that the girls had been in London for more than a month staying with Jack's mother in Bayswater, and that they were very sorry to be upon their road home.
"And yet," he said-this was toward the end of dinner-"I have been told that your town is a very picturesque one. But I fancy that we never appreciate our home as we do a place strange to us."
"Very likely that is so," Kate answered quietly. And then a little pause ensued, such as he had observed several times before, and come to connect with any mention of Claversham. The girls' tongues would run on frankly and pleasantly enough about their London visit, or Mr. Gladstone; but let him bring the talk round to his parish and its people, and forthwith something of reserve seemed to come between him and them until the conversation strayed afield again.
After the others had finished, he still toyed with his meal, partly in lazy enjoyment of the time, partly as an excuse for staying with them. They were sitting in a momentary silence, when a boy passed the window chanting a ditty at the top of his voice. The doggrel came clearly to their ears-
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness,
Birds in the wilderness, birds in the wilderness;
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness,
Samuel asking for more.
As the sound passed on the young man looked up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and met their eyes, and all three burst into a merry peal of laughter. They were the birds in the wilderness, sitting there in the circle of light, in the strange room in the strange town, almost as intimate as if they had known one another for years, or had been a week at sea together.
But Kate, having acknowledged by that pleasant outburst her sense of the oddity of the position, rose from the table, and the rector had to say good-night, explaining at the same time that he should not travel with them next morning, but intended to go on by a later train, as his friend wished to see more of him. Nevertheless, he said he should be up to breakfast with them and should see them off. And in this resolution he persisted, notwithstanding Kate's protest, which perhaps was not very violent.
Notwithstanding, he was a little late next morning. When he came down he found them already seated in the coffee-room. There were others breakfasting here and there in the room, chiefly upon toast-racks and newspapers, and he did not at once observe that the gentleman standing with his back set negligently against the mantelpiece was talking to Kate. Arrived at the table, however, he saw that it was so; and the cheery greeting on his lips faded into a commonplace "Good-morning, Miss Bonamy." He took no apparent notice of the stranger as he added, "I am afraid I am rather late."
The intruder, a short dark-whiskered man between thirty and forty, seemed to the full as much surprised by the clergyman's appearance as Lindo was by his, and as little able to hide the feeling as Kate herself to control the color which rose in her cheeks. She gave Mr. Lindo his tea in silence, and then with an obvious effort introduced the two men. "This is Dr. Gregg of Claversham-Mr. Lindo," she said.
Lindo rose and shook hands. "Mr. Lindo the younger, I presume?" said the doctor, with a bow and a swagger intended to show that he was quite at his ease.
"The only one, I am afraid," replied the rector, smiling. Though he by no means liked the look of the man.
"Did I rightly catch your name?" was the answer-"'Mr. Lindo?'"
"Yes," said the rector again, opening his eyes.
"But-you are not-you do not mean to say that you are the new rector?" pronounced the dark man abruptly, and with a kind of aggressiveness which seemed his most striking quality-"the rector of Claversham, I mean?"
"I believe so," said Lindo quietly. "You want some more water, do you not, Miss Bonamy?" he continued. "Let me ring the bell." He rose and crossed the room to do so. The truth was, he hated the newcomer already. His first sentence had been enough. His manner was not the manner of the men with whom Lindo had mixed, and the rector felt almost angry with Kate for introducing Gregg-albeit his parishioner-to him, and quite angry with her for suffering the doctor to address her with the familiarity he seemed to affect.
And Kate, her eyes downcast, knew by instinct how it was with him, and what he was thinking. "I have been telling Dr. Gregg," she said hurriedly, when he returned, "how we missed our train yesterday."
"Rather how I missed it for you," Lindo answered gravely, much engaged apparently with his breakfast.
"Ah, yes, it was very funny!" fired off the doctor, watching each mouthful they ate. Daintry had finished, and was sitting back in her chair kicking the leg of the table monotonously; not in the best of tempers apparently. "Very funny indeed!" the doctor continued. "An accident, I hope?" with a little sniggling laugh.
"Yes!" said the rector, looking up at him with a black brow and steadfast eyes-"it was an accident."
Gregg was a little cowed by the look, and in a moment, with a muttered word or two, fidgeted himself away, cursing the general superciliousness of parsons and the quiet airs of this one in particular. He was a little dog-in-the-mangerish man, ill-bred, and, like most ill-bred men, resentful of breeding in others. The fact that he had a sneaking liking for Kate did not tend to lessen his disgustful wonder how the Bonamy girls and the new rector came to be travelling together-which, indeed, to any Claversham person would have seemed a portent. But, then, Lindo did not know that.
The objectionable item removed, and the temptation to remark upon him overcome, Lindo soon recovered his good temper, and rattled away so pleasantly that the train time seemed to all of them to come very quickly. "There," he said, as he handed the last of Kate's books into the railway-carriage, "now I have done something to make amends for my fault, I trust. One thing more I can do. When you get home you need not spare me. You can put it all on my shoulders, Miss Bonamy."
"Thank you," Kate answered demurely.
"You are going to do so, I see," he said, laughing. "I fear my character will reach Claversham before me."
"I do not think we shall spread it very widely," she answered in a peculiar tone, which he naturally misunderstood.
The train was already in motion then, and he shook hands with her as he walked beside it. "Goodbye," he said. And then he added in a lower tone-he was such a very young rector-"I hope to see very much of you in the future, Miss Bonamy."
Kate sank back in her seat, her cheek a shade warmer. And in a moment he was alone upon the platform.
CHAPTER V
"REGINALD LINDO, 1850."
Long before the later train by which the rector came on arrived at the Claversham station, the Rev. Stephen Clode was waiting on the platform. The curate was a tall, dark man, somewhat over thirty, with a strong rugged face and a bush of stiff black hair standing up from his forehead. He had been at Claversham three years, enjoying all the importance which old Mr. Williams's long illness naturally gave to his curate and locum tenens; and, though the town was agreed that his chagrin at having a new rector set over his head was great, it must be admitted that he concealed it with admirable skill. More than one letter had passed between him and the new incumbent, and, in securing for the latter Mr. Williams's good old-fashioned furniture, and in other ways, he had made himself very useful to Lindo. But the two had not met, and consequently the curate viewed the approaching train with lively, though secret, curiosity.
It came, the bell rang, the porter cried, "Claversham! Claversham!" and the curate walked down it, past the carriage-windows, looking for the man he had come to meet. Half-a-dozen people stepped out, and for a moment there was a mimic tumult on the little platform; but nowhere amid it all could Clode see any one like the new rector. "He has missed another train!" he muttered to himself in contemptuous wonder; and he was already casting a last look round him before turning on his heel, when a tall, fair young man, in a clerical overcoat, who had been one of the first to alight, stepped up to him. "Am I speaking to Mr. Clode?" said the stranger pleasantly. And he lifted his hat.
"Certainly," the curate answered. "I am Mr. Clode. But I fear I have not the-"
"No, I know," replied the other, smiling, and at the same time holding out his hand. "Though, indeed, I hoped that you might have