"Pooh! there are souls as valuable to be saved up here. Did I not tell you about my gardener Crouch? Would you have the poor man spend his life in terror of eternal perdition? He has worsted Latimer in an argument already."

"My dear Chichester, what have I to do with Mr. Fortescue, or Crouch either?"

"You may have plenty to do with both, if you will. You have given me advice, and I shall take the liberty of repaying it with interest. There are stronger men needed at St. Luke's."

Granted; but where could you find one more willing? St. Luke's is my life."

Lythe is the very man for it."

My work is as necessary to me as your love is to you." "An ill-matched comparison! I say Lythe is the man." Will was silent.

My dear fellow, I have arranged it all with Latimer. He has his faults, I allow he is confoundedly proud, but he is a very jewel of a vicar. He will leave you to all your vagaries. And, as Will looked mystified, he repeated, "I tell you, I have settled it all with him."

I am quite as much in the dark as ever.”

Mr. Chichester gave one of his hearty laughs.

"To be sure. I have never explained myself. Well, I

don't know whether it is Kate's fancies, or whether Latimer is really delicate on the chest-anyhow, my mother, Grey, and Kate have imagined it between them, and Latimer is to spend the next two or three winters at Mentone. Some one has offered him a chaplaincy there."

"I really think he is delicate."

"I suspect it is a bit of over-caution—a bit of remorse on my lady's part for nearly worrying him into an early grave; or most likely she finds the vicarage dull as well as damp in the winter these dark-eyed women are so artful."

"You are too hard on Mrs. Fortescue. I think her a charming person."

'My dear fellow, your charity is so universal that I believe you would extend it to Medusa herself. You would ask her so prettily to avert her death-darting glances, that her Gorgon soul would be charmed. If there is anything I detest, it is charity."

Will smiled resignedly.

"Charitable people are so slow. If everybody were to agree with you, the world would not be worth living in. Depend upon it, Adam and Eve were dreadfully tired of each other before Eve conceived the brilliant idea of eating the apple."

"Do you know you would shock any one who did not know you as well as I do ?"

"Kate's name always rankles. I believe I hate that woman; she is sheer humbug, and Lat believes in her. So you like my lady, eh?"

"She has been very good-natured to me. Dym rather dislikes her, I believe."

"Bravo, Miss Dym! Well, Latimer being off duty half the year, it is quite indispensable to have a good resident curate, who can take charge of the parish in the vicar's absence. The work is light, the pay good as such things gotwo hundred and fifty-and lodgings found, I believe Latimer said."

"Indeed! Is it usual in these northern parishes for the squire to add another hundred to the curate's stipend ?" Mr. Chichester looked disconcerted.

"A hundred and fifty being nearer the mark."

"What makes you so sharp to-night? I suppose I may do as I like in my own parish?"

"Indeed! Are you the lay-rector?"

"No, I am not, Mr. Elliott; but Birstwith belongs to me, and I do not choose the curate of my church, which my father built, to be paid less well than my butler or head gardener."

"I think you are right," returned Will, sadly, hanging his head.

"If you will undertake this charge, the two hundred and fifty a year will be yours; if you refuse, it will go to another

man.

“I trust you will find one to your liking," replied Will, gently.

"What! you decline ?"

"I fear I must do so."

"You call me your friend, and refuse the first favor I have ever asked you! Do you know I have set my heart upon this?"

"It grieves me to be obliged to disappoint you, but I cannot leave St. Luke's."

"None that I recognize as such. Do be reasonable, Elliott, and look at this in a sober matter-of-fact way. Does not common sense tell you you are not the man for a dense overpopulated parish like that?"

“I am not much to look at, certainly," returned Will, with a faint smile; "but I am young to be superannuated and set down to do nothing in a country village. Hitherto my strength has been like the widow's cruse-it has never failed

"Don't boast: it may give way to-morrow. Do I not know what work at St. Luke's means? I hate to think of you in those close squalid streets."

"Such as it is, it is the very breath of my life. Take me away from St. Luke's and I am nothing."

"You used not to say so."

