Saint’s Progress

第1章

PARTI

Suchadaymadegladtheheart。AlltheflagsofJulywerewaving;

thesunandthepoppiesflaming;whitebutterfliesspiringupandtwining，andthebeesbusyonthesnapdragons。Thelime—treeswerecomingintoflower。Tallwhiteliliesinthegardenbedsalreadyrivaledthedelphiniums;theYorkandLancasterroseswerefull—blownroundtheirgoldenhearts。Therewasagentlebreeze，andaswishandstirandhumroseandfellabovetheheadofEdwardPierson，comingbackfromhislonelyrambleoverTinternAbbey。HehadarrivedatKestrel，hisbrotherRobert’shomeonthebankoftheWyeonlythatmorning，havingstayedatBathonthewaydown;andnowhehadgothisfaceburntinthatparti—colouredwaypeculiartothefacesofthosewhohavebeentoolonginLondon。Ashecamealongthenarrow，ratherovergrownavenue，thesoundofawaltzthrummedoutonapianofellonhisears，andhesmiled，formusicwasthegreatestpassionhehad。Hisdarkgrizzledhairwaspushedbackoffhishotbrow，whichhefannedwithhisstrawhat。Thoughnotbroad，thatbrowwasthebroadestpartofanarrowovalfacewhoselengthwasincreasedbyashort，dark，pointedbeard——avisagesuchasVandykmighthavepainted，graveandgentle，butforitsbrightgreyeyes，cinder—lashed。andcrow’s—footed，anditsstrangelookofnotseeingwhatwasbeforeit。Hewalkedquickly，thoughhewastiredandhot;tall，upright，andthin，inagreyparsonicalsuit，onwhoseblackkerseymerevestalittlegoldcrossdangled。

Abovehisbrother’shouse，whoseslopinggardenrandowntotherailwaylineandriver，alargeroomhadbeenbuiltoutapart。

Piersonstoodwheretheavenueforked，enjoyingthesoundofthewaltz，andthecoolwhippingofthebreezeinthesycamoresandbirches。Amanoffifty，withasenseofbeauty，bornandbredinthecountry，suffersfearfullyfromnostalgiaduringalongunbrokenspellofLondon;sothathisafternoonintheoldAbbeyhadbeenalmostholy。Hehadlethissensessinkintothesunlitgreeneryofthetoweringwoodsopposite;hehadwatchedthespidersandthelittleshiningbeetles，theflycatchers，andsparrowsintheivy;

touchedthemossesandthelichens;lookedthespeedwellsintheeye;

dreamedofheknewnotwhat。Ahawkhadbeenwheelingupthereabovethewoods，andhehadbeenuptherewithitintheblue。Hehadtakenarealspiritualbath，andwashedthedustyfretofLondonoffhissoul。

Forayearhehadbeenworkinghisparishsingle—handed——nojoke——

forhiscuratehadgoneforachaplain;andthiswashisfirstrealholidaysincethewarbegan，twoyearsago;hisfirstvisit，too，tohisbrother’shome。Helookeddownatthegarden，andupatthetreesoftheavenue。BobhadfoundaperfectretreatafterhisquarterofacenturyinCeylon。DearoldBob！Andhesmiledatthethoughtofhiselderbrother，whoseburntfaceandfiercegreywhiskerssomewhatrecalledaBengaltiger;thekindestfellowthateverbreathed！Yes，hehadfoundaperfecthomeforThirzaandhimself。AndEdwardPiersonsighed。Hetoohadoncehadaperfecthome，aperfectwife;thewoundofwhosedeath，fifteenyearsago，stillbledalittleinhisheart。Theirtwodaughters，GratianandNoel，hadnot"takenafter"her;Gratianwaslikehisownmother，andNoel’sfairhairandbiggreyeyesalwaysremindedhimofhiscousinLeila，who——poorthing！——hadmadethatsadmessofherlife，andnow，hehadheard，wassingingforaliving，inSouthAfrica。Ah！WhataprettygirlshehadbeenDrawnbythateternalwaltztunehereachedthedoorwayofthemusic—

