"He is a dissenter," said Marion, beginning to listen. "He actually wanted to build a chapel in Thorpe, and had almost got that stupid old Maddox to let him have the field by the church. Luckily Anthony found it out, and stopped it. I dare say he hates him for it." "Poor fellow!" said Frank kindly, while Marion stared at him. "One can soon see he is a dissenter. There is nothing very original in his opinions, either, so far as they go: he has got hold of the usual distortion of facts. But it was the intensity of the man's convictions which impressed me. In these days it is something even to be a fanatic." "Every one says he is a most mischievous agitator," persisted Marion, eagerly. "We are quite unhappy because our maid--Faith Stokes--has allowed herself to be engaged to him. Her father is gardener at the Red House. All her family dislike it." "She will stick to him," asserted Captain Orde. "He is the very man to get a hold over a woman. Unless he himself gives her up. If I don't mistake him, he would neither let his own happiness nor another person's stand in the way of what he imagined to be his work,--perhaps not even his own conscience." "How could you talk to him?" Marion said reproachfully. "He must be very unsafe." "Unsafe? Unsafe as a powder-train. But I don't know that it is altogether his fault. He has been cramped and goaded and sat upon, and no one has taken the trouble to do anything but run counter to his opinions." "Because they are so wrong." "Not altogether wrong. They may get mixed up with no end of mistakes, but there are some which seem to me a little beyond our improving. He believes he may help some poor men and women up towards God," said Captain Orde, speaking with tender reverence. "There is that, at all events." Winifred, who had been listening silently, turned round quickly and clasped her hands. "O yes, we cannot judge him," she said earnestly, "when we have never tried to do anything for him! I am so glad you have told us, Frank." All her feelings had been stirred and touched somehow that morning. We cannot explain how it is that very often this is so when there seems no particular reason for it, it may be a chance word that awakens a chain of ideas, or reaches springs which are sealed at other times when we take more trouble to get at them. The happy sunshine about her, the thoughts which had grown into life, quickened Winifreds sympathies into generous glow. Frank was looking at her, at the flush on her cheek, the eager kindness of her eyes, with a strange thrill in his heart that his words should have so moved her. He could have very easily forgotten David Stephens, if Marion had not said coldly,-- "Anthony will not be much obliged to you, Winifred."