“‘Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season, or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons?’” So it went on for a few more verses, till just as the instrument was saying, “‘Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts, or who hath given understanding to the heart?’” the rude door in the brick partition opened, admitting a rush of wind and—Stephen Layard. The little man sidled up nervously to where Stella was sitting on a camp-stool by the altar. “How do you do?” said Stella, holding out her hand, and looking surprised. “How do you do, Miss Fregelius? What—what are you doing in this dreadfully cold place on such a bitter day?” Before she could answer the voice of Morris, anxious and irritated, for as the next verse did not follow he concluded that something had gone wrong with the apparatus, rang through the church asking: “‘Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts, or who hath given understanding to the heart?’” “Good gracious,” said Mr. Layard. “I had no idea that Monk was here; I left him at the Abbey. Where is he?” “At the Abbey,” answered Stella, as for the second time the voice of Morris rolled out the question from the Book. “I don’t understand,” said Stephen, beginning to look frightened; “has it anything to do with his electrical experiments?” Stella nodded. Then, addressing the instrument, said: “Please stop reading for a while. Mr. Layard is calling here.” “Confound him,” came the swift answer. “Let me know when he is gone. He said he was going home,” whereon Stella switched off before worse things happened. Mr. Layard, who had heard these words, began a confused explanation till Stella broke in. “Please don’t apologise. You changed your mind, and we all do that; but I am afraid this is a cold place to come to.” “You are right there. Why on earth do you sit here so long?” “To work, Mr. Layard.” “Why should you work? I thought women hated it, and above all, why for Monk? Does he pay you?” “I work because I like work, and shall go on working till I die, and afterwards I hope; also, these experiments interest me very much. Mr. Monk does not pay me. I have never asked him to do so. Indeed, it is I who am in his debt for all the kindness he has shown to my father and myself. To any little assistance that I can give him he is welcome.” “I see,” said Mr. Layard; “but I should have thought that was Mary Porson’s job. You know he is engaged to her, don’t you?” “Yes, but Miss Porson is not here; and if she were, perhaps she would not care for this particular work.” Then came a pause, which, not knowing what this awkward silence might breed, Stella broke. “I suppose you saw my father,” she said; “how did you find him looking?” “Oh! better, I thought; but that leg of his still seems very bad.” Then, with a gasp and a great effort, he went on: “I have been speaking to him about you.” “Indeed,” said Stella, looking at him with wondering eyes.