room。Achintzcurtainhungthere，andtothesoundoffeetslippingonpolishedboards，hesawhisdaughterNoelwaltzingslowlyinthearmsofayoungofficerinkhaki:Roundandroundtheywent，circling，backing，movingsidewayswithcuriousstepswhichseemedtohavecomeinrecently，forhedidnotrecognisethem。AtthepianosathisnieceEve，withateasingsmileonherrosyface。ButitwasathisyoungdaughterthatEdwardPiersonlooked。Hereyeswerehalf—closed，hercheeksratherpale，andherfairhair，cutquiteshort，curledintoherslimroundneck。Quitecoolsheseemed，thoughtheyoungmaninwhosearmsshewasglidingalonglookedfieryhot;ahandsomeboy，withblueeyesandalittlegoldendownontheupperlipofhissunnyred—cheekedface。EdwardPiersonthought:

’Nicecouple！’Andhadamoment’svisionofhimselfandLeila，dancingatthatlong—agoCambridgeMayWeek——onherseventeenthbirthday，heremembered，sothatshemusthavebeenayearyoungerthanNolliewasnow！Thiswouldbetheyoungmanshehadtalkedofinherlettersduringthelastthreeweeks。Weretheynevergoingtostop？

Hepassedintoviewofthosewithin，andsaid:

"Aren’tyouveryhot，Nollie？"

Sheblewhimakiss;theyoungmanlookedstartledandself—

conscious，andEvecalledout:

"It’sabet，Uncle。They’vegottodancemedown。"

Piersonsaidmildly:

"Abet？Mydears！"

Noelmurmuredoverhershoulder:

"It’sallright，Daddy！"Andtheyoungmangasped:

"She’sbetusoneofherpuppiesagainstoneofmine，sir！"

Piersonsatdown，alittlehypnotizedbythesleepystrumming，theslowgiddymovementofthedancers，andthosehalf—closedswimmingeyesofhisyoungdaughter，lookingathimoverhershoulderasshewentby。Hesatwithasmileonhislips。Nolliewasgrowingup！

NowthatGratianwasmarried，shehadbecomeagreatresponsibility。

Ifonlyhisdearwifehadlived！Thesmilefadedfromhislips;helookedsuddenlyverytired。Thestruggle，physicalandspiritual，hehadbeenthrough，thesefifteenyears，sometimesweighedhimalmosttotheground:Mostmenwouldhavemarriedagain，buthehadalwaysfeltitwouldbesacrilege。Realunionswereforever，eventhoughtheChurchpermittedremarriage。

Hewatchedhisyoungdaughterwithamixtureofaestheticpleasureandperplexity。Couldthisbegoodforher？Togoondancingindefinitelywithoneyoungmancouldthatpossiblybegoodforher？

Buttheylookedveryhappy;andtherewassomuchinyoungcreaturesthathedidnotunderstand。Noel，soaffectionate，anddreamy，seemedsometimespossessedofalittledevil。EdwardPiersonwasnaif;attributedthoseoutburstsofdemonicpossessiontothelossofhermotherwhenshewassuchamite;Gratian，buttwoyearsolder，hadnevertakenamother’splace。Thathadbeenlefttohimself，andhewasmoreorlessconsciousoffailure。

Hesattherelookingupatherwithasortofwhimsicaldistress。

And，suddenly，inthatdaintyvoiceofhers，whichseemedtospurneachwordalittle，shesaid:

"I’mgoingtostop！"and，sittingdownbesidehim，tookuphishattofanherself。

Evestruckatriumphantchord。"HurrahI’vewon！"

Theyoungmanmuttered:

"Isay，Noel，weweren’thalfdone！"

"Iknow;butDaddywasgettingbored，weren’tyou，dear？ThisisCyrilMorland。"

Piersonshooktheyoungman’shand。

"Daddy，yournoseisburnt！"

"Mydear;Iknow。"

"Icangiveyousomewhitestuffforit。Youhavetosleepwithitonallnight。UncleandAuntiebothuseit。"

