Many years have passed away since the children played round the old apple-trees in the orchard, or scrambled among the ivy in the ruins, but Gorswen is little changed. The picturesque old black-and-white houses still stand in the village street, unspoilt by time or tourists; Mrs. Price presides at the Post Office, rubicund and smiling; and old Ephraim totters down from his cottage to the Bluebell Arms, a living testimony to the healthfulness of the district. The flowers are as beautiful as ever in the Rectory garden, but the Rector is not there to tend them. He has gone where little Raymond went before, on that longest of holidays from which there is no return to the lesson-books of this life. He is deeply missed in the village, but he has a worthy successor in Mr. Wentworth, who now holds the living in his stead, for years of companionship with one who dwelt so continually at the gate of heaven have changed the nervous young curate into a strong and earnest character. He is much liked in Gorswen, and he has Lilian to help him. Perhaps the fact of their mutual shyness first drew them together, but they have much in common besides an enthusiasm for parish work. She makes an excellent helpmeet, and an ideal clergyman's wife. She has no children of her own, but in mothering the fragile little Indian cousins who are sent home to gain rosy cheeks and sturdy limbs from the fresh English breezes her warm heart finds its outlet, and she is able to pay back to Aunt Helen some of the love and care which she owes her from long ago.