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"I would rather he had given neither of us anything," Rosina confessed. "We could do without the money easily, and it only increases our sense of indebtedness."

"No one can do without money," Matthew said sternly. "I am surprised to hear you talk like that, Rosina. That fifty pounds would have put my finances in much better shape."

"I'm willing to divide, if Philip is," Rosina suggested.

"I may take advantage of your offer," Matthew replied, with a covetous gleam in his eyes. "I shall consider the matter."

"In the meantime, do look out and see if the coast is clear for me, there's a dear," Rosina begged. "I don't want to go in too late, it makes uncle so cross, but another attempted proposal before service would make me hysterical."

Matthew rose to his feet and looked out of the window.

"Mr. Holmes has just gone inside," he announced. "There is no one else there except a few women and the verger."

"Then here goes!" she exclaimed, as she left the room.

Rosina sat by her uncle's side in the front pew of the chapel, prayed when he prayed, sang when he sang, and composed herself as comfortably as might be in the hard, pinewood seat, to listen to the words of exhortation addressed by Mr. Stuart to his congregation. She recognised the fact more than once that she was in the preacher's mind. He spoke of the joy of the safe places, the spiritual discomfort of worldly wanderings, the impossibility of touching pitch without becoming defiled. He spoke of the beauty of Christian love, and the holy and satisfying beauty of living in one's appointed spot. Rosina yawned. When it was over, she left the chapel with light, eager footsteps. Her uncle, as she well knew, must remain to count the offertory.