"Nollie！"

"Well，Evesaysso。Ifyou’regoingtobathe，Cyril，lookoutforthatcurrent！"

Theyoungman，gazingatherwithundisguisedadoration，muttered:

"Rather！"andwentout。

Noel’seyeslingeredafterhim;Evebrokeasilence。

"Ifyou’regoingtohaveabathbeforetea，Nollie，you’dbetterhurryup。"

"Allright。WasitjollyintheAbbey，Daddy？"

"Lovely;likeagreatpieceofmusic。"

"Daddyalwaysputseverythingintomusic。Yououghttoseeitbymoonlight;it’sgorgeousthen。Allright，Eve;I’mcoming。"Butshedidnotgetup，andwhenEvewasgone，cuddledherarmthroughherfather’sandmurmured:

"Whatd’youthinkofCyril？"

"Mydear，howcanItell？Heseemsanice—lookingyoungman。"

"Allright，Daddy;don’tstrainyourself。It’sjollydownhere，isn’tit？"Shegotup，stretchedherselfalittle，andmovedaway，lookinglikeaverytallchild，withhershorthaircurlinginroundherhead。

Pierson，watchinghervanishpastthecurtain，thought:’Whatalovelythingsheis！’Andhegotuptoo，butinsteadoffollowing，wenttothepiano，andbegantoplayMendelssohn’sPreludeandFugueinEminor。Hehadafinetouch，andplayedwithasortofdreamypassion。Itwashiswayoutofperplexities，regrets，andlongings;

awaywhichneverquitefailedhim。

AtCambridge，hehadintendedtotakeupmusicasaprofession，butfamilytraditionhaddestinedhimforHolyOrders，andanemotionalChurchrevivalofthatdayhadcaughthiminitsstream。Hehadalwayshadprivatemeans，andthoseearlyyearsbeforehemarriedhadpassedhappilyinanEast—Endparish。Tohavenotonlyopportunitybutpowertohelpinthelivesofthepoorhadbeenfascinating;

simplehimself，thesimplefolkofhisparishhadtakenholdofhisheart。When，however，hemarriedAgnesHeriot，hewasgivenaparishofhisownonthebordersofEastandWest，wherehehadbeeneversince，evenafterherdeathhadnearlykilledhim。Itwasbettertogoonwhereworkandallremindedhimofonewhomhehadresolvednevertoforgetinotherties。Butheknewthathisworkhadnotthezestitusedtohaveinherday，orevenbeforeherday。Itmaywellbedoubtedwhetherhe，whohadbeeninHolyOrderstwenty—sixyears，quiteknewnowwhathebelieved。Everythinghadbecomecircumscribed，andfixed，bythousandsofhisownutterances;tohavetakenfreshstockofhisfaith，tohavegonedeepintoitsroots，wouldhavebeenliketakingupthefoundationsofastill—standinghouse。Somemennaturallyrootthemselvesintheinexpressible——forwhichoneformulaismuchthesameasanother;thoughEdwardPierson，gentlydogmatic，undoubtedlypreferredhisHigh—Churchstatementoftheinexpressibletothatof，say，theZoroastrians。Thesubtletiesofchange，themodificationsbyscience，leftlittlesenseofinconsistencyortreasononhissoul。Sensitive，charitable，andonlycombativedeepdown，heinstinctivelyavoideddiscussiononmatterswherehemighthurtothersortheyhurthim。And，sinceexplanationwasthelastthingwhichocouldbeexpectedofonewhodidnotbasehimselfonReason，hehadfoundbutscantoccasionevertoexamineanything。JustasintheoldAbbeyhehadsoaredoffintotheinfinitewiththehawk，thebeetles，andthegrasses，sonow，atthepiano，bythesesoundsofhisownmaking，hewascaughtawayagainintoemotionalism，withoutrealisingthathewasinoneofhis，mostreligiousmoods。

"Aren’tyoucomingtotea，Edward？"

