old mare fall down and
break my neck. Well, he'll hear about it, I can promise him, especially
if he meets my missus what's got a tongue in her head, and is a chapel
woman into the bargain. Lord! there comes the train. Don't you fear,
we'll catch her. Hold tight, Master Godfrey, and be ready to jump out.
No, no, there ain't nothing to pay. I'll stick it on to parson's fare
next time I've druve him. Good-bye, Master Godfrey, and God bless you,
if only for that there right and left which warmed my heart to see, and
mind ye," he shouted after him, "there's more young women in the world
than ye meets in an afternoon's walk, and one nail drives another out,
as being a smith by trade I knows well."

Godfrey bundled into an empty carriage with his portmanteau and his
coat, and covered his face with his hands that he might see no more of
that accursed station whence he seemed always to be departing in
trouble. So everything had been overheard and seen, and doubtless the
story would travel far and wide. Poor Isobel!

As a matter of fact it did, but it was not Isobel who suffered, since
public sympathy was strong on the side of her and of her lover. The
indignation of the neighbourhood concentrated itself upon the square
and the parson, especially the latter. Indeed the village showed its
sympathy with the victims and its wrath with the oppressors, by going
on strike. Few beaters turned up at Sir John's next shooting party, and
on the following Sunday Mr. Knight preached to empty benches, a vacuum
that continued from week to week. The end of it was he became so
unpopular and his strained relations with Sir John grew so notorious
that the bishop, who like everyone else knew the whole story, gently
suggested to him that a change of livings would be to his advantage;
also to that of the church in Monk's Acre and its neighbourhood.

So Mr. Knight departed to another parish in a remote part of the
diocese which, having been inundated by the sea, was almost devoid of
inhabitants, and saw the Abbey and Hawk's Hall no more.

In searching his pockets for matches, Godfrey found the letter which
had been given to him as he left the Abbey. He knew the writing on the
envelope at once, and was minded not to open it, for this and the
foreign stamp told him that it came from Madame Riennes. Still
curiosity, or a desire to take his mind off the miseries by which it
was beset, prevailed, and he did open the envelope and read. It ran
thus: