He was glad of the excuse for action.  He could not have sat still.  And as he walked rapidly across Burton Street he realized with a pang how much his heart had been set on Kate Marcy’s redemption.  In spite of the fact that every moment of his time during the past fortnight had been absorbed by the cares, responsibilities, and trials thrust upon him, he reproached himself for not having gone oftener to Dalton Street.  And yet, if Mr. Bentley and Sally Grower had been unable to foresee and prevent this, what could he have done?

At police headquarters he got no news.  The chief received him deferentially, sympathetically, took down Kate Marcy’s description, went so far as to remark, sagely, that too much mustn’t be expected of these women, and said he would notify the rector if she were found.  The chief knew and admired Mr. Bentley, and declared he was glad to meet Mr. Hodder. . .  Hodder left, too preoccupied to draw any significance from the nature of his welcome.  He went at once to Mr. Bentley’s.

The old gentleman was inclined to be hopeful, to take Sally Grower’s view of the matter. .  He trusted, he said, Sally’s instinct.  And Hodder came away less uneasy, not a little comforted by a communion which never failed to fortify him, to make him marvel at the calmness of that world in which his friend lived, a calmness from which no vicarious sorrow was excluded.  And before Hodder left, Mr. Bentley had drawn from him some account of the more recent complexities at the church.  The very pressure of his hand seemed to impart courage.

“You won’t stay and have dinner with me?”

The rector regretfully declined.

“I hear the bishop has returned,” said Mr. Bentley, smiling.

Hodder was surprised.  He had never heard Mr. Bentley speak of the bishop.  Of course he must know him.

“I have my talk with him to-morrow.”

Mr. Bentley said nothing, but pressed his hand again . . . .

On Tower Street, from the direction of the church, he beheld a young man and a young woman approaching him absorbed in conversation.  Even at a distance both seemed familiar, and presently he identified the lithe and dainty figure in the blue dress as that of the daughter of his vestryman, Francis Ferguson.  Presently she turned her face, alight with animation, from her companion, and recognized him.

“It’s Mr. Hodder!” she exclaimed, and was suddenly overtaken with a crimson shyness.  The young man seemed equally embarrassed as they stood facing the rector.

“I’m afraid you don’t remember me, Mr. Hodder,” he said.  “I met you at Mr. Ferguson’s last spring.”

Then it came to him.  This was the young man who had made the faux pas which had caused Mrs. Ferguson so much consternation, and who had so manfully apologized afterwards.  His puzzled expression relaxed into a smile, and he took the young man’s hand.

“I was going to write to you,” said Nan, as she looked up at the rector from under the wide brim of her hat.  “Our engagement is to be announced Wednesday.”