Thewomanstandingbehindhim，inalilac—colouredgown，hadoneofthosefaceswhichremaininnocenttotheendofthechapter，inspiteofthecompleteknowledgeoflifewhichappertainstomothers。Indaysofsufferingandanxiety，liketheseofthegreatwar，ThirzaPiersonwasavaluableperson。Withouteverexpressinganopiniononcosmicmatters，shereconfirmedcertaincosmictruths，suchasthatthoughthewholeworldwasatwar，therewassuchathingaspeace;

thatthoughallthesonsofmotherswerebeingkilled，thereremainedsuchathingasmotherhood;thatwhileeverybodywaslivingforthefuture，thepresentstillexisted。Hertranquil，tender，matter—of—

factbusyness，andthedewinhereyes，hadbeenproofagainsttwenty—threeyearsoflifeonatea—plantationinthehotpartofCeylon;againstBobPierson;againsttheanxietyofhavingtwosonsatthefront，andtheconfidencesofnearlyeveryoneshecameacross。Nothingdisturbedher。Shewaslikeapaintingof"Goodness"byanOldMaster，restoredbyKateGreenaway。Sheneverwenttomeetlife，butwhenitcame，madethebestofit。Thiswashersecret，andPiersonalwaysfeltrestedinherpresence。

Herose，andmovedbyherside，overthelawn，towardsthebigtreeatthebottomofthegarden。

"Howd’youthinkNoelislooking，Edward？"

"Verypretty。Thatyoungman，Thirza？"

"Yes;I’mafraidhe’soverheadandearsinlovewithher。"

Atthedismayedsoundheuttered，sheslippedhersoftroundarmwithinhis。"He’sgoingtothefrontsoon，poorboy！"

"Havetheytalkedtoyou？"

"Hehas。Nolliehasn’tyet。"

"Nollieisaqueerchild，Thirza。"

"Nollieisadarling，butratheradesperatecharacter，Edward。"

Piersonsighed。

Inaswingunderthetree，wherethetea—thingsweresetout，the"ratherdesperatecharacter"wasswaying。"Whatapicturesheis！"

hesaid，andsighedagain。

Thevoiceofhisbrothercametothem，——highandsteamy，asthoughcorruptedbytheclimateofCeylon:

"Youincorrigibledreamychap，Ted！We’veeatenalltheraspberries。

Eve，givehimsomejam;hemustbedead！Phew！theheat！Comeon，mydear，andpourouthistea。Hallo，Cyril！Hadagoodbathe？ByGeorge，wishmyheadwaswet！Squattez—vousdownoverthere，byNollie;she’llswing，andkeepthefliesoffyou。"

"Givemeacigarette，UncleBob——"

"What！Yourfatherdoesn’t——"

"Justfortheflies。Youdon’tmind，Daddy？"

"Notifit’snecessary，mydear。"

Noelsmiled，showingherupperteeth，andhereyesseemedtoswimundertheirlonglashes。

"Itisn’tnecessary，butit’snice。"

"Ah，ha！"saidBobPierson。"Hereyouare，Nollie！"

ButNoelshookherhead。Atthatmomentshestruckherfatherasstartlinglygrown—up—socomposed，swayingabovethatyoungmanatherfeet，whosesunnyfacewasalladoration。’Nolongerachild！’hethought。’DearNollie！’

Awakenedbythatdailycruelty，theadventofhotwater，EdwardPiersonlayinhischintz—curtainedroom，fancyinghimselfbackinLondon。Awildbeehuntinghoneyfromthebowlofflowersonthewindow—sill，andthescentofsweetbrier，shatteredthatillusion。

Hedrewthecurtain，and，kneelingonthewindow—seatthrusthisheadoutintothemorning。Theairwasintoxicatinglysweet。Hazeclungovertheriverandthewoodsbeyond;thelawnsparkledwithdew，andtwowagtailsstruttedinthedewysunshine。’ThankGodforloveliness！’hethought。’Thosepoorboysatthefront！’Andkneelingwithhiselbowsonthesill，hebegantosayhisprayers。

