the church in this artistic manner out of his own pocket, for the comfort of the villagers,” and moreover that he actually condescended to attend Divine service under the galvanised iron roof which he had so liberally erected.  Nay, it had been even known that Sir Morton had on one or two occasions himself read the Lessons in the absence of the late rector, who was subject to sore throats and was constantly compelled to call in outside assistance.

To all this information John Walden said nothing.  He was not concerned with Sir Morton Pippitt or any other county magnate in the management of his own affairs.  A fortnight after his arrival he quietly announced to his congregation that the church was about to be entirely restored according to its original lines of architecture, and that a temporary building would be erected on his, Walden’s, own land for the accommodation of the people during such time as the restoration should be in progress.  This announcement brought about Walden’s first acquaintance with his richest neighbour, Sir Morton Pippitt.  That gentleman having been accustomed to have his own way in everything concerning St. Rest, for a considerable time, straightway wrote, expressing his ’surprise and indignation’ at the mere assumption that any restoration was required for the church beyond what he, Sir Morton, had effected at his own expense.  The number of parishioners was exceedingly small,—­ too small to warrant any further expenditure for enlarging a place of worship which mental ability as he possessed, and was now Bishop of the very diocese in which he had his little living.  University men said he had ‘stood aside’ in order to allow Brent to press more swiftly forward, but though this was a perfectly natural supposition on the part of those who knew something of Walden’s character, it was not correct.  Walden at that time had only one object in life,—­ and this was to secure such name and fame, together with such worldly success as might delight and satisfy the only relative he had in the world, his sister, a beautiful and intelligent woman, full of an almost maternal tenderness for him, and a sweet resignation to her own sad lot, which made her the victim of a slow and incurable disease.  So long as she lived, her brother threw himself into his work with intensity and ardour; but when she died that impulse withered, as it were, at its very root.  The world became empty for him, and he felt that from henceforth he would be utterly companionless.  For what he had seen of modern women, modern marriage and modern ways of life, did not tempt him to rashly seek refuge for his heart’s solitude in matrimony.  Almost immediately following the loss of his sister, an uncle of whom he had known very little, died suddenly, leaving him a considerably large fortune.  As soon as he came into possession of this unexpected wealth, he disappeared at once from the scene of his former labours,—­the pretty old house in the University town, with its great cedars sloping