time or another. I don't believe there is a girl living who would not have done just the same as you-and been only too glad to have had the chance."

"But where can I go, and what can I do? I've entirely ruined my life!" I began, miserably, but the Vicar interrupted.

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'Why, of course, you'll go on with your Hospital work presently, when it's all over. You know I've arranged for the immediate future. What the deuce does this little episode matter to anybody but yourself? Your patients won't be any better nursed whether you're married, or whether you ought to be and aren't. I tell you, you are not alone. You don't suppose that any of those old hags at St. Lawrence's took their vows to renounce the World, the Flesh, and the Devil before they had sampled all three? Not they. And you may be quite sure they feel compelled to break their vows at times, or else they wouldn't be able to fully appreciate the luxury of their own sacrifices."

I was silent, though unconvinced by the Vicar's specious, but misleading, arguments, and, apparently assured that I had been brought to reason, he placidly resumed the perusal of Journal Amusant and the rest of the journey was passed without further discussion.

At Calais we were joined by Mrs. Carey-March, who was to cross by the same boat. She had been spending a couple of weeks in Paris by way of completing her lengthy holiday; but despite a delightful shopping expedition (resulting in her appearing rather after the fashion of the dressy Queen of

Sheba), and a highly improper story, coupled with a satisfactory lunch, with which Mr. Claverton sought to rouse her drooping spirits, the poor lady was extremely depressed and inclined to cavil at everyone. Her wanderings, as I gathered from her disjointed conversation, had been shared by an individual to whom she once or twice referred as "Dick," but more generally by the indistinctive pronoun, and it seemed that Dick had been responsible for every conceivable indiscretion, including the culminating one of being already married (although he had presumable betrayed the trusting innocence of five and forty) to a "putty-faced little fool, I do assure you, Jim, who dresses like a heathen, and talks like a copy-book!"

But from the moment she stepped on board, Mrs. Carey-March hopelessly resigned herself to the stewardess and Providence, and could think of nothing else, except once when she managed to gasp out a few indefinite condolences, and said, vaguely, "Everything was so tiresome and unfortunate, and just as if poor Jim hadn't enough to bear already, and altogether it did seem to show such shiftlessness and want of consideration all round," etc. The passage was very rough, for a strong autumnal gale was blowing, and long before we were halfway across every lady passanger had succumbed to the seductive attentions of the stewardess. I was, therefore, thoroughly ill by the time we reached Dover, where we had arranged to part, the Vicar and his cousin proceeding to London, whilst I was to take a local

train to a country village a few miles along the

coast.

“I shall be all right-I would much rather keep to our original plan," I persistently reiterated, when, alarmed at my sudden indisposition, they both urged me to go back with them after all to the Vicarage. However, I was allowed eventually to have my own. way, and we parted at Dover, Mrs. Carey-March hissing confused advice into my ear as she said good-bye, and Mr. Claverton, after the last handshake had been given, hurrying back to press a a crumpled bank-note into my hand as he bade me with airy confidence to keep my spirits up, and I should soon be all right.

CHAPTER IX

A LAST APPEAL

In a certain little village on the South Coast there is a tiny country Hospital for women, built by a local benefactor who holds views which have been stigmatised as "advanced," "unorthodox," or even ungodly," according to the so-called religious opinion of his traducers. This unenviable reputation has been gained in consequence of some of the conditions under which the patients are receivedconditions so opposed to the usual narrow bigotry governing such institutions, that the work carried on by the little Hospital is more suggestive of that simplicity and romance we associate with the monasteries and sanctuaries of the Middle Ages than the customary red-tapeism of the ordinary Infirmary. Every case is, without exception, received gratuitously, and no distinction whatever is accorded to any patient, no matter to what station of life she belongs; each is treated with precisely the same kindness and delicacy. Beyond evening prayers religious services are not enforced, but left to the discretion of the Rector, a sweet, benevolent, white

haired old man, who spent his youth and early manhood in a deplorable London slum, and, familiar with every phase of human misery and suffering, will afford what help and consolation he best can, and is content to leave judgment and sentence to a higher and, let us believe, a more merciful tribunal than we can ever hope for here. In short, the spirit which governs this institution is Christian love and sympathy and forbearance-not the Christianity that shrieks from a hypocritical pulpit and lifts its dainty skirts lest they should be sullied by contact with a more sorely tempted and repentant Magdalen; but the Christianity once professed by a handful of Galilean fishermen, and living in those words that nothing but Divine love and compassion could have prompted: "Neither do I condemn thee; go thou and sin no more."

Into this hospital then I entered-but this time not in a professional capacity. As I lay in the small, neat bed, I could see through the opposite window a stretch of pasture-land sloping down towards the sea, whose gentle swish, as the waves fell on the distant beach, soothed my waking hours and haunted my dreams. It was very late in the autumn, but in the window-box the nasturtiums still trailed their long stalks and vivid blossoms, and when the cheery Matron came in from her early morning walk, she brought with her a faint suggestion of the mignonette scenting the old-world garden below. It was indeed a sweet and peaceful little spot, and a strange contrast to the barrack-like appearance which the long