"It would make our poor darling miserable. She would be sure to know. As it is, she believes her husband to be one of the best of men. Am I, her father, to be the one who destroys that faith? Hush, here is some one coming!" For there was a quick, heavy step upon the gravel walk, and Christie Bayle appeared. "I thought I should find you," he said, shaking hands warmly. "Well, doctor, how's the garden? Why, Mrs Luttrell, what black currants! There! you may call me exacting, but tithe, ma'am, tithe--I put in my claim at once for two pots of black currant jam. Those you gave me last year were invaluable." Mrs Luttrell held his hand still, and laughed gently. "Little bits of flattery for a very foolish old woman, my dear." "Flattery! when I had such sore throats I could hardly speak, and yet had to preach! Not much flattery, eh, doctor?" "Flattery! No, no," said the doctor, dreamily. He glanced at Mrs Luttrell, then at Bayle, who went on chatting pleasantly about the garden, and then checked him suddenly. "No one can hear us, Bayle. We want to talk to you--my wife and I." "Certainly," said Bayle; and his tone and manner changed. "Is it anything I can do for you?" "Wait a moment--let me think," said the doctor sadly. "Here, let's go and sit down under the yew hedge." Bayle drew Mrs Luttrell's hand through his arm, and patted it gently, as she looked up tenderly in his face, a tenderness mingled with pride, as if she had part and parcel in the sturdy, manly Englishman who led her to the pleasant old rustic seat in a nook of the great, green, closely-clipped wall, with its glorious prospect away over the fair country side. "I do love this old spot!" said Bayle, enthusiastically, for a glance at the doctor showed that he was nervous and hesitating, and he thought it well to give him time. "Mrs Luttrell, it is one of my sins that I cannot master envy. I always long for this old place and garden." "Bayle!" cried the doctor, laying his hand upon the curate's knee, and with his former hesitancy chased away by an eager look, "are you in earnest?" "In earnest, my dear sir? What about?" "About--about the old place--the garden." "Earnest!--yes. But I am going to fight it down," cried Bayle, laughing. "Don't laugh, man. I am serious--things are serious with me." "I was afraid so; but I dared not ask you. Come, come, Mrs Luttrell," he continued gently, "don't take it to heart. Troubles come to us all, and when they do there is their pleasant side, for then we learn the value of our friends, and I hope I am one." "Friend, my dear!" said Mrs Luttrell, weeping gently, "I'm sure you have always seemed to me like a soil. Do: pray do, Joseph, tell him all." "Be patient, wife, and I will--all that I can." The doctor paused and cleared his throat, while Mrs Luttrell sat with her hand in the curate's. "You have set me thinking," said the doctor at last; "and what you said is like a ray of sunshine in my trouble."