In the pulpit he was a different creature altogether. No longer the timid, awkward curate, but, to all intents and purposes, a straightforward, honest man, unswerving in exhorting to the right, unshrinking in pointing out the wrong. There, his long, ungainly legs hidden, his face lighted up, as he warmed with his subject, he became decidedly handsome; even taken at his worst, he could never be called plain. He was much liked in his parish, a small country village some few miles distant from Brampton; smiles and kindly words greeting him whenever he passed by the cottages; and such deep courtsies! A clergyman can generally tell by the latter the kind of estimation in which he is held by his parishioners. If liked, a deep courtesy and friendly voice speaks to him. If otherwise, a slight reverence and scarcely a good morrow is vouchsafed. Friendly voices always greeted Mr. Hall, even the children ran to the doors to make a courtesy, and glance half slyly at his pleasant, good humoured face. Whether he had fallen in love with Anne or no, was not quite certain; if he had, she took the most sure way of curing him, by laughing at him, and turning him into ridicule; not from ill nature, but simply because she had nothing better to do, and found the time hung heavy on her hands. Not an idea had she that he was pained by it, or indeed perceived it; but there she was wrong; he did see it, and inwardly vowed each time it happened should be the last; yet somehow or other he would be sure soon again to find himself either next her at table, or by her side out walking, or told off as her partner in a round game; and so his vow was broken, and would have been had he made twenty such. Strange it was, that being a clever, well-read man, his powers of conversation were so limited, but as long as those about him talked, he did not appear to think it necessary to exert himself to amuse others, so he passed as a dull, stupid, slow man. Perhaps his silent, reserved habits had grown upon him imperceptibly, from living so much alone as he had done for the last five years, with only an elderly woman to look after his house, and act as housekeeper; and a boy to wait on him. The conversation of the two near him had sunk almost to a whisper, it was so low; but they were mistaken if they suspected he was a listener. He was not; his thoughts were with Anne, wondering at the time she took in taking off her hat, and expecting every moment to see the door open. What would he have said, had he known she was then sound asleep, with no thought for anyone in the whole world, least of all for him. Still his eyes kept wandering towards the door, and at length it did open, but it was Frances Strickland who came in and seated herself on a sofa just behind him. "You are doing nothing, Mr. Hall," said she presently, "so do come here, I want my skein of wool held." Mr. Hall did not like the dictatorial manner in which this was said; still, having no excuse to offer, he advanced.