Mr Jones was a man of grave and quiet manner, one who seemed to think much and deeply.  He habitually led the conversation, without pedantry, to religious or instructive subjects, and when lighter matter was introduced, was given rather to withdraw his mind from it to his own thoughts.

He had been little in society for many years, during which his time had been passed in the highest, weightiest, gravest, grandest of all labours,—­that of studying to turn the human soul from darkness to light.  Now that he found himself in his own country again, he felt far behind most men in worldly conversation though very far beyond them, not only in religious, but in practical, useful, and general knowledge; such knowledge, I mean, as would be suited to the improvement, not merely of savages, but of the wild, lawless bushmen, gold diggers, and convicts of the Australian world.  His manners were gentlemanlike but slightly old-fashioned, and, doubtless, many a young Englander would have found matter for ridicule in some of his doings and sayings.  Not so, however, the good and cultivated Englishman of the nineteenth century.  He would have found abundance to love and respect in the man who left the luxury, science, learning and refinement of England, in that most wonderful of all ages, to labour amongst the refuse of her people in the largest of her colonies.  For Mr Jones had seen but little, during his twenty years of Australian life, of the better portion of Australian settlers, or the grandeur of her cities.  He had devoted himself to those who had no means of gaining religious teaching elsewhere and he thanked God that the years of his ministry had not been without abundance of those fruits in which the heart of the laborious worker in Christ’s vineyard rejoices.

When Mr Jones left the farm the following morning, it was with a promise to pay it another visit at no very distant period.  He took away with him a letter to Rowland, which was to introduce the brother, clergymen to each other.  As he shook Mr Prothero by the hand, he thanked him warmly for his hospitality, and then abruptly added, ’Take care of that young girl Gladys.  She will surely prove a blessing to you, and repay you for any kindness you may bestow upon her,’

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE LADY’S MAID.

Miss HALL and Freda were sitting alone in the morning-room that has before been alluded to.  The former was much more nervous than Freda had ever seen her.  First she took up her work, then her book, then she began to copy some music.  Freda had great pleasure in watching her, and in remarking that the calm Serena could be excited by the expected appearance of a lover of twenty years ago; also in observing that she had a most becoming colour on her cheeks, and looked quite young; also that she was dressed even with more care than usual, and her hair was smooth as brush could make it.  Freda longed to laugh at her, but she forbore; she felt that there was something very touching in this meeting between two people who had parted under such uncomfortable circumstances so many years ago.