hopes and forecasts?  Boyish nonsense, he would have said (except just at such a moment as this, when the sudden sound of the organ seemed to call back so much).  He had encountered the realities of life since then; he had chosen his profession; he had studied hard; he had achieved a measure of fame.  And the beautiful and wonderful being who was to share his triumphs with him?  Well, he had never actually beheld her.  A glimmer here and there, in a face or a form, had taken his fancy captive more than once; but he remained heart-whole; he was too much occupied, he laughingly assured Maurice Mangan again and again, to have the chance of falling in love.

“Getting married?” he would say.  “My dear fellow, I haven’t time; I’m far too busy to think of getting married.”

So the radiant bride had never been found, even as the new Hallelujah Chorus that was to thrill the hearts of millions had never been written; and Linn Moore had to be content with the very pronounced success he had attained in playing in comic opera, and with a popularity in the fashionable world of London, especially among the women-folk therein, that would have turned many a young fellow’s head.

When they thought the service was about over they went round to the porch and awaited the coming out of the congregation.  And among the first to make their appearance—­issuing from the dusky little building into this bewilderment of white light and green leaves—­were old Dr. Moore and his wife, and Miss Francie Wright, who passed for Lionel’s cousin, though the relationship was somewhat more remote than that.  Maurice Mangan received a very hearty welcome from these good people; and then, as they set out for home, Lionel walked on with his father and mother, while Lionel’s friend naturally followed with the young lady.  She was not a distinctly beautiful person, perhaps, this slim-figured young woman, with the somewhat pale face, the high-arched eyebrows, and light-brown hair; but at least she had extremely pretty gray eyes, that had a touch of shrewdness and humor in them, as well as plenty of gentleness and womanliness; and she had a soft and attractive voice, which goes for much.

“It is so kind of you, Mr. Mangan,” said she, in that soft and winning voice, “to bring Linn down.  You know he won’t come down by himself; and who can wonder at it?  It is so dull and monotonous for him here, after the gay life he leads in London.”

“Dull and monotonous!” he exclaimed.  “Why, I have been preaching to him all the morning that he should be delighted to come down into the quietude of the country, as a sort of moral bath after the insensate racket of that London whirl.  But no one ever knows how well off he is,” he continued, as they walked along between the fragrant hawthorn hedges; “it’s the lookers-on who know.  Good gracious, what wouldn’t I give to be in Linn’s place!”

“Do you mean in London, Mr. Mangan?” she asked, and for an instant the pretty gray eyes looked up.