Thesamefeelingwhichmadehimbeautifyhischurch，usevestments，goodmusic，andincense，filledhimnow。GodwasinthelovelinessofHisworld，aswellasinHischurches。OnecouldworshipHiminagroveofbeechtrees，inabeautifulgarden，onahighhill，bythebanksofabrightriver。Godwasintherustleoftheleaves，andthehumofabee，inthedewonthegrass，andthescentofflowers;

Godwasineverything！Andheaddedtohisusualprayerthiswhisper:"IgiveTheethanksformysenses，OLord。Inallofus，keepthembright，andgratefulforbeauty。"Thenheremainedmotionless，preytoasortofhappyyearningverynear，tomelancholy。Greatbeautyeverhadthateffectonhim。Onecouldcapturesolittleofit——couldneverenjoyitenough！Whowasithadsaidnotlongago:"Loveofbeautyisreallyonlythesexinstinct，whichnothingbutcompleteunionsatisfies。"Ah！yes，George——

Gratian’shusband。GeorgeLaird！Andalittlefrowncamebetweenhisbrows，asthoughatsomethornintheflesh。PoorGeorge！Butthen，alldoctorswerematerialistsatheart——splendidfellows，though;afinefellow，George，workinghimselftodeathoutthereinFrance。Onemustnottakethemtooseriously。Hepluckedabitofsweetbrierandputittohisnose，whichstillretainedtheshineofthatbleachingointmentNoelhadinsistedonhisusing。Thesweetsmellofthoselittleroughleavesstirredupanacuteaching。Hedroppedthem，anddrewback。Nolongings，nomelancholy;oneoughttobeout，thisbeautifulmorning！

ItwasSunday;buthehadnottotakethreeServicesandpreachatleastonesermon;thisdayofrestwasreallytobehisown，foronce。Itwasalmostdisconcerting;hehadsolongfeltlikethecabhorsewhocouldnotbetakenoutoftheshaftslestheshouldfalldown。Hedressedwithextraordinarydeliberation，andhadnotquitefinishedwhentherecameaknockonhisdoor，andNoel’svoicesaid:

"CanIcomein，Daddy？"

Inherflax—bluefrock，withaGloiredeDijonrosepinnedwhereitmetonherfaintlybrownedneck，sheseemedtoherfatheraperfectvisionoffreshness。

"Here’saletterfromGratian;Georgehasbeensenthomeill，andhe’sgonetoourhouse。She’sgotleavefromherhospitaltocomehomeandnursehim。"

Piersonreadtheletter。"PoorGeorge！"

"Whenareyougoingtoletmebeanurse，Daddy？"

"Wemustwaittillyou’reeighteen，Nollie。"

"IcouldeasilysayIwas。It’sonlyamonth;andIlookmuchmore。"

Piersonsmiled。

"Don’tI？"

"Youmightbeanythingfromfifteentotwenty—five，mydear，accordingasyoubehave。"

"Iwanttogooutasnearthefrontaspossible。"

Herheadwaspoisedsothatthesunlightframedherface，whichwasratherbroad——thebrowrathertoobroad——underthewavinglight—brownhair，thenoseshortandindeterminate;cheeksstillroundfromyouth，almostwaxen—pale，andfaintlyhollowedundertheeyes。Itwasherlips，daintyyetloving，andaboveallhergreyeyes，biganddreamilyalive，whichmadeheraswan。Hecouldnotimagineherinnurse’sgarb。

"Thisisnew，isn’tit，Nollie？"

"CyrilMorland’ssistersarebothout;andhe’llbegoingsoon。

Everybodygoes。"

"Gratianhasn’tgotoutyet:Ittakesalongtimetogettrained。"

"Iknow;allthemorereasontobegin。"

Shegotup，lookedathim，lookedatherhands，seemedabouttospeak，butdidnot。Alittlecolourhadcomeintohercheeks。Then，obviouslymakingconversation，sheasked:

