"I am no formally appointed messenger, yet, now that you mention the brethren with whom I am associated, I may say that, although we have had no consultation, I know every one of them recognises the fact that you are troubled and out of health. Every one of them would be pleased to see you take a brief holiday. You have served us faithfully so far,--no formal complaint is made as yet. On the contrary, you have our deepest sympathy, and I can assure you in all sincerity that, in times when you may feel yourself alone, there are interested hearts watching your struggles and praying for your happy issue out of them." The young man put out his hand and gripped Justin's. "You understand?" "I understand," said Justin. "May God help you, my dear brother. I am going to Boston to-night. Will you go with me?" Mr. Huntington suddenly turned from him and hid his face against the rows of musty books on the wall. "It was such a good man that used to tenant this room," said Justin, softly. "I can imagine him grieving with you in your perplexities. You will give me the pleasure of your company to-night?" "I will," said his companion, in a choked voice. "You are going purposely to take me-- How can I thank you?" and he groped blindly for the friendly palm that he knew was once more outstretched toward him. Justin went quietly down-stairs and told the agitated Mrs. Negus that the clergyman was going on a short trip to Boston with him, then, returning to his own home, he broke the news to Derrice. "What--really going?" she said, growing quite pale and cold. "Yes, darling; why are you so disturbed? It is what you wished. I am sorry that it is not expedient to take you." "Going away," she reiterated; "that means not coming back." "My dear girl, what are you thinking about?" "Oh, not you, not you,--but that poor girl, what will she do? If he has reached the point of going away, she will see that it means a parting for ever. Suppose I were in her place, Justin, and you in Mr. Huntington's." "So this suffering is vicarious; well, you must try to comfort her, and let me suggest that it be not done openly, but in some of the subtle, sweet ways known to your sex. And Mrs. Negus invites you to stay with her while I am gone." Derrice still remained pale and cold in spite of all her husband could say to comfort her. With a passionate introspection, she comprehended the depths of suffering awaiting the unhappy Chelda. CHAPTER XIX. THE CHURCH OF THE UNITED BRETHREN LOSES ITS PASTOR. Up at French Cross Miss Gastonguay was playing dominoes with Aurelia Sinclair, who could never be induced to engage in a game of cards. Chelda sat at a little distance, her hands folded in her lap, a far-away look in her eyes. Presently Miss Gastonguay good-humouredly addressed her. "You appear so still, child, that I guess you must be restless. Did you expect any one this evening?" "No, aunt."