Turning his back on Mr. St. Maur with unwonted rudeness, he conducted Hero to a stall presided over by a pretty, overdressed little woman, who had been persuaded by Mr. Grimes in the confessional that she would thus atone for certain errors to which pretty, overdressed little women are prone. Prince Herbert’s autograph had been entrusted to her for sale, and by good luck it had not been disposed of when the two came up. “What is the price of this letter?” Miss Vanbrugh asked quickly. “One guinea,” the stallkeeper simpered. “It is from His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester to Lord Alistair Stuart,” she added in ignorance of who stood before her. “Let me buy it, and give it to you!” cried Alistair, guessing Hero’s design. She took up the letter. It was a short schoolboy’s note, and contained a misspelt word. “DEAR ALISTAIR: “I cannot meet you to-morrow, as the Crown Prince of Austria is coming, but I will go out fishing on Saturday if you like. Come over here at ten o’clock--mind, be punctual. “Yours affectionately, “HERBERT. “P.S.--Sorry to break my promise, but they made me. Mind, bring your fishing-rod.” Hero handed the letter to her companion. “I would rather you let me buy it, and give it back to you,” she said. She handed the money to the lady of the stall, who was looking considerably astonished. Alistair understood the delicate rebuke. His glance took in the contents of the friendly, boyish note afresh, and he felt ashamed that he had parted with it. “I am very grateful to you, Miss Vanbrugh, believe me,” he said earnestly, as he slipped the letter into his pocket. “I ought not to have let it go into strange hands. But I hope I needn’t count you as a stranger. You are often at Colonsay House, aren’t you?” “I have never met you there,” said Hero pointedly. And Alistair was silent. * * * * * The Miracle Play was a great success, though not, perhaps, in the way anticipated by Dr. Coles. The Vicar had understood that the text of the Ober-Ammergau performance was to furnish the basis of a version only slightly modified by Mr. Egerton Vane. But Mr. Vane, being deeply imbued with the spirit of Maeterlinck, had allowed his adaptation to become tinctured to an unforeseen extent by the vein of symbolism peculiar to the work of the Belgian master. The orthodox Christian interpretation being repugnant to his feelings as a Pagan, he had, moreover, boldly replaced it by something more congenial to his own sympathies. The result was somewhat as though a conscientious Buddhist should rewrite “Paradise Lost,” endeavouring to make it illustrate the doctrine of metempsychosis.