"Areyougoingtochurch？It’sworthanythingtohearUncleBobreadtheLessons，especiallywhenheloseshisplace。No;you’renottoputonyourlongcoattilljustbeforechurchtime。Iwon’thaveit！"

ObedientlyPiersonresignedhislongcoat。

"Now，yousee，youcanhavemyrose。Yournoseisbetter！"Shekissedhisnose，andtransferredherrosetothebuttonholeofhisshortcoat。"That’sall。Comealong！"Andwithherarmthroughhis，theywentdown。Butheknewshehadcometosaysomethingwhichshehadnotsaid。

BobPierson，invirtueofgreaterwealththantherestofthecongregation，alwaysreadtheLessons，inhishighsteamyvoice，hisbreathingneveradjustedtothelengthofanyperiod。Thecongregation，accustomed，heardnothingpeculiar;hewasthenecessarygentrywiththenecessaryfingerinthepie。Itwashisownfamilywhomheperturbed。Inthesecondrow，Noel，staringsolemnlyattheprofileofherfatherinthefrontrow，wasthinking:

’PoorDaddy！Hiseyeslookasiftheywerecomingout。Oh，Daddy！

Smile！orit’llhurtyou！’YoungMorlandbesideher，rigidinhistunic，wasthinking:’Sheisn’tthinkingofme！’Andjustthenherlittlefingercrookedintohis。EdwardPiersonwasthinking:’Oh！MydearoldBob！Oh！’And，besidehim，Thirzathought:’PoordearTedI

howniceforhimtobehavingacompleterest！Imustmakehimeathe’ssothin！’AndEvewasthinking:’Oh，Father！Mercy！’ButBobPiersonwasthinking:’Cheeroh！Onlyanotherthreeverses！’Noel’slittlefingerunhookeditself，buthereyesstoleroundtoyoungMorland’seyes，andtherewasalightinthemwhichlingeredthroughthesingingandtheprayers。Atlast，inthereverentialrustleofthesettlingcongregation，asurplicedfiguremountedthepulpit。

"IcomenottobringPeace，butasword。"

Piersonlookedup。Hefeltdeeprestfulness。Therewasapleasantlightinthischurch;thehumofacountrybluebottlemadeallthedifferencetothequalityofsilence。Nocriticalthoughtstirredwithinhim，noranyexcitement。Hewasthinking:’NowIshallhearsomethingformygood;afinetext;whendidIpreachfromitlast？’

Turnedalittleawayfromtheothers，hesawnothingbutthepreacher’shomelyfaceupthereabovethecarvedoak;itwassolongsincehehadbeenpreachedto，solongsincehehadhadarest！Thewordscameforth，droppedonhisforehead，penetrated，metsomethingwhichabsorbedthem，anddisappeared。’Agoodplainsermon！’hethought。’IsupposeI’mstale;Idon’tseem——’"Letusnot，dearbrethren，"dronedthepreacher’searnestvoice，"thinkthatourdearLord，insayingthatHebroughtasword，referredtoaphysicalsword。ItwastheswordofthespirittowhichHewasundoubtedlyreferring，thatbrightswordofthespiritwhichinallageshascleaveditswaythroughthefettersimposedonmenthemselvesbytheirowndesires，imposedbymenonothermeningratificationoftheirambitions，aswehavehadsostrikinganexampleintheinvasionbyourcruelenemiesofalittleneighbouringcountrywhichhaddonethemnoharm。Dearbrethren，wemayallbringswords。"

Pierson’schinjerked;heraisedhishandquicklyandpasseditoverhisface。’Allbringswords，’hethought，’swords——Iwasn’tasleep——

surely！’"Butletusbesurethatourswordsarebright;brightwithhope，andbrightwithfaith，thatwemayseethemflashingamongthecarnaldesiresofthismortallife，carvingapathforustowardsthatheavenlykingdomwherealoneispeace，perfectpeace。Letuspray。"

Piersondidnotshuthiseyes;heopenedthemashefellonhisknees。Intheseatbehind，NoelandyoungMorlandhadalsofallenontheirkneestheirfacescoveredeachwithasinglehand;butherlefthandandhisrighthungattheirsides。Theyprayedalittlelongerthananyothersand，onrising，sangthehymnalittlelouder。

