to his dreams.

"You don't appear very indignant, sir," I ventured to observe with a
smile.

We were in the porch, and, for answer to what I said, he pointed to the
path in front of us. Following the direction of his finger I perceived a
fly of a species with which I, who am a poor student of nature, was not
familiar. It was villainously ugly, although here and there on it were
patches of bright colour.

"Yet," said the Vicar, "you are not indignant with it, Simon."

"No, I am not indignant," I admitted.

"But if it were to crawl over you----"

"I should crush the brute," I cried.

"Yes. They have crawled over you and you are indignant. They have not
crawled over me, and I am curious."

"But, sir, will you allow a man no disinterested moral emotion?"

"As much as he will, and he shall be cool at the end of it," smiled the
Vicar. "Now if they took my benefice from me again!" Stooping down, he
picked up the creature in his hand and fell to examining it very
minutely.

"I wonder you can touch it," said I in disgust.

"You did not quit the Court without some regret, Simon," he reminded me.

I could make nothing of him in this mood and was about to leave him when
I perceived my lord and Barbara approaching the house. Springing up, I
ran to meet them; they received me with a grave air, and in the ready
apprehension of evil born of a happiness that seems too great I cried
out to know if there were bad tidings.

"There's nothing that touches us nearly," said my lord. "But very
pitiful news is come from France."

The Vicar had followed me and now stood by me; I looked up and saw that
the ugly creature was still in his hand.

"It concerns Madame, Simon," said Barbara. "She is dead and all the town
declares that she had poison given to her in a cup of chicory-water. Is
it not pitiful?"

Indeed the tidings came as a shock to me, for I remembered the winning
grace and wit of the unhappy lady.

"But who has done it?" I cried.

"I don't know," said my lord. "It is set down to her husband; rightly or
wrongly, who knows?"

A silence ensued for a few moments. The Vicar stooped and set his
captive free to crawl away on the path.

"God has crushed one of them, Simon," said he. "Are you content?"

"I try not to believe it of her," said I.

In a grave mood we began to walk, and presently, as it chanced, Barbara
and I distanced the slow steps of our elders and found ourselves at the
Manor gates alone.

"I am ver