One afternoon, towards the end of the first week in August, Vennie persuaded Mr. Taxater to accompany her on a long walk. They made their way through the wood which separates the fields around Nevilton Mount from the fields around Leo’s Hill. Issuing from this wood, along the path followed by every visitor to the hill who wishes to avoid its steeper slopes, they strolled leisurely between the patches of high bracken-fern and looked down upon the little church of Athelston. Athelston was a long, rambling village, encircling the northern end of the Leonian promontory and offering shelter, in many small cottages all heavily built of the same material, to those of the workmen in the quarries who were not domiciled in Nevilton. “It would be rather nice,” said Vennie to the theologian, “if it wouldn’t spoil our walk, to go and look at that carving in the porch, down there. They say it has been cleaned lately, and the figures show up more clearly.” The papal champion gravely surveyed the outline of the little cruciform church, as it shimmered, warm and mellow, in the misty sunshine at their feet. “Yes, I know,” he remarked. “I met our friend Andersen there the other day. He told me he had been doing the work quite alone. He said it was one of the most interesting things he had ever done. By the way, I am confident that that rumour we heard, of his getting unsettled in his mind, is absolutely untrue. I have never found him more sensible--you know how silent he is as a rule? When I met him he was quite eloquent on the subject of mediæval carving.” Vennie looked down and smiled--a sad little smile. “I’m afraid,” she said; “that his talking so freely is not quite a good sign. But do let’s go. I have never looked at those queer figures with anyone but my mother; and you know the way she has of making everything seem as if it were an ornament on her own mantelpiece.” They began descending the hill, Mr. Taxater displaying more agility than might have been expected of him, as they scrambled down between furze-bushes, rabbit-holes, and beds of yellow trefoil. “How dreadfully I shall miss you, dear child,” he said. “No one could accuse me of selfishness in furthering your wish for the religious life. Half the pleasant discoveries I’ve made in this charming country have been due to you.” The young girl turned and regarded him affectionately. “You have been more than a father to me,” she murmured. “Ah, Vennie, Vennie!” he protested, “you mustn’t talk like that. After all, the greatest discovery we have made, is the discovery of your calling for religion. I have much to be thankful for. It is not often that I have been permitted such a privilege. If we had not been thrown together, who knows but that the influence of our good Clavering----”