Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. Herb of Grace By ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY Author of "Mollie's Prince," "No Friend Like a Sister," "Rue With a Difference," etc. A. L. HURT COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1901 BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY CONTENTS I INTRODUCES A LOVER OF THE PICTURESQUE II FALLEN AMONG THIEVES III A PAGE OF ANCIENT HISTORY IV ANNA V MRS. HERRICK OBJECTS TO BOHEMIA VI YEA-VERILY AND BABS VII MORE ANCIENT HISTORY WITH VERITY VIII THE RECORD OF AN IMPOTENT GENIUS IX THE WOOD HOUSE X WHAT THE FERN-OWL HEARD XI "A LITTLE EGOTISTICAL, PERHAPS" XII MR. CARLYON'S TEA-PARTY XIII THE CROW'S NEST XIV "YOU DO SAY SUCH ODD THINGS" XV "BETTY IS A TRUMP!" XVI "IT REALLY IS A GOOD IDEA, DIE" XVII "ADIEU--Au REVOIR" XVIII "YES, SHE GAVE HIM UP" XIX "A TOUCH OF THE TARTAR" XX A WHITE SUN-BONNET XXI "IF I WERE ONLY LIKE YOU" XXII "TWO MAIDEN LADIES OF UNCERTAIN AGE" XXIII SAINT ELIZABETH! XXIV DOWN BY THE POOL XXV "IT HAS GONE VERY DEEP" XXVI "I SEE LIGHT NOW" XXVII HUGH ROSSITER SPINS HIS YARN XXVIII "THE LADY CALLING HERSELF MISS JACOBI" XXIX "SHE IS A WICKED WOMAN" XXX IN KENSINGTON GARDENS XXXI PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT XXXII STORM AND STRESS XXXIII "HE WILL COME RIGHT" XXXIV TRAVELLING THROUGH SAHARA XXXV VIA DOLOROSA XXXVI "I HAVE BEEN A COWARD" XXXVII THE PARTING OF THE WAYS XXXVIII TANGLED THREADS XXXIX THE NEW CURATE-IN-CHARGE XL "HE IS MY RIVAL STILL" XLI "YOU CAN BE DINAH'S FRIEND" XLII THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME XLIII A MAY AFTERNOON XLIV "MY DEAREST REST" HERB OF GRACE CHAPTER I INTRODUCES A LOVER OF THE PICTURESQUE Our adventures hover round us like bees round the hive when preparing to swarm.--MAETERLINCK. From boyhood Malcolm Herrick had been a lover of the picturesque. In secret he prided himself on possessing the artistic faculty, and yet, except in the nursery, he had never drawn a line, or later on spoilt canvas and daubed himself in oils under the idea that he was an embryo Millais or Turner. But nevertheless he had the seeing eye, and could find beauty where more prosaic people could only see barrenness: a stubble field newly turned up by the plough moved him to admiration, while a Surrey lane, with a gate swinging back on its hinges, and a bowed old man carrying faggots, in the smoky light of an October evening, gave him a feeling akin to ecstasy. More than one of his school-fellows remembered how, even in the cricket field, he would stand as though transfixed, looking at the storm clouds, with their steely edges, coming up behind the copse, but the palms of his hands were outstretched and he never failed to catch the ball.