last
illness. I borrow her expression--'not to be a burden.'" The Octopus,
having seized her prey in this tentacle, was then at liberty to
enlarge upon the unselfish character of her great-aunt, reaping the
advantages of a vicarious egoism from an hypnotic suggestion that that
character was also her own. The great-aunt had, it appeared, lost the
use, broadly speaking, of her anatomy, and could only communicate
by signs; but when she died she was none the less missed by her
own circle, whose grief for her loss took the form of a tablet. The
speaker paused a moment for her hearers to contemplate the tablet,
and perhaps ask for the inscription, when Sally saw an opening, and
took advantage of it.

"Dr. Conrad's going to be very selfish this afternoon, Mrs. Vereker,
and come with us to Chalke, where that dear little church is that
looks like a barn. I mean to find the sexton and get the key this
time."

"My dear, I shall be _per_fectly happy knitting. Do not trouble about
me for one moment. I shall think how you are enjoying yourselves.
When I was a girl there was nothing I enjoyed more than ransacking
old churches...."

And so forth. Rosalind felt almost certain that Sally either said or
telegraphed to the doctor, who was wavering, "You'll come, you know.
Now, mind; two-thirty punc.," and resolved, if he did _not_ come,
to go to Iggulden's and extract him from the tentacles of his mamma,
and remain entangled herself, if necessary.

In fact, this was how the arrangement for the afternoon worked out.
Dr. Conrad did _not_ turn up, as expected, and Rosalind carried out
her intention. She rescued the doctor, and sent him round to join her
husband and Sally, promising to follow shortly and catch them up. The
three started to walk, but Fenwick, after a little slow walking to
allow Rosalind to overtake them, had misgivings that she had got
caught, and went back to rescue her, telling Sally and the doctor it
was no use to wait--they would follow on, and take their chance. And
the programme so indicated was acted on.

CHAPTER XLI

OF LOVE, CONSIDERED AS A THUNDERSTORM, AND OF AGUR, THE SON OF JAKEH
(PROV. XXX.). OF A COUNTRY WALK AND A JUDICIOUSLY RESTORED CHURCH.
OF TWO CLASPED HANDS, AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES. NOTHING SO VERY
REMARKABLE AFTER ALL!

Love, like a thunderstorm, is very much more intelligible in its
beginnings--to its chronicler, at least--than it becomes when it is,
so to speak, overhead. We al