say, they all admitted it. . . . Well, why don't you settle a regular amount on me, Arthur? I mean to say, you expect all and give nothing, if it comes to that. If you allowed me so much a week instead of me always having to wheedle it out of you we should both be happier. What's that, Gladys, lend you two quid? Hark at her, girls! She thinks I'm made of money. Besides, I wouldn't lend it if I had it. Well, it don't do to be always giving away hard-earned money, that it don't. . . . Kiss me, kiss me! O Dick, I do love you! Kiss me, my darling. I don't care about anybody, only you. I love you, Dick. . . . Hell then, you dirty hound; if you think you're just going to say good-bye and be rid of me so easy as all that, you're damn well mistaken. If I find you've been taking out that Gladys, I'll shoot you, Dick. Yes, you can laugh, but you won't laugh in a minute. God, aren't men the limit! . . . I'll have a whisky-andlemon hot. Oh, girls, I wasn't half canned last night. I was absolutely blotto. I was really. Well, what of it? I think it does anyone good, I do. Well, here's luck, girls. Alphonso, bring another whisky-and-lemon hot, there's a love. Well, if she dared show herself in here, I'd spit in her eye. Who is she, any old way? Yes, just because she's got hold of this Polish count, she thinks she's everybody. Gave her another lovely ring last week, did he? Well, if he did, he's more of an up the Polish count. Well, I can't see anything in her, I can't. Yes, she's nicely dressed, perhaps, but what's that? Anybody could be well dressed if they had a mug like him to pay for it. . . . Oh, I'm not going to get up yet, Maudie. Whatever for? So long as we're up the Dilly by nine, that's early enough. Make us a cup of tea. Oh, go on, Maudie, be a sport, and do leave anyone in peace and quiet. I like my bed, I do. It's snice. . . ."

The harsh voice subsided, and the sick woman fell back among the pillows.

"Pride, covetousness, lust, anger, gluttony, envy and sloth," Mark said. "I dare not give her Viaticum."

"But, Mark, just before you came she wasn't talking a bit like that. These are devils that make her speak

like that. Pray for her, Mark, for I'm sure that she repents."

Mark knelt and prayed:

O Blessed Lord, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comforts; We beseech Thee, look down in pity and compassion upon this Thy afflicted servant. Thou writest bitter things against her, and makest her to possess her former iniquities; Thy wrath lieth hard upon her, and her soul is full of trouble: But, O Merciful God, Who hast written Thy Holy Word for our learning, that we, through patience and comfort of Thy Holy Scriptures, might have hope; give her a right understanding of herself, and of Thy threats and promises; that she may neither cast away her confidence in Thee, nor place it anywhere but in Thee. Give her strength against all her temptations, and heal all her distempers. Break not the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax. Shut not up Thy tender mercies in displeasure; but make her to hear of joy and gladness, that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice. Deliver her from fear of the enemy, and lift up the light of Thy countenance upon her, and give her peace, through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

During this prayer the sick woman had lain silent and motionless, but when Mark and Esther rose from their knees she began to speak again, this time in the remote voice of one in the deepest sleep:

"I wish I hadn't have left the sisters. I wish I hadn't. I might have known that I'd have found my place in the shop filled up. Still, I don't blame Miss Marshall. The girl they've got in my place is much prettier than ever I was. It's to be hoped she won't be so silly. I hope she'll be happier than me. Perhaps Dick wasn't really so much to blame. I dare say I got on his nerves. And it was my fault in the beginning. I wish I'd taken the dressmaking job they offered me. It wasn't much. But I needn't have lived gay. I wish I hadn't cared so much about money, and I wish I hadn't gone on the drink like I did, and I wish I wasn't so bad. I wish I was little Mabel. If I was Mabel's mother, I'd take her right away from here. . . right away . . . away to the country. You wouldn't think I was a country-bred

girl to look at me now. But I was. I came from Bedfordshire."

Mark told Esther to say the Confession for the sick woman; and when he had absolved her from her sins he gave her Viaticum. But she was scarcely conscious, and it seemed as if life was becoming so hard to hold.

"I shall be round to-morrow morning to find out how she is," Mark said in the sitting-room.

"I'm afraid she will be dead. The doctor holds out no hope."

"Poor child!" he sighed. "I had a girl at Galton who might have come to this; but I only heard from her yesterday to ask if I would be godfather to her second boy. She is happily married. I'm going to Wych for a long stay next week. I'm leaving here. Perhaps I shall see you on one of your brief holidays."

"Perhaps," she said. "Oh, Mark, I am so thankful about that poor girl. We feared that she was utterly lost. But the dear Reverend Mother's prayers are always answered."

"Listen," Mark whispered.

From the bedroom came the murmur of a voice immeasurably remote, yet clear as a bell:

Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the Fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

"That was not delirium," Esther exclaimed, crossing herself.

"No, no! The seven devils have gone out of her. Thanks be to God."

Esther's eyes shone with joy. Mark left the house and plunged into the mighty October wind, saying to himself on the way back to the Clergy House the psalm Laudate Dominum De Coelis.

Violet Shoolbred died soon after daybreak. Esther went back immediately to the convent in Shoreditch. Mrs. Budd was able to pay herself and all the funeral expenses out of the dead woman's few possessions. She promised Mark that Mabel should come to church every Sunday morning and join the Sunday school, after he had

lectured her severely on her moral carelessness in regard to her daughter. He asked the new Vicar to take an interest in Mabel, and Viner, who was filled with the missionary spirit, was only too glad to pledge his word to do all he could.

"I'm really exceedingly sorry that you won't stay on as my senior assistant-priest," he said to Mark when the day came for him to leave the Clergy House. "I feel convinced that we should have got on splendidly together."

"I'm sure we should," Mark agreed warmly. "But I know that I ought to have some time in the country. Not on my own account, but because I feel an absence in me of spiritual force."

Viner smiled.

"It's not very noticeable. Still, I should do wrong to try in any way to over-persuade you."

They parted; and Mark left that afternoon for Wychon-the-Wold.

CHAPTER XVI

CROSS ROADS

"It will soon be the thirteenth anniversary of your induction to Wych," Mark reminded the Rector, when they were all gathered in the drawing-room after dinner on the night of his arrival.

"And now here is Mark quite an elderly cleric," Miriam declared, looking up with a smile from the flowered arm-chair in which she sat stroking the great yellow Persian cat that was purring loudly upon her knee.

"I'm most interested to hear about Mark's meeting dear Esther like that," said old Mrs. Ogilvie, who was buried in a game of patience. "Ten on knave, nine on ten. That's a little better. But the congestion is still terrible. Most interested. Dear child! I had the gravest doubts once of her suitability for a sisterhood, but I was wrong. Queen on king, which gives me that six I've been wanting all this time. Well, I believe I shall get it out after all. And you thought she was looking well, Mark? When she was here last June, I thought that she was looking a little tired. But the air of Shoreditch must be very, very exhausting indeed. At last I can get that wretched king up. Bravo! Bravo!"

"I don't fancy that the air of Pimlico is too bracing," the Rector put in. "I think that it was high time you gave the country a chance, Mark. You must stay at least six months. I can give you plenty of work to do."

"My dear Stephen," the old lady protested, "why not let the poor boy have a real rest? He was always a very lean boy, but now he is looking positively gaunt. Bother that wretched two! It's hopelessly buried.”

Mark smiled to himself at the thought of being overworked in Wych, and, rising from his chair, he went