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“Take this seat, sir,” she said, leading him thither.

The parson sank into the chair and placed his old, soaked gaiters on the warm stone; but he said not one word.

“I thought perhaps you’d be tired after your long walk, sir,” continued the girl, “and so I took the liberty of bringing something with me.” As she spoke she drew into view a basket, and took from it delicate bread, chicken, cakes, preserved strawberries and a little tin coffee-pot which, set on the coals, straightway emitted a delicious fragrance; nothing was forgotten–cream, sugar, nor even snowy napkins.

The parson spoke not a word.

But the girl talked for both, as with flushed cheeks and starry eyes she prepared the tempting meal, using many pretty art and graceful motions, using in short every power she possessed to charm the silent guest. The table was spread, the viands arranged, the coffee poured into the cup; but still the parson spoke not, and his blue eyes were almost stern as he glanced at the tempting array. He touched nothing.

“I thought you would have liked it all,” said the girl at last, when she saw her little offerings despised.”I brought them all out myself–and I was so glad thinking you’d like them–and now–,” her voice broke, and the tears flowed from her pretty, soft eyes. A great tenderness came over the parson’s face.

“Do not weep,” he said quickly.”See, I am eating. See, I am enjoying everything. It is all good, nay, delicious.” And in his haste he partook of each dish, and lifted the coffee-cup to his lips. The girl’s face grew joyous again, and the parson struggled bravely against his own enjoyment; in truth, what with the warm fire, the easy-chair, the delicate food, the fragrant coffee, and the eager, beautiful face before him, a sense of happiness came over him in long surges, and for the moment his soul drifted with the warm tide. ,

“You do like it, don’t you?” said the girl with delight, as he slowly drank the fragrant coffee, his starved lips lingering over the delicious brown drops. Something in her voice jarred on the trained nerves and roused them to action again.

“Yes, I do like it–only too well,” he answered; but the tone of his voice had altered. He pushed back his chair, rose, and began pacing to and fro in the shadow beyond the glow of the fire.

“Thou glutton body!” he murmured.”But thou shalt go empty for this.” Then, after a pause, he said in a quiet, even tone, “You had something to tell me, Miss Ray.”

The girl’s face had altered; but rallying, she told her story earnestly–of Steven Long, his fierce temper, his utter lawlessness, and his threats.

“And why should Steven Long threaten me?” said the parson.”But you need not answer,” he continued in an agitated voice.”Say to Steven Long–say to him,” he repeated in louder tones, “that I shall never marry. I have consecrated my life to my holy calling.”

There was a long silence; the words fell with crushing weight on both listener and speaker. We do not realize even our own determinations, sometimes, until we have told them to another. The girl rallied first; for she still hoped.

“Mr. Peters,” she said, taking all her courage in her hands and coming towards him, “is it wrong to marry?”

“For me–it is.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a priest.”

“Are you a Catholic, then?”

“I am a Catholic, although not in the sense you mean. Mine is the true Catholic faith which the Anglican Church has kept pure from the errors of Rome, and mine it is to make my life accord with the high office I hold.”

“Is it part of your high office to be cold–and hungry–and wretched?”

“I am not wretched.”

“You are;–now, and at all times. You are killing yourself.”

“No; else I had died long, long ago.”

“Well, then, of what use is your poor life as you now live it, either to yourself or any one else? Do you succeed among the miners? How many have you brought into the church?”

“Not one.”

“And yourself? Have you succeeded, so far, in making yourself a saint?”

“God knows I have not,” replied the parson, covering his face with his hands as the questions probed his sore, sad heart.”I have failed in my work, I have failed in myself, I am of all men most miserable!–most miserable!”