le, if a
stranger in any normal English village wants to lay his finger on the
central ganglion of its various activities, he will still look for the
church and the vicarage--or rectory, as the case may be. If the parson is
bad or feeble, the pulse of the village life will show it; and if he is
energetic and self-devoted, his position will give him a power in the
community--power, tempered of course by the necessary revolts and
reactions which keep the currents of life flowing--not to be easily
attained by other energetic and self-devoted persons. The parson may
still easily make himself a tyrant, but only to find, in the language of
the Greek poet, that it was "folly even to wish" to tyrannize.

The vicar had come downstairs that morning in a mood of depression,
irritable--almost snappish depression. His sister Eleanor had seldom seen
him so unlike himself. Being an affectionate sister, she was sorry for
him; though, as she rightly guessed, it was that very news which had
brought such great relief of mind to herself which was almost certainly
responsible for her brother's gloom. Miss Henderson was engaged to
Captain Ellesborough. There was therefore no question of her becoming
Mrs. Shenstone, and a weight was lifted from the spirits of the vicar's
sister. Towards Rachel, Eleanor Shenstone felt one of those instinctive
antipathies of life which are far more decisive than any of the ordinary
causes of quarrel. Miss Shenstone was thin, methodical, devoted; of small
speech and great virtue. Such persons so securely anchored and
self-determined can have but small sympathy for the drifters of this
world. And that Rachel Henderson was--at least as compared with herself
and her few cherished friends--morally and religiously adrift, Miss
Shenstone had decided after half an hour's conversation.

The vicar knew perfectly well that his sister was relieved. It was that
which had secretly affected a naturally sweet temper. He was suffering
besides from a haunting sense of contrast between these rainy November
days, and the glowing harvest weeks in which he had worked like a navvy
for and with Rachel Henderson. It was over, of course. None of the nice
things of life ever came his way for long. But he did feel rather sorely
that during his short spell of favour with her, Miss Henderson had
encouraged him a good deal. She had raised him up--only to cast him down.
He thought of her smiles, and her sudden softness, of the warm grip of
h