"It is not my experience. But if a thing is kept from me, I am so sure that it is 'not' the right thing for me to have. We look at the question from different standpoints." "You don't understand; you don't know what it really is," protested Mrs. Mackenzie, plaintive, because she felt herself in the wrong. "To have one's deposit getting lower and lower in the bank, and to know that nothing more is coming in for ever so long, and to see all the family needs, when there is no money to get what is wanted, and to have one's husband falling ill for want of a little holiday, and no holiday possible—at least, to know one can't rightly afford it;—oh, I dare say I ought to be sure that everything is always right, and it is very easy for people to preach, but—" "It seems to me a simple opportunity for exercising a little trust—just to show that one knows 'Him!'" Mrs. Landor spoke in a curious dreamy tone, almost as if addressing the words to herself. "People always talk such a lot about trusting. And it is generally those who don't need to trust, because they have got everything they want." "Is that the case, I wonder, with any human being? Money anxieties are not by any means the only ones in the world. And few of us escape even them sooner or later, in one form or another." Mrs. Landor stood up, as if wishing to end the discussion. "Would you ask your husband to come round to the Rectory by-and-by if he is able. I should be glad of a few words with him. And, Mrs. Mackenzie, if I may make the suggestion, don't you think a more courageous spirit would be a happier one? It is such a help to feel absolute certainty in the Divine love which watches over us . . . I am not speaking out of ignorance of what anxiety means . . . But another day you shall hear more. We have used all the time that I can spare just now." Mrs. Mackenzie had a dismayed sense of having stopped some interesting communication, and curiosity vied with something like fear. "Oh, do wait!" she begged, with about as much result as if she had endeavoured to check the inflow of the tide. Mrs. Landor smiled, bade a kind farewell, and was gone. "What does she mean?" inquired Mrs. Mackenzie of herself, no one else being present. "Is Mr. Landor ill? He didn't look so on Sunday. Why on earth couldn't she explain? I wish people would not be so puzzling. There comes Colin—what a pace. I have not seen him walk so fast for ever so long. He will meet Mrs. Landor; oh no, she has turned the other way, and doesn't see him. I do detest mysteries; and of course Colin will know nothing." But Colin came in with an absorbed face. "I see Mrs. Landor has been here. Has she told you?" "No! Told me what? She said she had not time to wait any longer. And she wants to see you presently. What is it all about?" "I'll go, of course. Did she say when?" "I don't think so. I don't know. Colin, what is wrong? Has anything happened?" "Yes—"