ve
brought nothing but discomfort and disaster yet; they may bring more in
the future."

Captain Monk stared at her. "What d'ye mean, Emma?"

"_I would never let them be heard_," she said impressively. "I would
have them taken down again. The story went about, you know, that poor
George West in dying prophesied that whenever they should be heard woe
would fall upon this house. I am not superstitious, Godfrey, but--"

Sheer passion had tied, so far, Godfrey Monk's lips. "Not
superstitious!" he raved out. "You are worse than that, Emma--a fool.
How dare you bring your nonsense here? There's the door."

The banquet hour approached. Nearly all the guests of last year were
again present in the warm and holly-decorated dining-room, the one
notable exception being the ill-fated Parson West. Parson Dancox came in
his stead, and said grace from the post of honour at the Captain's right
hand. Captain Monk did not appear to feel any remorse or regret: he was
jovial, free, and grandly hospitable; one might suppose he had promoted
the dead clergyman to a canonry instead of to a place in the churchyard.

"What became of the poor man's widow, Squire?" whispered a gentleman
from the neighbourhood of Evesham to Mr. Todhetley, who sat on the
left-hand of his host; Sir Thomas Rivers taking the foot of the table
this year.

"Mrs. West? Well, we heard she opened a girls' school up in London,"
breathed the Squire.

"And what tale was that about his leaving a curse on the chimes?--I
never heard the rights of it."

"Hush!" said the Squire cautiously. "Nobody talks of that here. Or
believes it, either. Poor West was a man to leave a blessing behind him;
never a curse."

Hubert, at home for the holidays, was again at table. He was fourteen
now, tall of his age and slender, his blue eyes bright, his complexion
delicately beautiful. The pleated cambric frill of his shirt, which hung
over the collar of his Eton jacket after the fashion of the day, was
carried low in front, displaying the small white throat; his golden hair
curled naturally. A boy to admire and be proud of. The manners were more
decorous this year than they ever had been, and Hubert was allowed to
sit on. Possibly the shadow of George West's unhappy death lay
insensibly upon the party.

It was about half-past nine o'clock when the butler came into the room,
bringing a small note, twisted up, to his master from Mrs. Carradyne.
Captain Monk opened it and held it towards o