luncheon. I will waithere till he comes out."
The man went with her message. But in a moment or two he reappearedlooking somewhat surprised.
"He has gone, ma'am," he said. "I can't make out how he went off soquickly. No one seems to have seen him."
"He must have hurried off at once. No doubt I shall find him at home,"she said, feeling nevertheless a little disappointed. She had lookedforward to the few minutes' talk with the preacher who had so impressedher; she would have liked to thank him without delay.
"I shall feel too shy to say it to him before Reginald, I am afraid,"she thought. "I am a little surprised he did not tell me more of thisMr Lyle."
And she set off eagerly to return home. At the church door she almostran against one of the curates, an honest and hard-working, butdictatorial young man, with whom she did not feel much sympathy. Heaccompanied her a few steps down the street.
"And how did you like the sermon?" he said.
Mildred replied by repeating his own question, hoping thus to escape adiscussion she felt sure would not be to her mind.
"How did _you_ like it, Mr Grenfell?" she asked.
He smiled in a superior way, conscious to his fingertips of hisunassailable theology.
"I daresay he may come to be something of a preacher in time," he said."But he was crude--very crude--and I should say he would do well to gothrough a good course of divinity. He evidently _thinks_ he knows allabout it; but if I could have a talk with him I could knock hisarguments to shivers, I could--"
"Mr Grenfell," said Mildred, feeling very repelled by his manner, "doyou think religion is only theology of the Schools? If you could notfeel the love of God, and love to man--the `enthusiasm of humanity,' ifyou like to call it so--breathing through Mr Lyle's every word and lookand tone, I am sorry for you."
Mr Grenfell grew very red.
"I am sorry," he began, "I did not mean--I will think over what you say.Perhaps it is true that we clergy get into that way of thinking--as ifreligion were a branch of learning more than anything else. Thank you,"and with a shake of the hand he turned away.
A step or two further on, Mildred overtook a young man--a cripple, andowing to his infirmity, in poor circumstances, though a gentleman bybirth. She was passing with a kindly bow, when he stopped her.
"Might I ask the name of the clergyman who preached this morning?" heasked, raising his face, still glowing with pleasure, to hers.
"Mr Lyle," she replied; "at least," as for the first time a slightmisgiving crossed her mind, "I feel almost sure that is his name."
"Thank you," the cripple said. "I am glad to know it, though it matterslittle. Whoever he was, I pray God to bless him, I little knew what Iwas going to church to hear this morning; I felt as if an angel hadunawares come to speak to us."
And in the relief of this warm sympathy Mildred held out her hand.
"Thank _you_, Mr Denis, for speaking so," she said; "you are the firstwho seem to have felt as I did."
Then she hurried on.
She found her husband on the sofa, but looking feverish and uneasy.
"How?" he began, but she interrupted him.
"Is Mr Lyle not here?" she said.
"Mr Lyle!" Reginald repeated. "What do you mean? You had scarcelygone when a special messenger brought this from him;" and he held out ashort note of excessive regret and apology from the young priest, atfinding the utter impossibility of reaching Saint X's in time for themorning service. "I have been on thorns," said the Rector, "and I coulddo nothing. There was no one to send. Did Grenfell preach, or wasthere no sermon?"
Mildred sat down, feeling strangely bewildered.
"I cannot explain it," she said. "Reginald, tell me what is Mr Lyle'spersonal appearance? Can he have come after all? even after despatchinghis message? Is he slight and fair--rather tall and almostboyish-looking, but with most sweet yet keen eyes, and a wonderfulvoice?"
The Rector could hardly help smiling.
"Lyle," he replied, "is slight, but short, and dark--very dark, with aquick lively way of moving, and a rather thin, though clear voice. Hehas not a grain of music or poetry in his composition."
Nothing could be more unlike the preacher of that morning.
Mildred told her husband all she could recollect of the sermon. Itsvivid impression remained; but the words had grown hazy, and curiouslyenough she could not recall the text. But Reginald listened with fullsympathy and belief.
"I wish I could have heard it," he said. "Were the days for suchblessed visitations not over, I should think." But there he hesitated.
Mildred understood, and the words of the cripple, Mr Denis--"an angelunawares"--returned to her memory.
The events I have related were never explained, nor of the many who hadbeen present that Sunday morning at Saint X's did any ever again lookupon the fair face of the mysterious stranger.
But--till the matter had passed from the minds of all but two or three--the Rector had to listen with patience to much fault-finding with thesermon, and with its preacher.
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The End.
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