door--rarely shut at Knockholt Park, save in the rigorous depths of winter--and he came to the conclusion, as he thought of the manifest luxury and elegance in whose enjoyment Helen had been reared, and of the probable fortune which she would possess, that he had better postpone answering it until he should have become a bishop. Helen, who did not try to analyze her own perturbations, and was wholly unconscious of Cuthbert's, received him with her accustomed gentle sweetness, but with a sedate and mournful gravity adapted to the circumstances. When the ladies had brought their lengthy and minute narrative to a close--a narrative which embraced only the history of twenty-four hours, for Cuthbert was a regular and attentive visitor--he inquired about Colonel Alsager. Had he been informed? had he been sent for? had he come? "Yes, to all your questions, Mr. Farleigh. Colonel Alsager is now in the house, in Sir Peregrine's room; but as yet we have not seen him." The sensitive and expressive face of the curate was clouded by a look of pain and regret. He and Colonel Alsager had never met; but the young clergyman knew Sir Peregrine better, perhaps, than any other person knew him, and respected him deeply. He could not regard Laurence's conduct so lightly, he could not acquit him as easily, as others did. He blamed him heavily, as he sat and listened to the women's talk; and with the blame keen compassion mingled; for he knew, with the mysterious insight of a sympathetic nature, all that he must suffer in realizing that regret must be in vain, must be wasted now, must be _too late_.