“But he is better now—­Master Clarke, I mean?” spoke Magdalen, with anxious eyes.

“Verily yes; he is well-nigh himself again, only he hath the air of one who is worn down with illness.  He looks bent and white and frail—­he toiled so strenuously amongst the sick; and before that he was studying almost night and day.

“But come below into the garden where he is; he will speak for himself.  I would that you should see the lilies there.  They will rejoice your heart.”

It was a quaint old garden into which Anthony led them, full of the scent of herbs and spices, rosemary, thyme, and sweetbrier.  The trim order of modern gardening was then unknown, and therefore not missed; close-shaven turf was only to be found in the bowling alleys, and lawns were not; but there was a wilderness beauty that was full of charm in such a place as this, and the sisters looked about them with eager eyes, rejoicing in the beauty before them, and inhaling the pure freshness of the air after the heavy and somewhat pestilential atmosphere in which they had lived.

Clarke was lying at ease on a bearskin against the turf wall of the bowling alley, a book beside him, which he was not then reading.  His eyes lighted at sight of the sisters, and he would have risen, but that they forestalled him, and sat beside him on the soft skin, looking at him with friendly solicitude.

He would not talk of himself, but had a hundred things to tell them of the place to which they had come.  He inquired how Dr. Langton had borne the journey, and hoped he might visit him later in the day; and as they talked, they were joined by their host himself.  And presently he asked Magdalen to come with him and see his hives of bees, for she was somewhat of a naturalist, and was eager to study the habits and habitations of all living things.

“We are very grateful to you, fair sir,” she said, “for this act of kindness and hospitality to our dear father.  I doubt not that he will recover health and strength with great speed here in this sweet place.  It seems an abode of peace and harmony.  I never saw a house so beautiful.”

“I am right glad it pleases you, sweet mistress,” answered Arthur, a very slight flush mounting to his cheek; “believe me, it is the great hope of my heart that this place shall become dear to you, and that you may find happiness therein.”

“I thank you, sir,” she answered, slightly turning her head away; “your kindness is great, and that not to us alone, but also to others.  Our beloved Master Clarke hath the appearance of a man sorely sick, and in need of long rest and refreshment.  This he will obtain here as he could not elsewhere.  Those who regard his life as a precious one will thank you also for that.”

“Are you one of those, Mistress Magda?”

“Indeed, yes.  We have known Master Clarke for some great while now, and methinks he is one of God’s saints upon earth—­one of those who will assuredly walk with Him in white, one of those who will be faithful and will overcome.”