planning everything for the best, had, almost beyond even expectation, done everything for the worst; Gideon Skull, with all the will in the world to do harm, had done more than could have been dreamed of in the direction of straightening what had been twisted beyond all hope of being thoroughly right again. Good had done its worst, bad its best, and there was nothing more to be done. As for Helen and Victor-it is easy enough for any moderately fertile imagination to make out an almost inexhaustible list of what might have been when all else was over and done. She might have felt that it was for him to speak out very plainly to her, if there was to be anything more than distant and mostly silent friendship between them. He, a poor man whom the temporary ownership of a great estate had thrown terribly back in the world, might have felt invincibly incapable of asking an exceedingly rich widow to marry him. In short, a complete romance might be erected upon the way in which they might go on misunderstanding one another and keeping apart until it became almost, or quite, too late for any understanding to come to them. The only possible objection to such an exercise of fancy would be that it would assume a man and a woman, who had been taught a little sense very sharply, to be an absolutely impossible pair of fools.

In any case-though it may seem little enough to any purpose-it happened one day, as it had often happened before, that the ancient fly belonging to the "George" at Hillswick brought a lady, a gentleman, and their luggage into the inn yard. The gentleman handed out the lady, and led her, leaning on his arm, straight into the coffee-room. He rang the bell and asked if they could have a bedroom. The waiter answered that he would go and see.

It was a merely formal and customary answer, however, for there were always vacant beds at the "George," except at election time and on yet rarer occasions. But the waiter's object in hurrying out was by no means an empty form. Hotel guests in Hillswick had always been rare, and had for some time past been rarer than ever, since Gideon Skull had ceased to visit his uncle; and it was only natural for the waiter to wish to know if he alone had failed to recognise the new arrivals. It made a considerable difference at the "George" whether guests were Somebodies from round Deepweald, which was the county town, or Nobodies from Everywhere.

Everybody about the place had seen the arrivals, but nobody knew them. Their luggage, though eminently satisfactory in every

other respect, was labelled with neither name nor initials. They were a Lady and a Gentleman, even from the "George" point of view; . that was clear. She was something more, too, for she was both young and pretty. She was little, and slight, and fair, with a charmingly delicate complexion, laughing lips, and smiling blue eyes. She was the picture of happy wife, too lately married to have found out yet that marriage means something a great deal nobler than escape from life's troubles. She looked up at her husband with something of the shyness that belongs to the first experience of a great change, but with a smile of love and trust that was touching because of its simple perfection. Nor did he look unworthy to receive her halfproud, half-humble smile. In the first and best place, he looked like a Man. As to lesser things, he was tall, broad, and strong, brownbearded and well bronzed, with a face that was almost too grave, but without sternness, and with truth written in every feature and line. His happiness was doubtless more serious, though it might be very far from being less deep than hers. As for the rest, there was but little to observe. They came without a servant or any signs of whether their purpose in coming to Hillswick was business, pleasure, or chance, and the lady was dressed simply and plainly for travelling.

They dined together in a private room, and with appetites too healthy to gratify the curiosity of the waiter very far during the meal. But when the last dish had been removed,

"I suppose you know all about Hillswick?" said the gentleman to the waiter.

"Well, sir, as much as I've come to hear in a month or so. I'm a Deepweald man myself, and Hillswick is but a poor little bit of a place, after towns like Deepweald or London."

I

"And so one comes to know them sooner. Let me see used to know a little about the place myself, once upon a time. I remember the name of the Rector-I should say of the Curate-inCharge."

"Rector he is, sir. The Rev. William Blane, M.A."

"Blane? I meant Mr. Skull-Mr. Christopher Skull."

"No, sir. I've heard of him. He was here before Mr. Blane. He gave up through old age, and the parishioners gave him a silver tea-caddy for a testimonial for his long and faithful service; and he's gone to live at Deepweald, where I come from myself, with the Misses Skull. He was much respected, I believe, by all that knew him. So I'm told." The waiter lingered; he was evidently on the track of news to carry back to the bar.

"Who keeps the 'George' now ?-Mr. Reynolds?”

"Oh no, sir!

He retired long and long ago; almost, as one may say, before you were born. It's Mr. Pool keeps the 'George'Mr. Pool, from Redchester."

"Mr. Bolt, the doctor?-I remember him; I suppose he is still here?"

"I believe there was a medical man of that name, or used to be; but that was before my time. But where he is now, I can't say. Shall I inquire at the bar?"

"And you told me,” said the lady—" you told me that Hillswick was the one place where change never came. I thought there couldn't be such a place--and you see!"

"I have made a bad beginning, Lucy, I must own. Well-I suppose that there is such a thing as change even in Hillswick, if one puts long enough intervals between one's observations. But the Parson, the Doctor, and the Landlord, all together-it does shake one's faith a little in the immutability of things. But wait a minute, and you'll see. Of course, old Grimes is still clerk and sexton here?"

"Why, sir," said the waiter, "you must know Hillswick like a native born, to know the name of the man that was sexton when Mr. Skull was Curate-in-Charge, and Mr. Reynolds kept the 'George'! You never heard how he came into a fortune, then?"

