"Then possibly I did,--I wasn't sure. I--I didn't think of it much, but, Jimmy, I don't want to be married just now. You've been splendid ever since we met--and really I didn't want you to say what you did."

"Perhaps not in the way I said it." Belding's face became suddenly rigid. "And perhaps now I know why. You see it's hard for me to compete with my own chief," he added grimly.

"That's not fair," she burst out, her cheeks flaming. "If you really cared you wouldn't say it."

"I only want to know where I stand," he replied with sudden dignity.

"If you'll tell me that, I will be satisfied--for to-night."

Her mood changed in a flash. "That sounds better, but, Jimmy, must you know to-night? It's hard for me to tell you."

"Why?" he demanded. He wanted his answer, fraught with whatever fate.

"Because I don't just know myself," she said softly. "I wonder if I can explain. I am fond of you, Jimmy, more than you know, but I want to be fair to you and I want to be fair to myself as well. Have you never been in a state in which you were conscious that the world was full of things you had dreamed of but never expected to find actually?"

He stared at her with the swift intuition that there had been a season not long ago when he felt just like this. But now he was getting used to it.

"Yes," his voice was quite steady, "I know what you mean."

"It's that way with me now, and I'm just finding out about myself."

Her eyes were fixed on the white line of the rapids. "I don't know what sort of a woman I'm going to be,--that sounds queer but it's true.

I'm going to want something more than love," she added under her breath.

Belding did not stir and there drifted down to them the deep, hollow monotone that pervades St. Marys when the wind comes in from the west.

The young man scanned the innumerable lights beside the rapids,--he could place each one of them. Then slowly the moon came up with a soft gleam that laid a silver path across the river and touched the girl into an unearthly beauty.

"I want you, Elsie," he pleaded.

She looked at him with eyes like stars. "Perhaps I want you, Jimmy,"

she breathed, "but I don't know yet. Supposing I said 'yes' and then it was all wrong--for each of us?"

"You said you asked for more than love; perhaps I have no more--in your mind."

Clark's name was hammering in his brain, but he kept it down.

Followed a little silence. "Do you want to do something for me?" she said presently. Her lips were tremulous.

"I've always wanted that."

"Then give me time to find myself--I'm trying hard now."

Belding moved restlessly. "I'm afraid that some one else will find you."

She glanced at him startled. "If that happens, Jimmy, it means that I haven't spoilt your life."

"I want you to spoil it."

"You haven't answered my question; will you give me time?"

Belding got up, put his hands on her slim straight shoulders and stared into the beautiful, troubled face.

"Elsie, if any one else does come between us--"

She was seized with strange and sudden fear. "No, no, you don't know what you are saying."

He relented instantly. "I'm sorry, I was talking nonsense. Now I've got to go and see the bishop about the new church--won't you come?"

The shadow pa.s.sed from her eyes. "Yes, I'd love to see him, if you won't get on that subject again."

"What subject?"

"You know," she laughed, once more light hearted.

"I promise, but for to-day only."

They walked slowly down the long straight street that led past Filmer's house, which was surrounded by trees, and reached the corner where Fisette's cottage marked the turn up to the bishop's residence.

Fisette was on his front doorstep with small people around him, and waved gayly as they pa.s.sed.

"He's very happy now, isn't he?" said Elsie.

Belding nodded. He found it hard to join in the happiness of another man whose children's arms were about his neck. Elsie's eyes turned to the figure of the bishop, who was on his wide veranda, a large straw hat on the back of his head. Ma.n.u.script lay on the floor beside him but at the moment he was absorbed in a large green leaf that spread across his knees. It was piled with strawberries. As the gate clicked he signaled hospitably.

"Come along, children--just in time. Mr. Belding, can you pick fruit by moonlight? Elsie, come here and talk to me. To tell the truth I wasn't thinking just now of any of my flock, but I'd much sooner see a lamb like you than some of the old ewes who will always insist on being serious and respectful. What you observe on the floor is a book I would have written if I'd not been a bishop." He rambled on till Belding reappeared with a hat full of berries.

"Here they are, sir, and I've got another offering as well."

"You don't say so, what is it?"

"Do you remember, a year or so ago, talking to me about a pro-cathedral?"

"Very distinctly. But I was afraid that the press of work had made the thing impossible so far as you were concerned, so I let the matter stand."

"Well, it isn't impossible, and that church is going to be built."

The bishop drew a long breath. "I am delighted to hear it, because I haven't got any money yet. It has all gone in salaries of missionaries, and your friend Mr. Clark has put me to a lot of extra expense. I knew he would the minute I saw him."

"But this church," said Belding with a little lift in his voice, "is going to be built without money. Peterson, the masonry contractor at the works, will give the stone, and his masons will donate the labor.

Borthwick, another contractor, will give the lumber and his carpenters will put it together. Windows--plain gla.s.s of course--and the various fittings are all taken care of by different people, and there was just one thing I found a little difficult, and now that's all right."

"And what was it?" The bishop was leaning forward, his large, expressive eyes very bright.

"Cement, sir. No one seemed to have any to spare. Finally I went to Ryan--I don't know whether he has met you."

"Yes, an excellent type--one of my own countrymen. I like Ryan, a strong Romanist, isn't he?"

"Yes, but finally I ran him down and told him I wanted enough cement to build a Protestant church."

"But---"