The Lord had not been quite so generous with the Rev. Mr. Harding, apparently. Mr. Harding was about thirty years of age, tall and finely-built, with a slight, fair moustache, and a rather girlish complexion. He was evidently of a sentimental inclination, very sensitive, and a lovable person; but the sense of humor Thyrsis judged was underdeveloped. He was inclined towards social-reform, and had a club for working-boys in his town, of which he was very proud; he asked Thyrsis to come and give a literary talk to these boys, and Thyrsis replied that his views of things were hardly orthodox. When the clergyman asked for elucidation, Thyrsis added, with a smile, “I don’t believe that Jonah ever swallowed the whale”. Whereupon Mr. Harding proceeded with all gravity to correct his misapprehension of this legend. The fires of friendship, thus suddenly lighted between the two girls, continued to burn. Delia Gordon came nearly every day to see Corydon, and once or twice Corydon went down to the town and had lunch with her. They told each other all the innermost secrets of their hearts, and in the evening Corydon would retail these to Thyrsis, who was thus put in the way to acquire that knowledge of human nature so essential to a novelist. Delia had never been in love, it seemed--her only passion was for savage tribes along the Congo; but Mr. Harding had been involved in a heart-tragedy some time ago, and was supposed to be still inconsolable. Incredible as it might seem, he was apparently not in love with Delia. Also, needless to say, the pair did not fail to thresh out problems of theology. Delia made in due course the dreadful discovery of the sensuous temperament; and also she probed to the depths the frightful ocean of unorthodoxy that was hid beneath the placid surface of Corydon. But strange to say, this did not repel her, nor make any difference in their friendship. Thyrsis took that for the sign of a liberal attitude, but Corydon corrected him with a shrewd observation--“She’s so sure of her own truth she can’t believe in the reality of any other. She _knows_ I’ll come to Jesus with her some day!” It was a wonderful thing to Thyrsis to see his wife’s happiness just then; she was like a flower which has been wilting, and suddenly receives a generous shower of rain. It was just what he had prayed for; having seen all along that her wretchedness was owing to her being shut up alone with him. So now he did his best to repress his own opinions, and to let the two friends work out their problem undisturbed. “Oh, Thyrsis,” Corydon exclaimed to him, one night, “if I could only have her with me, I’d be happy always!” “Then why don’t you get her to stay with you?” asked Thyrsis, quickly. “Ah, but she wouldn’t think of it,” said Corydon. “She doesn’t really care about anything in the world but her Congo savages!” “We might try,” said he. “When does she complete her course?” “Not until the end of the year.”