," insisted the Vicar.

"Just so. That is, you prefer your own opinion to theirs in regard to
a murder. I should prefer yours to theirs on a question of scriptural
evidence, but not in such an affair as this. I don't want to talk you
over, but I wish to make you careful with other people who are so
closely concerned. In dealing with others you have no right to throw
over the ordinary rules of evidence."

The Vicar accepted the rebuke and promised to be more
careful,--repeating, however, his own opinion about Sam, to which he
declared his intention of adhering in regard to his own conduct, let
the police and magistrates say what they might. He almost went so far
as to declare that he should do so even in opposition to the verdict
of a jury; but Gilmore understood that this was simply the natural
obstinacy of the man, showing itself in its natural form.

At this moment, which was certainly one of gloom to the parish at
large, and of great sorrow at the Vicarage, the Squire moved about
with a new life which was evident to all who saw him. He went about
his farm, and talked about his trees, and looked at his horses and
had come to life again. No doubt many guesses as to the cause of this
were made throughout his establishment, and some of them, probably,
very near the truth. But, for the Fenwicks there was no need of
guessing. Gilmore had been told that Mary Lowther was coming to
Bullhampton in the early summer, and had at once thrown off the cloak
of his sadness. He had asked no further questions; Mrs. Fenwick had
found herself unable to express a caution; but the extent of her
friend's elation almost frightened her.

"I don't look at it," she said to her husband, "quite as he does."

"She'll have him now," he answered, and then Mrs. Fenwick said
nothing further.

To Fenwick himself, this change was one of infinite comfort. The
Squire was his old friend and almost his only near neighbour. In all
his troubles, whether inside or outside of the parish, he naturally
went to Gilmore; and, although he was a man not very prone to walk by
the advice of friends, still it had been a great thing to him to have
a friend who would give an opinion, and perhaps the more so, as the
friend was one who did not insist on having his opinion taken. During
the past winter Gilmore had been of no use whatever to his friend.
His opinions on all matters had gone so vitally astray, that they had
not been worth having. And he had become so mor