way--for _you_."

This took place in November. Katherine paid little heed to the advice;
she was not one to put up with advice of any sort, and she and Mr.
Dancox met occasionally under the rose. Early in December she went with
Mr. Dancox into the Parsonage, while he searched for a book he was
about to lend her. That was the plea; the truth, no doubt, being that
the two wanted a bit of a chat in quiet. As ill-luck had it, when she
was coming out again, the Parson in attendance on her as far as the
gate, Captain Monk came by.

A scene ensued. Captain Monk, in a terrible access of passion, vowed by
all the laws of the Medes and Persians, which alter not, that never, in
life or after death, should those two rebellious ones be man and wife,
and he invoked unheard-of penalties on their heads should they dare to
contemplate disobedience to his decree.

Thenceforth there was no more open rebellion; upon the surface all
looked smooth. Captain Monk understood the folly to be at an end: that
the two had come to their senses; and he took Tom Dancox back into
favour. Mrs. Carradyne assumed the same. But Katherine had her father's
unyielding will, and the Parson was bold and careless, and in love.

* * * * *

The last day of the year came round, and the usual banquet would come
with it. The weather this Christmas was not like that of last; the white
snow lay on the ground, the cold biting frost hardened the glistening
icicles on the trees.

And the chimes? Ready these three months past, they had not yet been
heard. They would be to-night. Whether Captain Monk wished the
remembrance of Mr. West's death to die away a bit first, or that he
preferred to open the treat on the banqueting night, certain it was that
he had kept them silent. When the church clock should toll the midnight
knell of the old year, the chimes would ring out to welcome the new one
and gladden the ears of Church Leet.

But not without a remonstrance. That morning, as the Captain sat in his
study writing a letter, Mrs. Carradyne came to him.

"Godfrey," she said in a low and pleading tone, "you will not suffer the
chimes to play to-night, will you? Pray do not."

"Not suffer the chimes to play?" cried the Captain. "But indeed I shall.
Why, this is the special night they were put up for."

"I know it, Godfrey. But--you cannot think what a strangely-strong
feeling I have against it: an instinct, it seems to me. The chimes ha