ta, casting her eyes downward, 'because the taint of
madness is a terrible thing.' She shuddered and blushed.

'And you loved him?'

'Dearly, dearly,' said Violetta, clasping her hands. 'But madness in the
blood is too terrible; it is like the inheritance of a curse.'

'He went away?' said the curate.

'Yes, Herbert went away; and he died. He loved me so much that he
died.'

'I do not wonder at that,' said the curate, 'for you are very lovely,
Violetta.'

They walked home hand in hand, and when they had said good-bye under the
beech trees that grew by the vicarage gate, the curate went down the
street of the little town. The shop-keepers were at their doors
breathing the mild spring air. The fishermen had hung their nets to dry
in the market-place near the quay. The western cloud was turning
crimson, and the steep roofs and grey church-tower absorbed in sombre
colours the tender light. The curate was going home to his lodgings, but
he bethought him of his tea, and turned into the pastry-cook's by the
way.

'Have you any muffins, Mrs. Yeander?' he asked.

'No, sir,' said the portly wife of the baker, in a sad tone, 'they're
all over.'

'Crumpets?' said he.

'Past and gone, sir,' said the woman with a sigh. She had a coarsely
poetical cast of mind, and commonly spoke of the sale of her goods as
one might speak of the passing of summer flowers. The curate was turning
away.

'I would make bold, sir,' said the woman, 'to ask if you've heard that
we've let our second-floor front for a while. It's a great thing for us,
sir, as you know, to 'ave it let, not that you'll approve the person as
'as took it.'

'Oh!' said the curate, 'how is that?'

'He's the new Jewish rabbi, sir, being as they've opened the place of
their heathenish worship again. It's been shut this two year, for want
of a Hebrew to read the language.'

'Oh, no, Mrs. Yeander; you're quite mistaken in calling the Jews
heathens.'

'The meeting-place is down by the end of the street, sir--a squarish
sort of house. It's not been open in your time; likely you'll not know
it. The new rabbi's been reading a couple of weeks to them. They do say
it's awful queer.'

'Oh, indeed!' said the curate; 'what are their hours of service?'

'Well, to say the truth, sir, they'll soon be at it now, for it's Friday
at sunset they've some antics or other in the place. The rabbi's just
gone with his book.'

'I think I'll look them up, and see what they're at,' s