enough.

CHAPTER XXIII

A PLEASANT PENITENCE

There was this great comfort in the Vicar's society that, having once
and for all stated the irrefutable proposition which I have recorded, he
let the matter alone. Nothing was further from his thoughts than to
argue on it, unless it might be to take any action in regard to it. To
say the truth, and I mean no unkindness to him in saying it, the affair
did not greatly engage his thoughts. Had Betty Nasroth dealt with it,
the case would doubtless have been altered, and he would have followed
its fortune with a zest as keen as that he had bestowed on my earlier
unhappy passion. But the prophecy had stopped short, and all that was of
moment for the Vicar in my career, whether in love, war, or State, was
finished; I had done and undergone what fate declared and demanded, and
must now live in gentle resignation. Indeed I think that in his inmost
heart he wondered a little to find me living on at all. This attitude
was very well for him, and I found some amusement in it even while I
chafed at his composed acquiescence in my misfortunes. But at times I
grew impatient, and would fling myself out of the house, crying "Plague
on it, is this old crone not only to drive me into folly, but to forbid
me a return to wisdom?"

In such a mood I had left him, to wander by myself about the lanes,
while he sat under the porch of his house with a great volume open on
his knees. The book treated of Vaticination in all its branches, and the
Vicar read diligently, being so absorbed in his study that he did not
heed the approach of feet, and looked up at last with a start. M. de
Fontelles stood there, sent on from the inn to the parsonage in the
progress of his search for me.

"I am called Georges de Fontelles, sir," he began.

"I am the Vicar of this parish, at your service, sir," returned the
Vicar courteously.

"I serve the King of France, but have at this time the honour of being
employed by his Majesty the King of England."

"I trust, sir," observed the Vicar mildly, "that the employment is an
honour."

"Your loyalty should tell you so much."

"We are commanded to honour the King, but I read nowhere that we must
honour all that the King does."

"Such distinctions, sir, lead to disaffection and even to rebellion,"
said Fontelles severely.

"I am very glad of it," remarked the Vicar complacently.

I had told my old friend nothing of what concerned Barbara; the secret
w