before.  He spoke of his work and its hopes and disappointments, of the pathos, the tragedy, the comedy often of a way of life which leads by a deeper cut through men’s hearts than any other, and he told her also, modestly indeed, and because he loved to tell her what meant much to him, of the joy of knowing himself successful in his parish.  He went into details, absorbingly interesting to him, and this new luxury of speaking freely carried him away.

“I hope I’m not boring you.”  His frank gaze turned on her anxiously.  “I don’t know what right I have to assume that the increase in the Sunday-school, or even the new brass pulpit, is a fascinating subject to you.  I never did this before,” he said, and there was something in his voice which hindered the girl from answering his glance.  But there was no air of being bored about her, and he went on.  “However, life isn’t all good luck.  I had a serious blow just before I came down here—­a queer thing happened.  I told you just now that all the large gifts to St. John’s had come from one man—­a former parishioner.  The man was James Litterny, of the great firm of—­Why, what’s the matter—­what is it?” For Katherine had stopped short, in her fast, swinging walk, and without a sound had swayed and caught at the wall as if to keep herself from falling.  Before he could reach her she had straightened herself and was smiling.

“I felt ill for a second—­it’s nothing,—­let’s go along.”

North made eager suggestions for her comfort, but the girl was firm in her assertion, that she was now quite well, so that, having no sisters and being ignorant that a healthy young woman does not, any more than a healthy young man, go white and stagger without reason, he yielded, and they walked briskly on.

“You were telling me something that happened to you—­something connected with Mr.—­with the rich parishioner.”  Her tone was steady and casual, but looking at her, he saw that she was still pale.

“Do you really want to hear my yarns?  You’re sure it isn’t that which made you feel faint—­because I talked so much?”

“It’s always an effort not to talk myself,” she laughed up at him, yet with a strange look in her eyes.  “All the same, talk a little more.  Tell me what you began to tell about Mr. Litterny.”  The name came out full and strong.

“Oh, that!  Well, it’s a story extraordinary enough for a book.  I think it will interest you.”

“I think it will,” Katherine agreed.

“You see,” he went on, “Mr. Litterny promised us a new parish-house, the best and largest practicable.  It was to cost, with the lot, ten thousand dollars.  It was to be begun this spring.  Not long before I came to Bermuda, I had a note one morning from him, asking me to come to his house the next evening.  I went, and he told me that the parish-house would have to be given up for the present, because the firm of Litterny Brothers had just met with a loss, through a most skilful and original robbery, of five thousand dollars.”