her as a grave young man, with a fine v01ce but halting speech. His sermons were earnest but ineffective.
As he rose to meet her, she felt that she should like him better out of church. His glance was clear and honest, and there was sweetness in his hesitating smile.
“I am sorry to seem persistent—but I heard you had news of Mr. Langhope, and I was anxious to know the particulars,” he explained.
Justine replied that her message had overtaken Mr. Langhope at Wady Halfa, and that he hoped to reach Alexandria in time to catch a steamer to Brindisi at the end of the week.
“Not till then? So it will be almost three weeks—?”
“As nearly as I can calculate, a month.”
The rector hesitated. “And Mr. Amherst?”
“He is coming back too.”
“Ah, you have heard? I’m glad of that. He will be here soon?”
“No. He is in South America—at Buenos Ayres. There will be no steamer for some days, and he may not get here till after Mr. Langhope.”
Mr. Lynde looked at her kindly, with grave eyes that proffered help. “This is terrible for you, Miss Brent.”
“Yes,” Justine answered simply.
“And Mrs. Amherst’s condition?”
[ 404 ]
