all she can to secure herself. It can't do any harm. It might do such a lot of good. Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance."

"Unfortunately for the aptness of your quotation, my dear Lidderdale, this girl doesn't evince the least symptom of penitence."

"Well, she's half-way to penitence," Mark said, "because she recognizes that she was to blame. And, anyway, when our Lord spoke those words, He spoke them to the Pharisees and scribes who grumbled because He was a man Who was receiving sinners and eating with them. I'm sorry to say what I must say, but there does not seem to me any possible kind of argument in favour of turning this girl out of the house that is not blasphemy against Jesus Christ."

The Vicar turned on Mark, pale with anger.

"I'm afraid, Lidderdale, that it will be impossible for you and me to work together any longer. I have been coming to that conclusion for some time. I'm afraid that I must ask you to resign your curacy at St. Luke's."

"Yes, I expect that it would be pleasanter for us both," Mark agreed. "But my resignation won't acquit you of fulfilling your duty toward Carrie."

A day or so after this the Vicar told Mark that he had secured Caroline's admission to a home for penitents. As Mark had expected, Carrie refused to go, whereupon she was told to leave the Vicarage that afternoon, much to the relief of Mrs. Middleditch.

"Although even now, if she will tell me the name of the man, I will keep her in my house until I have interviewed him and ascertained what he intends to do," the Vicar said.

But Carrie shut her mouth tight and began to pack her box.

Mark did not know what to do. He had an idea of getting Dorward to take her in for the time, and he was sure that Dorward would have done so without a moment's hesitation. But would it be quite fair? Then he thought of Mrs. Pluepott, who incidentally might be

able to make a good guess at the name of the man. Mark hurried out to Oaktown to see if Mrs. Pluepott would take Carrie in for so long as there was a hope of her being able to persuade the man to marry her. Meanwhile he would write to Sister Esther Magdalene, so that if Carrie's hopes were not fulfilled she could be looked after. On his way out to Oaktown he overtook on the road Micha Chilcott, whose company he was glad to have, for Micha looked at life calmly and had not the contentious and omniscient radicalism of his brother Rehob. It came into Mark's head, while they were walking along the dusty August road together, to say something to his companion about Carrie. He knew that it would be idle to attempt to keep her condition a secret, for even if it were not obvious to the eye, Mark was sure that the moment she left the Vicarage Mrs. Middleditch would proclaim her sin aloud in the market-place and that the gossip would soon reach Oaktown.

"I want your advice, Micha," Mark said. "By the way, how's the new house getting on? I've not seen it for a month or more."

"It's not getting on at all. The old man has cut off all supplies. I don't think it'll ever be built now," Micha said.

"And what about your getting married? Is that postponed indefinitely?" Mark inquired.

"Oh, that was broken off a long time back. You're very much behind with Oaktown news, Mr. Lidderdale. No, my young lady didn't like the idea of the cow-house. The old man was right."

Mark looked sympathetic, and decided that this was the moment to talk about Carrie.

"I was saying that I wanted your advice, Micha. You remember Carrie? She works with us at the Vicarage, and was at our Christmas party?"

"Oh yes, I remember her well," Micha said.

"Well, I want your advice. She's in trouble, and I'm on my way now to ask Mrs. Pluepott if she will be kind enough to have her to stay with her for a time. Apparently the chap who's responsible is somebody in Oaktown. But Carrie absolutely declines to say who it

is. I tried my best to persuade her to tell me his name, but she won't."

"It oughtn't be difficult to find out," Micha said.

"No, I don't think it will. But Carrie was so good about him. I mean, she insisted that it was as much her fault as his, and didn't, as so many girls do in similar circumstances, indulge in the antics of a heroine. I'd do anything to help the poor little girl. She's always been very kind to me and done so much to make me comfortable. Naturally, the Vicar is very much upset, and he told Carrie that unless she would say who it was she must leave the Vicarage. I can't help feeling that if only I could get hold of the chap I could make him see Carrie's fine qualities, and perhaps he'd realize that he was losing a good wife."

"He does realize it, Mr. Lidderdale," Micha said in such a matter-of-fact tone that Mark did not grasp for a moment that he was speaking for himself. "Where's Carrie now?

"She's waiting till I get back from Mrs. Pluepott, so that in case Mrs. Pluepott won't have her to stay with her I can go to somebody else."

"When would you marry us?" Micha asked.

"I'm ready when you are," Micha said.

Mark supposed that he ought to improve the occasion by a few well-chosen words about incontinence. But he felt too happy.

"Will you come back with me, Micha, and tell her

so?"

"Well, I haven't fed the chickens," Micha said. "I'll come along in about an hour's time. I think you're a pretty good sort, Mr. Lidderdale. Thanks very much. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling Carrie that it's all right?"

With this he hurried on to feed his chickens, and Mark walked so fast back to Galton that he was white with dust when he arrived.

"Carrie!" he shouted Vicarage hall. "Carrie! Come down and hear the wonderful news."

at the top of his voice in the You're engaged to be married.

While he stood there shouting, he had a vision of that starlit Christmas night when they had all walked up to Green Lanes; and in a radiance of golden candlelight he saw the Holy Child smiling.

But a voice that often whispered in his ear nowadays said: "Credulous fool, it's only a coincidence. It's sheer vanity to believe it to be the direct interposition of Almighty God. Vanity and egoism."

CHAPTER XI

ST. CUTHBERT'S, CHELSEA

WHEN Carrie was safely wed the Vicar suggested to Mark that perhaps the dispute between them might be forgotten in the happy issue of the affair, and that Mark might see his way to remain in Galton as his curate. But Mark felt that the dispute had exposed too much of their radical differences of opinion and intention, and that the bitterness to which both of them had given vent could not be set aside so easily. It was not as if this had been the first occasion of their not seeing eye to eye. It was the culmination of so many divergent opinions, uttered and unuttered. However, Mark agreed to stay on until the beginning of the new year, although his conscience warned him that he could do no good by remaining. Nor did he, at any rate so far as the cure of the parish was concerned; for, being above everything anxious not to imply the least disapproval of Shuter's way of doing things, he fell into a mechanical performance of his duties that allowed him too much leisure to brood morbidly upon the futility of religion. And how futile sometimes it did seem! Looking back in after years on that last four or five months at Galton, Mark gathered them together within the compass of the opening sentence of the Exhortation at Morning Prayer: Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us in sundry places to acknowledge and confess our manifold sins and wickedness. And the words meant nothing. No such vain repetition had ever been uttered by the heathen, not even when the prophets of Baal called on his name from morning even until noon, saying, O Baal, hear us. There was only one repetition still vainer, which was when the congregation of St. Luke's bleated back in answer: Almighty and most merciful Father; we have erred, and strayed from thy