"You mentioned Elsmere just now," said Barron, in a moment's pause, and with apparent irrelevance. "Did you know that his widow is now staying within a mile of this place? Some people called Flaxman have taken Maudeley End, and Mrs. Flaxman is a sister of Mrs. Elsmere. Mrs. Elsmere and her daughter are going to settle for the summer in the cottage near Forked Pond. Mrs. Elsmere seems to have been ill for the first time in her life, and has had to give up some of her work." "Mrs. Elsmere!" said Meynell, raising his eyebrows. "I saw her once twenty years ago at the New Brotherhood, and have never forgotten the vision of her face. She must be almost an old woman." "Miss Puttenham says she is quite beautiful still, in a wonderful, severe way. I think she never shared Elsmere's opinions?" "Never." The two fell silent, both minds occupied with the same story and the same secret comparisons. Robert Elsmere, the Rector of Murewell, in Surrey, had made a scandal in the Church, when Meynell was still a lad, by throwing up his orders under the pressure of New Testament criticism, and founding a religious brotherhood among London workingmen for the promotion of a simple and commemorative form of Christianity. Elsmere, a man of delicate physique, had died prematurely, worn out by the struggle to find new foothold for himself and others; but something in his personality, and in the nature of his effort--some brilliant, tender note--had kept his memory alive in many hearts. There were many now, however, who thrilled to it, who could never speak of him without emotion, who yet felt very little positive agreement with him. What he had done or tried to do made a kind of landmark in the past; but in the course of time it had begun to seem irrelevant to the present. "To-day--would he have thrown up?--or would he have held on?" Meynell presently said, in a tone of reverie, amid the cloud of smoke that enveloped him. Then, in another voice, "What do you hear of the daughter? I remember her as a little reddish-haired thing at her mother's side." "Miss Puttenham has taken a great fancy to her. Hester Fox-Wilton told me she had seen her there. She liked her." "H'm!" said the Rector. "Well, if she pleased Hester--critical little minx!" "You may be sure she'll please _me_!" said Barron suddenly, flushing deeply. The Rector looked up, startled. "I say?" Barron cleared his throat. "I'd better tell you at once, Rector. I got Hester's leave yesterday to tell you, when an opportunity occurred--you know how fond she is of you? Well, I'm in love with her--head over ears in love with her--I believe I have been since she was a little girl in the schoolroom. And yesterday--she said--she'd marry me some day." The young voice betrayed a natural tremor. Meanwhile, a strange look--a close observer would have called it a look of consternation--had rushed into Meynell's face. He stared at Barron, made one or two attempts to speak, and, a last, said abruptly: