“There are things in this room that are priceless!” soliloquised the clergyman, who was something of a collector—­“If the place comes under the hammer I shall try to pick up a few pieces.”

He smiled, with the pleased air of one who feels that all things must have an end—­either by the “hammer” or otherwise,—­even a fine old house, the pride and joy of a long line of its owners during three hundred years.  And then he started, as the door opened slowly and softly and a girl stood before him, looking more like a spirit than a mortal, clad in a plain white gown, with a black ribbon threaded through her waving fair hair.  She was pale to the very lips, and her eyes were swollen and heavy with weeping.  Timidly she held out her hand.

“It is kind of you to come,” she said,—­and paused.

He, having taken her hand and let it go again, stood awkwardly mute.  It was the first time he had seen Innocent in her home surroundings, and he had hardly noticed her at all when he had by chance met her in her rare walks through the village and neighbourhood, so that he was altogether unprepared for the refined delicacy and grace of her appearance.

“I am very sorry to hear of your sad bereavement,” he began, at last, in a conventional tone—­“very sorry indeed—­”

She looked at him curiously.

“Are you?  I don’t think you can be sorry, because you did not know him—­if you had known him, you would have been really grieved—­ yes, I am sure you would.  He was such a good man!—­one of the best in all the world!  I’m glad you have come to see me, because I have often wanted to speak to you—­and perhaps now is the right time.  Won’t you sit down?”

He obeyed her gesture, surprised more or less by her quiet air of sad self-possession.  He had expected to offer the usual forms of religious consolation to a sort of uneducated child or farm-girl, nervous, trembling and tearful,—­instead of this he found a woman whose grief was too deep and sincere to be relieved by mere talk, and whose pathetic composure and patience were the evident result of a highly sensitive mental organisation.

“I have never seen death before,” she said, in hushed tones—­ “except in birds and flowers and animals—­and I have cried over the poor things for sorrow that they should be taken away out of this beautiful world.  But with Dad it is different.  He was afraid —­afraid of suffering and weakness—­and he was taken so quickly that he could hardly have felt anything—­so that his fears were all useless.  And I can hardly believe he is dead—­actually dead—­ can you?  But of course you do not believe in death at all—­the religion you teach is one of eternal life—­eternal life and happiness.”

Mr. Medwin’s lips moved—­he murmured something about “living again in the Lord.”

Innocent did not hear,—­she was absorbed in her own mental problem and anxious to put it before him.