"The English Church minister. His chapel is near Mrs Hamilton's house. He has not got the root of the matter in him at all. He's a good deal taken up by the gentry at the Towers; and he raises prize poultry,--queer-like occupation for a minister." "If it will give you any pleasure," said Mona, with rash catholicity, "I will go to church with you every Sunday morning." Rachel's rubicund face beamed. "You will find it very quiet, after the fashionable service you're used to," she said; "but you'll hear the true Word of God there." "That is saying much," said Mona rather drearily; "but I don't go to a fashionable church in London;" and a pang of genuine home-sickness shot through her heart, as she thought of the dear, barn-like old chapel in Bloomsbury, whither she had gone Sunday after Sunday in search of "beautiful thoughts." "You tactless brute," she said to herself as she set her candlestick on the dressing-table that evening, "if you have only come here to tread on that good soul's corns, the sooner you tramp back to London the better." CHAPTER XIII. THE CHAPEL. The next morning the sun rose into a cloudless blue sky, and Mona found herself looking forward with pleasure to the walk into Kirkstoun. The road lay along the coast, and was separated from the sea by a stretch of yellow corn-fields. The inland scenery was flat and tame, but, after the massive grandeur of Norway, Mona's eye rested with quiet satisfaction on the smiling acres, cut into squares, like a giant's chess-board, by scraggy hedges and lichen-grown dykes. They had gone about half-way, when a pleasant voice behind them said, "Good morning, Miss Simpson." "Oh, good morning, doctor! My dear, this is Dr Dudley." He lifted his hat and accommodated his long ramshackle stride to Rachel's podgy steps. "How goes the rheumatism?" he asked. "It's wonderful, doctor. Whenever I feel a twinge, I get the chemist to make me up some of those powders of yours, and they work like magic." "That's right. You will give me a testimonial, won't you?" "That I will, with all my heart. But you are surely forsaking Mr Ewing this morning? What will he say to that?" "Even so, Miss Simpson. Fortunately, Mr Ewing is not touchy on that score. Your Mr Stuart asked me with charming frankness to come and hear him, so I am taking the first opportunity of accepting his invitation." "I'm glad to hear it. You will hear a very different sermon to one of Mr Ewing's." He laughed. "Mr Ewing is not a Chrysostom," he said, "but he is a good fellow and a gentleman, and in that capacity I think he has a distinctly refining influence on his people." "No doubt, doctor; but don't you think it is better to have the water of life in an earthen vessel----?" "Ah, yes," he said, with sudden seriousness. "If you give us the water of life, we won't stop to criticise the bowl." "Well, you wait till you hear Mr Stuart."