s and what was called Art. (Jack loathed Art.)

Then the verdict came in a surprising form. But he understood it
perfectly.

"Well, what about bed?" said Dick quietly.

(IV)

It was on the morning of the twenty-fourth that Mr. Parham-Carter was
summoned by the neat maid-servant of the clergy-house to see two
gentlemen. She presented two cards on a plated salver, inscribed with
the names of Richard Guiseley and John B. Kirkby. He got up very
quickly, and went downstairs two at a time. A minute later he brought
them both upstairs and shut the door.

"Sit down," he said. "I'm most awfully glad you've come. I ... I've been
fearfully upset by all this, and I haven't known what to do."

"Now where is he?" demanded Jack Kirkby.

The clergyman made a deprecatory face.

"I've absolutely promised not to tell," he said. "And you know--"

"But that's ridiculous. We've come on purpose to fetch him away. It
simply mustn't go on. That's why I didn't write. I sent Frank's letter
on to Mr. Guiseley here (he's a cousin of Frank's, by the way), and he
asked me to come up to town. I got to town last night, and we've come
down here at once this morning."

Mr. Parham-Carter glanced at the neat melancholy-faced, bearded man who
sat opposite.

"But you know I promised," he said.

"Yes," burst in Jack; "but one doesn't keep promises one makes to
madmen. And--"

"But he's not mad in the least. He's--"

"Well?"

"I was going to say that it seems to me that he's more sane than anyone
else," said the young man dismally. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but--"

Dick Guiseley nodded with such emphasis that he stopped.

"I know what you mean," said Dick in his gentle drawl. "And I quite
understand."

"But it's all sickening rot," burst in Jack. "He must be mad. You don't
know Frank as I do--neither of you. And now there's this last
business--his father's marriage, I mean; and--"

He broke off and looked across at Dick.

"Go on," said Dick; "don't mind me."

"Well, we don't know whether he's heard of it or not; but he must hear
sooner or later, and then--"

"But he has heard of it," interrupted the clergyman. "I showed him the
paragraph myself."

"He's heard of it! And he knows all about it!"

"Certainly. And I understood from him that he knew the girl: the
Rector's daughter, isn't it?"

"Knows the girl! Why, he was engaged to her himself."

"_What_?"

"Yes; didn't he tell you?"

"He didn't give me the faintest hin