"Old Grimes into a fortune? No!"

"He did, though. People do say it was through finding ancient documents in the church tower, that proved him to be a long-lost heir. I don't mean to say it was thousands, but he gave up Church work, and came to the Bar-—”

"What?"

"To the Bar of this House, sir-every day, taking his glass, and talking about old times. There wasn't a day he didn't come, till he got to be a regular fixture, haunting about the churchyard betweenwhiles, whenever there was a funeral, till he died in harness, as one may say. They missed old Grimes terrible at the 'George.' They he was near on a hundred years old."

do say

"Then I give it up, Lucy," said the stranger, with a smile that was not wholly a smile. "Since old Grimes is dead and buried, I give up Hillswick-it is a different place from what I used to know. .. I suppose Mr. Waldron is still at Copleston?"

"Well, sir, not exactly, so to say, in residence," said the waiter, who, as a Deepweald man, knew the phrases of a Cathedral city. But that will soon be, now, after the wedding, if all's true they say.

And for my part, sir, I shall be pleased to see a proper married 'gentleman settled down at the place-it will be good for business, and make things a bit brisker than they are now. Hillswick is not like Deepweald, sir, as you perceive. And that wedding, sir——"

"Well-the church is still standing, any way--I saw that, as we drove through the town. And yet, if I had been asked which would hold out longest, old Grimes or the steeple, I would have backed old Grimes. Come, Lucy! It's a fine evening: we'll take a stroll, if you're not too tired."

"You'll be taking a look round our church, sir?" asked the waiter, as Lucy was putting on her hat and shawl. "Shall I send up Boots to show you the way, and get the keys? I don't think much of the church myself, sir, naturally, being a Deepweald man; but there's some curious things there, I've heard say.”

"The way from the 'George' to the Church? I'll show Boots, if he wants to know. No, thank you: I don't want the way or the key. So, Lucy," he said, as they left the inn door, "now you see the only town I had ever seen, to know it, till I was five-and-twenty. You won't fancy I wouldn't have things as they are, because you will guess what all this means to me."

"I do guess," said Lucy gently. "It must mean a great great deal to you—and as if I could think that all the old memories on earth could make any difference between you and me! If you did not feel them very deeply indeed you would not be you."

"Do you know where we are going now?"

"Where should we be going? Are we not going to say goodbye to all that is left of us here--to your father's grave?"

"Lucy, I can't tell you how strange it is to come back to Hillswick with you, and to find it to be the only place in the whole world where I can feel unknown and alone. You are part of myself everywhere else; but here I am almost a man who never knew you, and whom you never knew. Of course, it is all mood and fancy, so you won't really mind—and you need not, any way. . . . My dear little wife, you don't know how dear my sister was to me

"Don't I? If losing me would help me to find her and your mother--I would

66

No, you would not: don't say anything of the kind. We are one. I cannot think they are living still, whatever you may say. If they were, I must have found traces of them, long and long ago. Just think, Lucy. When I left that French hospital-where we met -and came home, they had left their lodgings, and had given no new address, not even to the Argus, where they might be found. That seemed incredible, unless-"

"But it does not mean death, Alan.”

"It must mean death, Lucy. Only Death could have parted me and Helen-my mother and me. Only Death could have made them pass away from my life without a sign. They were not helpless or thoughtless people; and anything but Death would implywell, some only impossible thing. Helen was as pure and as good and as true as-as you. Mystery as it is, Death is the only way by which it can be solved. My mother must have caught some disease that Helen took from her-or-but who knows? No: I must have found them, were either alive. Dear you have done your best to keep my hope living; but you have done all you can. You are my Whole and my All."

"Except your memories, Alan. I want to share those, not destroy them. I could not have left England without having a picture of your old home to carry with me wherever we may go."

They entered the churchyard, which proved a little disappointing; it was far better kept under the rule of the new rector and the new sexton than in the days of old Grimes and the Reverend Christopher Skull. Nobody was there but the dead: the visitors had the churchyard to themselves. Lucy's husband needed no guide to find the straightest path to the tomb of old Harry, where the "Well done, thou good and faithful servant" was still as deep and clean as if it had been carved yesterday. Lucy did not disturb her husband's silence by a word; nor was he ashamed to let her see how much he was moved.

Presently she withdrew herself from him, feeling that he might wish to be alone for a while with the memories of that part of his life in which she had no real share. But he took her hand, and said:

"Don't go. All that is mine is yours." And she stayed.

The sun was on the verge of setting when they at last turned round. They would have chosen to leave the churchyard as alone as they had entered it, so that their picture of it might not be made less harmonious by any sort of life with which their hearts could not be concerned. By ill luck, however, they no longer had the churchyard to themselves when the approaching twilight warned them that it was time to return. She took his arm, and moved slowly down the broad gravel path that led from the lych-gate to the church door.

"To-morrow is Sunday," said he. "We will come to church here, so that you may have that also in your picture; and then you shall see Copleston—