you are mad now. How dare you insult me! when from my bedroom window I just saw you kissing that creature in the street." "I kissed her!--She kissed me." "It's the same thing."