But Paul would not discuss the matter. Adelina was quick enough to see that he was keen to be alone. She longed to express sympathy, she longed more to offer aid, but, remembering the look upon her father’s face as he stood at the door a few minutes ago, determined to say nothing. “Good-bye just now, Paul,” she said, offering her hand. “When do you go?” “I hardly know,” replied Paul, taking her hand in his, his mind quite evidently far away. Her warm firm grip recalled him. “Good-bye, Adelina,” he said. “Thank you—for—for coming with me.” What he really meant was for the sympathy expressed in her warm hand grip. “You know, Paul,” said the girl, with a sudden shyness, “I am awfully sorry for you, for everything—you know.” “Yes, I know, Adelina,” he said, a strange feeling of desolation falling upon him. “Again, thank you. Good-bye.” Again he took her hand. Adelina let her eyes rest steadily upon his for a moment or two, withdrew her hand and, wheeling her horse, set off down the road at a gallop, while Paul rode thoughtfully up the drive, realising for the first time in his life how utterly alone he was in the world. As he drew near the bungalow he straightened himself in the saddle. “Well, she is gone,” he said. “And anyway I have my work to do. And God helping me I will do it.” But he was not thinking of the girl who was galloping down the road. CHAPTER XXII Reverend John Wesley Robinson had just returned from his morning service in the First Methodist Church, pleasantly tired and stimulated by the exercise of his sacred office. He was a young man of vigorous, indeed athletic, physical frame, of excellent education, and was supposed to be somewhat radical in his theological position; a popular preacher and, in vulgar parlance, “a good mixer”; greatly liked by his congregation too he was, and by his wife adored. To the companions of his boyhood days and to his college mates he was known as “Wes” Robinson, but his wife, being of High Anglican extraction and accepting his denominational relations with considerable reluctance, abjured the “Wesley” in his name and called him Jack. He was late for lunch and therefore was received at the door with vigorous chiding. “You are terribly late, Jack. I pity your people this morning. Why did you preach such a long sermon? What in all the world keeps you till this hour?” “Am I late? I suppose I am. I apologise. And I shall be ready for lunch in three minutes. I have had an exciting experience.” “Well, hurry then,” she cried after him as he ran upstairs. Settled down for lunch and with the preliminaries well on the way, the minister’s wife proceeded to question her husband as to his exciting experience. “Now tell me all about it,” she said, “and begin at the beginning. Did you have a good congregation?” “A great congregation,” replied her husband. “And splendid singing.”