NopapercameonSundays——noteventhelocalpaper，whichhadsolongandsonoblydoneitsbitwithheadlinestowinthewar。Nonewswhatevercame，ofmenblownup，toenliventhehushofthehotJulyafternoon，orthesenseofdrugging——whichfollowedAuntThirza’sSundaylunch。Someslept，somethoughttheywereawake;butNoelandyoungMorlandwalkedupwardthroughthewoodstowardsahighcommonofheathandfurze，crownedbywhatwasknownasKestrelrocks。

Betweenthesetwoyoungpeoplenoactualwordoflovehadyetbeenspoken。Theirloveringhadadvancedbyglanceandtouchalone。

YoungMorlandwasaschoolandcollegefriendofthetwoPiersonboysnowatthefront。Hehadnohomeofhisown，forhisparentsweredead;andthiswasnothisfirstvisittoKestrel。Arrivingthreeweeksago，forhisfinalleavebeforeheshouldgoout，hehadfoundagirlsittinginalittlewagonetteoutsidethestation，andhadknownhisfateatonce。ButwhoknowswhenNoelfellinlove？Shewas——onesupposes——justreadyforthatsensation。Forthelasttwoyearsshehadbeenatoneofthosehigh—classfinishingestablishmentswhere，inspiteofthehealthycurriculum，perhapsbecauseofit，thereiseveranundercurrentofinterestintheopposingsex;andnoteventhegravesteffortstoeliminateinstinctarequitesuccessful。Thedisappearanceofeveryyoungmalethingintothemawofthemilitarymachineputapremiumoninstinct。ThethoughtsofNoelandherschoolcompanionswereturned，perforce，tothatwhich，inpre—warfreedomofopportunitytheycouldaffordtoregardasofsecondaryinterest。LoveandMarriageandMotherhood，fixedasthelotofwomenbythecountlessages，werethreatenedfortheseyoungcreatures。Theynotunnaturallypursuedwhattheyfelttobereceding。

WhenyoungMorlandshowed，byfollowingheraboutwithhiseyes，whatwashappeningtohim，Noelwaspleased。Frombeingpleased，shebecamealittleexcited;frombeingexcitedshebecamedreamy。Then，aboutaweekbeforeherfather’sarrival，shesecretlybegantofollowtheyoungmanaboutwithhereyes;becamecapricioustoo，andalittlecruel。Iftherehadbeenanotheryoungmantofavour——buttherewasnot;andshefavouredUncleBob’sredsetter。CyrilMorlandgrewdesperate。Duringthosethreedaysthedemonherfatherdreadedcertainlypossessedher。Andthen，oneevening，whiletheywalkedbacktogetherfromthehay—fields，shegavehimasidelongglance;andhegaspedout:"Oh！Noel，whathaveIdone？"Shecaughthishand，andgaveitaquicksqueeze。Whatachange！Whatblissfulalterationeversince！

ThroughthewoodyoungMorlandmountedsilently，screwinghimselfuptoputthingstothetouch。Noeltoomountedsilently，thinking:’I

willkisshimifhekissesme！’Eagerness，andasortoflanguor，wererunninginherveins;shedidnotlookathimfromunderhershadyhat。Sunlightpoureddownthrougheverychinkinthefoliage;

madethegreennessofthesteepwoodmarvellouslyvividandalive;

flashedonbeechleaves，ashleaves，birchleaves;fellonthegroundinlittlerunlets;paintedbrightpatchesontrunksandgrass，thebeechmast，theferns;butterflieschasedeachotherinthatsunlight，andmyriadsofantsandgnatsandfliesseemedpossessedbyafrenzyoflife。Thewholewoodseemedpossessed，asifthesunshinewereahappyBeingwhichhadcometodwelltherein。Atahalf—wayspot，wherethetreesopenedandtheycouldsee，farbelowthem，thegleamoftheriver，shesatdownontheboleofabeech—