"I was much afraid I shouldn't be able to come to-night," he said presently. "Old Mrs. Dixon, over at Forest Farm, is very ill, and I've been with her all the afternoon." "Then you didn't go to Lady Medland's garden-party?" "No. I wanted to go very much, but was unable. I fear poor old Mrs. Dixon may not last the night. She asked after Miss Sonia, and expressed a great wish to see her. You have no idea how popular your daughter is among the poor of Middleton, Mr. Poland." "Sonia returns from London to-morrow afternoon," her father said. "She shall go over and see Mrs. Dixon." "If the old lady is still here," said the rector. "I fear her life is fast ebbing, but it is reassuring to know she has made peace with her Maker, and will pass happily away into the unknown beyond." His host was silent. The bent old woman, the wife of a farm-labourer, had made repentance. If there was repentance for her, was there not repentance for him? He held his breath at the thought. Little did Shuttleworth dream that the merry, easy-going man who sat before him was doomed--a man whose tortured soul was crying aloud for help and guidance; a man with a dread and terrible secret upon his conscience; a man threatened by an exposure which he could never live to face. Poland allowed his visitor to chatter on--to gossip about the work in his parish. He was reviewing his present position. He desired some one in whom he could confide; some one of whom he might seek advice and counsel. Could he expose his real self in all his naked shame; dare he speak in confidence to Edmund Shuttleworth? Dare he reveal the ghastly truth, and place the seal of the confessional upon his lips? Twilight deepened into night, and the crescent moon rose slowly. Yet the two men still sat smoking and chatting, Shuttleworth somewhat surprised to notice how unusually preoccupied his host appeared. At last, when the night wind blew chill, they rose and passed into the study, where Poland closed the French windows, and then, with sudden resolve and a word of apology to his visitor, he crossed the room and turned the key in the lock, saying in a hard, strained tone-- "Shuttleworth, I--I want to speak to you in--in strictest confidence--to ask your advice. Yet--yet it is upon such a serious matter that I hesitate--fearing----" "Fearing what?" asked the rector, somewhat surprised at his tone. "Because, in order to speak, I must reveal to you a truth--a shameful truth concerning myself. May I rely upon your secrecy?" "Any fact you may reveal to me I shall regard as sacred. That is my duty as a minister of religion, Poland," was the other's quiet reply. "You swear to say nothing?" cried his host eagerly, standing before him. "Yes. I swear to regard your confidence," replied his visitor.