een in part of my own seeking, or
contriving; or at any rate--she said it--of my own hereditary or
unconscious deserving.'

'She said that!' Mr Bethany sat back. 'I see, I see,' he said. 'I'm
nothing but a fumbling old meddler. And there was I, not ten minutes
ago, preaching for all I was worth on a text I knew nothing about. God
bless me, Lawford, how long we take a-learning. I'll say no more. But
what an illusion. To think this--this--he laid a long lean hand at arm's
length flat upon the table towards his friend--'to think this is our old
jog-trot Arthur Lawford! From henceforth I throw you over, you old wolf
in sheep's wool. I wash my hands of you. And now where am I going to
sleep?'

He covered up his age and weariness for an instant with a small crooked
hand.

Lawford took a deep breath. 'You're going, old friend, to sleep at home.
And I--I'm going to give you my arm to the Vicarage gate. Here I am,
immeasurably relieved, fitter than I've been since I was a dolt of a
schoolboy. On my word of honour: I can't say why, but I am. I don't care
THAT, vicar, honestly--puffed up with spiritual pride. If a man can't
sleep with pride for a bed-fellow, well, he'd better try elsewhere. It's
no good; I'm as stubborn as a mule; that's at least a relic of the old
Adam. I care no more,' he raised his voice firmly and gravely--'I
don't care a jot for solitude, not a jot for all the ghosts of all the
catacombs!'

Mr. Bethany listened, grimly pursed up his lips. 'Not a jot for all the
ghosts of all the catechisms!' he muttered. `Nor the devil himself, I
suppose?' He turned once more to glance sharply in the direction of the
face he could so dimly--and of set purpose--discern; and without a word
trotted off into the hall. Lawford followed with the candle.

''Pon my word, you haven't had a mouthful of supper. Let me forage; just
a quarter of an hour, eh?'

'Not me,' said Mr Bethany; 'if you won't have me, home I go. I refuse
to encourage this miserable grass-widowering. What WOULD they say?
What would the busybodies say? Ghouls and graves and shocking
mysteries--Selina! Sister Anne! Come on.'

He shuffled on his hat and caught firm hold of his knobbed umbrella.
'Better not leave a candle,' he said.

Lawford blew out the candle.

'What? What?' called the old man suddenly. But no voice had spoken.

A thin trickle of light from the lamp in the street stuck up through
the fanlight as, with a smile that could be described neit