Buckingham’s face was as stolid as Janet’s; Monmouth’s bearing a smile that was bastard of mirth.

Hardly was her ladyship started, when a tall form, strong boned and sinewy, strode through the open door.  His ruddy face disclosed what appeared to be a stern and rough temper.  His forehead was high; his nose well set over a mouth moderately large.  His habit was plain and modest.  The rain dripped from his red hair and the bit of mustachio that he wore on his upper lip.  His quick, sharp eye noted the men and women that sat apart, and then turned like a flash upon the woman in the pulpit.

As Constance saw the man full in the face, there was a bathos in her zeal, and she stopped, open-mouthed, and closed the book.

Neither Buckingham nor Monmouth could see the countenance of him that entered, so they held quiet and wondered at her ladyship’s behaviour.  Katherine had bent her head upon the back of the seat.

The tall man proceeded up the aisle, his eyes upon the titled woman whose face was now covered with a genuine blush.  For the first time in her life she felt ashamed.  She felt a presence near her that was not altogether of this earth’s mould.

At last regaining a semblance of her usual aplomb, she stepped from the pulpit and made toward the door, where others were entering.  She looked back when half-way down the aisle and beckoned to the others of her party to follow.  As she did so, there came from the pulpit a voice so rich and sweet, so penetrating the soul, the woman trembled and listened.

It was the “Kyrie Eleison” sung in a new tune with clear, strong English words, and they rung and rung in Constance’ ears, as they continued to do for the rest of her days.

“He is a Ranter.  Let us stay and hear him?” Monmouth said.

“Nay,” said Katherine; “I am without covering for my head.  Let’s begone, the meeting is gathering.  What a glory is in his countenance, and his voice is like music!”

“The lack of a bonnet need not hinder.  Thou art a lady and privileged.”

“Nay, nay.  I would know who he is?” Monmouth plucked the sleeve of a passer-by and inquired.  The man answered with a question put in a whisper,—­

“Hast never read ’Pilgrim’s Progress’?” The Duke threw back a glance at the form in the pulpit, then strode forward and jumped into the chaise.

CHAPTER XXII

TELLS OF THE DOINGS OF ALL CONCERNED

The house stood surrounded by a beautiful lawn that sloped gradually to the river.  Trees in full leaf and woody perennial plants in full blossom, dotted the sward.  The long, low stone building was covered with vines that hung in rich purple bloom.  All was quiet, refined, subdued—­without pomp.  Not so was the chief inmate of this charming abode.  She stood gowned in filmy white, waiting for Janet to spread her repast, but the nurse moved at leisure, resolving to give the maid meat for thought, as she did for the body.  She said: