220 The Real Charlotte. 



that she had neither part nor lot in the things that touched 

 him most nearly. 



But the facts were surprising, there was no denying that. 

 Even without Charlotte to tell her so she was aware that 

 Christopher detested the practice of paying visits even more 

 sincerely than most men, and was certainly not in the habit 

 of visiting in Lismoyle. Except to see her, there was no 

 reason that could bring him to Tally Ho. Surer than all 

 fact, however, and rising superior to mere logic, was her in- 

 stinctive comprehension of men and their ways, and some- 

 times she was almost sure that he came, not from kindness, 

 or from that desire to improve her mind which she had 

 discerned and compassionated, but because he could not 

 help himself. She had arrived at one of these thrilling 

 moments of certainty when Christopher's voice ceased upon 

 the words, " Thy jealous God," and she knew that the time 

 had come for her to say something appropriate. 



" Oh thank you, Mr. Dysart — that's — that's awfully pretty. 

 It's a sort of religious thing, isn't it ? " 



" Yes, I suppose so," answered Christopher, looking at her 

 with a wavering smile, and feeling as if he had stepped sud- 

 denly to the ground out of a dream of flying ; " the hero's 

 a pilgrim, and that's always something." 



" I know a lovely song called ' The Pilgrim of Love, 

 said Francie timidly ; " of course it wasn't the same thing 

 as what you were reading, but it was awfully nice too." 



Christopher looked up at her, and was almost convinced 

 that she must have absorbed something of the sentiment if 

 not the sense of what he had read, her face was so sympa- 

 thetic and responsive. With that expression in her limpid 

 eyes it gave him a peculiar sensation to hear her say the 

 name of Love ; it was even a delight, and fired his imagina- 

 tion with the picturing of what it would be like to hear her 

 say it with all her awakened soul. He might have said 

 something that would have suggested his feeling, in the 

 fragmentary, inferential manner that Francie never knew 

 what to make of, but that her eyes strayed away at a click 

 of the latch of the avenue gate, and lost their unworldliness 

 in the sharp and easy glance that is the unvalued privilege 

 of the keen-sighted. 



*' Who in the name of goodness is this ? " she said, sitting 



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