“Yes, but what about Mr. Fraser, Pigott?  Isn’t he well?”

“The telegraft didn’t say, as I remembers, miss; bless me, I forget if it was to-day or to-morrow.”

“Oh, Pigott,” groaned Angela, “do tell me what was in the telegram.”

“Why, miss, surely I told you that the thing said, though I fancy likely to be in error——­”

“What?” almost shouted Angela.

“Why, that the Reverend Fraser would be home by the midday train, and would like a beefsteak for lunch, not mentioning, however, anything about the onions, which is very puzzling to Mrs.——­”

“Oh, I am glad; why could you not tell me before?  Cousin George disposed of and Mr. Fraser coming back.  Why, things are looking quite bright again; at least they would be if only Arthur were here,” and her rejoicing ended in a sigh.

As soon as she thought that he would have finished his beefsteak, with or without the onions, Angela walked down to the vicarage and broke in upon Mr. Fraser with something of her old gladsome warmth.  Running up to him without waiting to be announced, she seized him by both hands.

“And so you are back at last? what a long time you have been away.  Oh, I am so glad to see you.”

Mr. Fraser, who, it struck her, looked older since his absence, turned first a little red and then a little pale, and said,

“Yes, Angela, here I am back again in the old shop; it is very good of you to come so soon to see me.  Now, sit down and tell me all about yourself whilst I go on with my unpacking.  But, bless me, my dear, what is the matter with you, you look thin, and as though you were not happy, and—­where has your smile gone to, Angela?”

“Never mind me, you must tell me all about yourself first.  Where have you been and what have you been doing all these long months?”

“Oh, I have been enjoying myself over half the civilized globe,” he answered, with a somewhat forced laugh.  “Switzerland, Italy, and Spain have all been benefited by my presence, but I got tired of it, so here I am back in my proper sphere, and delighted to again behold these dear familiar faces,” and he pointed to his ample collection of classics.  “But let me hear about yourself, Angela.  I am tired of No. 1, I can assure you.”

“Oh, mine is a long story, you will scarcely find patience to listen to it.”

“Ah, I thought that there was a story from your face; then I think that I can guess what it is about.  Young ladies’ stories generally turn upon the same pivot,” and he laughed a little softly, and sat down in a corner well out of the light.  “Now, my dear, I am ready to give you my best attention.”

Angela blushed very deeply, and, looking studiously out of the window, began, with many hesitations, to tell her story.

“Well, Mr. Fraser, you must understand first of all—­I mean, you know, that I must tell you that—­” desperately, “that I am engaged.”