of the Close who had nothing better to do, while at the same time asking Yorke's acceptance of a small bundle of pamphlets to be read at his leisure. They were all, Yorke afterwards found, by the same author, and on the same subject, — "The Errors of Popery;" "The Protestant's Guide;" "Hold fast the True Faith;" "The New Gunpowder Plot;" "The Christian's Anchor in Papist Storms;" "A Brand saved from the Burning, being the narrative of the deliverance of a young Protestant lady from conventual toils." Mr. Morgan had spent six months abroad upon this feat, it appeared, while holding his former living, and with the aid of the young lady's father and mother had succeeded in bringing her back to England and Protestantism — the crowning triumph of his ministry, he used to say; but what became of the rest of his parishioners during his absence he did not mention.
"William is very clever, I know," said Mrs. Yorke, as she walked home with her son, "and is so highly looked up to by the people who attend St. Clement's and all that, which is very gratifying to see, of course; but I wish he would keep on better terms with the people in the Close — it makes it so awkward for me. How different it used to be in your poor dear papa's time! He was always quite friendly with the neighbouring clergymen, and the squire too, who never came to church at all."
Arrived at home, Yorke proposed that they should take a turn in the garden, the evening being still light and warm, thinking that his mother would be glad of the opportunity for the contidential chat that they had so far been prevented from having: but she pleaded the necessity for early hours, that she might be up in time for early service at the cathedral next morning, so her son repaired to the garden for his cigar alone, and paced the little gravel-walk in bitter mood. Coming back to what he thought would be home, he found himself among strangers. His mother and sister, he felt, were as widely separated from him as if he were still in India. Was it his fault or theirs, that there should be no real affection between them? And coming in he locked up the house and sought his room, feeling inexpressibly lonely: and, as always happened when in such mood, his thoughts reverted to the days of his young love, and to vain conjectures about the secret of Olivia's disappearance.
Next morning, as an early riser, he was up as soon as his mother, and ready to accompany her to the cathedral. The service was held in the lady-chapel, which, however, was quite large enough for the congregation, there being altogether ten persons present, all females but himself; and the officiating clergyman — in consideration perhaps of the smallness of the congregation — did not detain them long, but read through the service with a wonderful rapidity that suggested long practice.
"There is something so refreshing about this early service," said Mrs. Yorke, as they walked home; "it seems to shed peace over the whole city — especially on all of us who live under the shade of these beautiful towers."
"Judging from the attendance the population would certainly seem to be slumbering peacefully."
"The dean's family ought to have been there, of course; but it is indeed sad to see the want of faith in these days — and the service is but a short one, too."
"It is indeed: I never heard it done at such a pace before."
"My dear Arthur," said his mother, "you should not scoff at religious things."
After breakfast, Mrs. Yorke busied herself about preparations for the evening's entertainment, so as to be free for the afternoon callers who might he expected; and her son inquired whether it would be possible to hire a horse in the place, that he might ride out and revisit the old vicarage, and the scenes familiar to his boyhood. Oh yes, his mother replied, Perkin the flyman kept riding-horses: Lucilla Brabazon, the dean's youngest daughter, used to have riding-lessons in the summer. " But pray be careful what you are about, my dear Arthur; they are very spirited creatures, I am told. Mr. Chanter, the minor canon — the one who called yesterday — went out riding on one, and was run away with and thrown off, and it was a mercy he was not killed. And Johnny Colson, too, hired one to go out hunting last winter, and had I don't know how many falls. So I hope you won't do anything rash, and just before my party too."
"My dear mother," said Arthur, "do you know what you are saying? Johnny Colson is not a colonel of cavalry." Having said this, he regretted the speech, from a sense of the absurdity of the position.
"Of course," replied his mother; "how stupid of me to have forgotten that! I ought to have known that you could ride
