The Devil has no stauncher ally than want of perception.

— PHILIP H. WICKSTEED.

It takes two to speak truth — one to speak and another to hear.

— THOREAU.

MRS. GRESLEY had passed an uncomfortable day. In the afternoon all the Pratts had called, and Mr. Gresley, who departed early in the afternoon for Southminster, had left his wife no directions as to how to act in this unforeseen occurrence, or how to parry the questions with which she was overwhelmed.

After long hesitation she at last owned that Hester had returned to Southminster in the Bishop’s carriage not more than half an hour after it had brought her back.

“I can’t explain Hester’s actions,” she would only repeat over and over again. “I don’t pretend to understand clever people. I’m not clever myself. I can only say Hester went back to Southminster directly she arrived here.”

Hardly had the Pratts taken their departure when Doll Loftus was ushered in. His wife had sent him to ask where Hester was, as Fraülein had alarmed her earlier in the day. Doll at least asked no questions. He had never asked but one in his life, and that had been of his wife, five seconds before he had become engaged to her.

He accepted with equanimity the information that Hester had returned to Southminster, and departed to impart the same to his exasperated wife.

“But why did she go back? She had only that moment arrived,” inquired Sybell. How should Doll know. She, Sybell, had said she could not rest till she knew where Hester was, and he, Doll, had walked to Warpington through the snow-drifts to find out for her. And he had found out, and now she wanted to know something else. There was no satisfying some women. And the injured husband retired to unlace his boots.

Yes, Mrs. Gresley had passed an uncomfortable day. She had ventured out for a few minutes, and had found Abel, with his arms akimbo, contemplating the little gate which led to the stables. It was lying on the ground. He had swept the snow off it.

“I locked it up the same as usual last night,” he said to Mrs. Gresley. “There’s been somebody about as has tampered it off its hinges. Yet nothing hasn’t been touched, the coal nor the stack. It don’t seem natural, twisting the gate off for nothing.”

Mrs. Gresley did not answer. She did not associate Hester with the gate. But she was too much perturbed to care about such small matters at the moment.

“His lordship’s coachman tell me as Miss Gresley was at the Palace,” continued Abel, “while I was a hotting up his mash for him, for William had gone in with a note, and onst he’s in the kitchen the hanimals might be stocks and stones for what he cares. He said his nevvy, the footman, heard the front door-bell ring just as he was getting into bed last night, and Miss Gresley come in without her hat, with the snow upon her. The coachman said as she must ha’ run afoot all the way.”

Abel looked anxiously at Mrs. Gresley.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “as perhaps the little lady wasn’t quite right in her ’ead. They do say as too much learning flies to the ’ead, the same as spirits to them as ain’t manured to ’em. And the little lady does work desperate hard.”

“Not as hard as Mr. Gresley,” said Mrs. Gresley.

“Maybe not, Mem, maybe not. But when I come up when red cow was sick at four in the morning, or may be earlier there was always a light in her winder, and the shadder of her face agin the blind. Yes, she do work precious hard.”

Mrs. Gresley retreated into the house, picking her way over the débris of the porch. At any other time its demise would have occupied the minds of the Vicarage household for days. But until this moment it had hardly claimed the tribute of a sigh. Mrs. Gresley did sigh as she crossed the threshold. That prostrate porch meant expense. She had understood from her husband that Dick had wantonly torn out the clamp that supported it, and that the whole thing had in consequence given way under the first snowfall. “He meant no harm,” Mr. Gresley had added, “But I suppose in the Colonies they mistake horseplay for wit.”

Mrs. Gresley went back to the drawing-room, and sat down to her needlework. She was an exquisite needlewoman, but all the activity of her untiring hands was hardly able to stem the tide of mending that was for ever flowing in upon her. When was she to find time to finish the darling little garments which the new baby required? Fraülein had been kind in helping, but Fraülein’s eyes were not very strong, or her stitches in consequence very small. Mrs. Gresley would have liked to sit in the schoolroom when lessons were over, but Fraülein had been so distant at luncheon about a rissole that she had not the courage to go in.

So she sat and stitched with a heavy heart awaiting her husband’s return. The fly was another expense. Southminster was ten miles from Warpington, eleven according to the Loftus Arms, from which it issued, the owner of which was not on happy terms with his “teetotal” vicar. Yet it had been absolutely necessary to have the fly, in order that Regie, who so easily caught cold, might return in safety.

The dusk was already falling, and more snow with it.

It was quite dark when Mrs. Gresley at last caught the sound of wheels and hurried to the door.

Mr. Gresley came in, bearing Regie, fast asleep in a fur rug, and laid him carefully on the sofa, and then went out to have an altercation with the driver, who demurred in forcible language to the arrangement, adhered to by Mr. Gresley, that the cost of the fly should be considered as part payment of certain arrears of tithe which in those days it was the unhappy duty of the clergyman to collect himself. Mr. Gresley’s methods of dealing with money matters generally brought in a high rate of interest in the way of friction, and it was a long time before the driver drove away, turning his horse deliberately on the little patch of lawn under the dining-room windows.

Regie in the meanwhile had waked up, and was having tea in the drawing-room as a great treat.

He had much to tell about his expedition; how the Bishop had given him half a crown, and Uncle Dick had taken him into the town to spend it, and how after dinner he had ridden on Uncle Dick’s back.

“And Auntie Hester. How was she?”

“She was very well, only she cried a little. I did not stay long because Mr. Bishop was wanting to give me the halfcrown, and he kept it downstairs. And when I went in again she was in bed, and she was so sleepy she hardly said anything at all.”

Mr. Gresley came in wearily, and dropped into a chair.

Mrs. Gresley gave him his tea, and presently took Regie upstairs. Then she came back and sat down in a low chair close to her husband. It was the first drop of comfort in Mr. Gresley’s cup to-day.

“How is Hester?”

“According to Dr. Brown she is very ill,” said Mr. Gresley in an extinguished voice. “But they would not let me see her.”

“Not see her own brother! My dear James, you should have insisted.”

“I did, but it was no use. You know how angry Dr. Brown gets at the least opposition. And the Bishop backed him up. They said it would excite her.”

“I never heard of such a thing. What is the matter with her?”

“Shock, Dr. Brown calls it. They have been afraid of collapse all day, but she is better this evening. They seemed to think a great deal of her knowing Regie.”

“Did the little lamb forgive her?”

“Oh yes, he kissed her and she knew him and cried. And it seems her hands are severely burnt. They have got a nurse, and they have telegraphed for Miss West. The Bishop was very good to Regie and gave him that fur rug.”

They looked at the splendid blue fox rug on the sofa.

“I am afraid,” said Mrs. Gresley after a pause, “that Hester did run all the way to Southminster as the Bishop said. Abel said the Bishop’s coachman told him that she came late last night to the Palace, and she was white with snow when the footman let her in.”

“My dear, I should have thought you were too sensible to listen to servant’s gossip,” said Mr. Gresley impatiently. “Your own common sense will tell you that Hester never performed that journey on foot. I told Dr. Brown the same, but he lost his temper at once. It’s curious how patient he is in a sick room, and how furious he can be out of it. He was very angry with me, too, because when he mentioned to the Bishop in my presence that Hester was under morphia, I said I strongly objected to her being drugged, and when I repeated that morphia was a most dangerous drug with effects worse than intoxication, in fact, that morphia was a form of intoxication, he positively before the Bishop shook his fist in my face, and said he was not going to be taught his business by me.

“The Bishop took me away into the study. Dick Vernon was sitting there, at least he was creeping about on all fours with Regie............