ether one morning in late
April, more than a year after the death of Richard Mutimer. Generally
there was a strong breeze on this point, but to-day the west was
breathing its gentlest, warm upon the cheek.

'Well, it has gone,' Hubert said. 'May will have free playing-ground.'

'In one sense,' replied the vicar, 'I fear it will never be gone. Its
influence on the life of the people in Wanley and in some of the farms
about has been graver than you imagine. I find discontent where it was
formerly unknown. The typical case is that lad of Bolton's. They
wanted him sadly at home; by this time he would have been helping his
unfortunate father. Instead of that he's the revolutionary oracle of
Belwick pot-houses, and appears on an average once a fortnight before
the magistrates for being drunk and disorderly.'

'Yes, the march of progress has been hastened a little, doubtless,' said
Hubert. 'I have to content myself with the grass and the trees. Well,
I have done all I could, now other people must enjoy the results. Ah,
look! there is a van of the Edgeworths' furniture coming to the Manor.
They are happy people! Something like an ideal married couple, and with
nothing to do but to wander about the valley and enjoy themselves.'

'I am rather surprised you gave them so long a lease,' remarked Mr.
Wyvern.

'Why not? I shall never live here again. As long as I had work to do it
was all right; but to continue to live in that house was impossible.
And in twenty years it would be no less impossible. I should fall into a
monomania, and one of a very loathsome kind.'

Mr. Wyvern pondered. They walked on a few paces before Hubert again
spoke.

'There was a letter from her in the "Belwick Chronicle" yesterday
morning Something on the placard in Agworth station caused me to buy
a copy. The Tory paper, it seems, had a leader a day or two ago on
Socialism, and took occasion to sneer at Mutimer, not by name, but in an
unmistakable way--the old scandal of course. She wrote a letter to the
editor, and he courteously paid no attention to it. So she wrote to the
"Chronicle." They print her in large type, and devote a leader to the
subject--party capital, of course.'

He ceased on a bitter tone, then, before his companion could reply,
added violently:

'It is hideous to see her name in such places!'

'Let us speak freely of this,' returned Mr. Wyvern. 'You seem to me to
be very unjust. Your personal feeling makes you less acute in judg