"No; six months ago I should have thought differently. I have learned to know myself and St. Luke's better now. Don't ask me to leave my people."

Mr. Chichester walked up and down the room hurriedly.

"Such Quixotic nonsense! such a lamentable want of common sense!" he muttered. "I have set my heart on this. We want you near us. It would have pleased Honor-I know it would. She always says our drowsy parish wants waking up. You are just the one to rouse us.'

"You are very good, but I am not what you think me," murmured poor Will.

you

"I

"What do you care what we think of ?" returned Guy, testily. "Just when I want to make every one as happy as I am not that that is possible," he added, hastily. always thought it was your wish to provide a home for your sister; but, now the opportunity has come, you shrink from it."

"You tempt me sorely," returned Will, in an agitated voice. "If it were for her good-but no; I cannot reconcile it to my sense of duty. Mr. Benedict is getting old. I have become almost like a son to him. He has just stinted himself to add another fifty pounds to my salary. You are wrong

when you pity me. I have more than a sufficiency for my

needs."

"But your sister," interrupted Mr. Chichester. "Why don't you include her in your list of duties, past, present, and

to come?"

"Do you think I have forgotten her? No; I am not quite so selfish as that. sake that I refuse."

"Your reasons?" again demanded Guy.

Poor little Dym! It is partly for her

"Pardon me if I keep some of them to myself," returned Will, with a look of pain. His friend's generous persistence distressed him beyond measure. "Probably if you had offered me this last spring, when Dym was with me, I should have accepted it joyfully. I think now that it is better that she should continue independent of me."

Why so? Her brother is her natural protector. I do not yet know Honor's wishes, but if she leaves us would you turn her on the world again?"

66

No, no. Ah, how you harass my resolution! It is hard enough to do one's duty; but if there be a doubt which is one's duty! Give me a few days to think over this. I will speak to Dym herself."

"Do so, by all means," returned Guy, joyfully, who took this hesitation for victory. "I have not a doubt of what Miss Elliott will say."

"After all, she is my first duty," muttered Will, passing his hand weariedly over his brow. His manner startled Mr. Chichester, and he looked at him more keenly than he had done yet.

"I wish I could sound all your reasons," he said, abruptly. "There is something behind all this. Well, I suppose it would be no use if I talked till cock-crowing."

"It will be that soon," replied Will, with a strange smile. "Ah, well, you were too happy and I was too thoughtful to sleep. Good-night, Chichester. You won't bear me malice if my conscience falls foul of your wishes?"

"Confound all consciences!" was the somewhat gruff answer. "The worst is, the more a man plagues you and tramples on your pet prejudices, the better you are sure to like him."

"And you will forgive me if I disappoint you?" asked

Will, holding out his thin hand. How white and fragile it looked beside Guy's strong brown one!

"I can forgive you anything but being such a saint," returned Mr. Chichester, in his whimsical way.

There, God bless you, old fellow! I am happy enough to forgive the whole world, and even myself."

66

CHAPTER XXI.

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW.

THE two friends parted, but not to sleep.

Guy's happiness kept him restless. He would have liked to sit till morning descanting on the manifold perfections of his betrothed; he had kept Will a full hour after the last good-night" had been said, listening to his animated plans for the future; but the worn weary look on Will's face at last warned him to desist, and to tax no longer his sympathizing patience.

Strong excitement always stimulated Guy Chichester like new wine. Sleep would not come at his bidding. Honor's sweet looks, her words, her few precious caresses, haunted the happy lover; and, though his waking dreams at last terminated in a brief nap, he sprang up long before it was light, and, summoning his faithful companion Kelpie, set out for one of his interminable walks over hill and dale.

Will, on the contrary, lay open-eyed and anxious long after the darkness had passed into twilight, and twilight into the gray dawning of another day.

Such nights were not new to him. Often and often he had risen from his couch and trimmed the midnight lamp, to relieve bodily uneasiness and induce slumber by hard mental labor. In the darkest hours of his pain, such wisdom and strength would come to him that they who saw his pale face radiant with some secret joy would marvel at the triumph of the soul over so frail a body.

While others slept, none saw him kneeling, sometimes for