CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PARK AT NESTLEY.
Just inside the park, on a mossy knoll, a little way from the ancient wrought-iron gate that opened almost upon the one street of Owlkirk, the rector dug the foundation of his chapel--an oblong Gothic hall, of two squares and a half, capable of seating all in the parish nearer to it than to the abbey church.

In his wife's eyes, Mr.Bevis was now an absolute saint, for not only had he begun to build a chapel in his own grounds, but to read prayers in his own church! She was not the only one, however, who remarked how devoutly he read them, and his presence was a great comfort to Wingfold.

He often objected to what his curate preached--but only to his face, and seldom when they were not alone.
There was policy in this restraint: he had come to see that in all probability he would have to give in--that his curate would most likely satisfy him that he was right.

The relation between them was marvelous and lovely.

The rector's was a quiet awakening, a gentle second birth almost in old age.