iting
which the human animal is never very loath to try upon the limping
specimens of his race.

Henslowe stopped and turned as he heard the steps behind him. Six
months' self-murdering had left ghastly traces. He was many degrees
nearer the brute than he had been even when Robert made his ineffectual
visit. But at this actual moment Roberts practised eye--for every
English parish clergyman becomes dismally expert in the pathology of
drunkenness--saw that there was no fight in him. He was in one of the
drunkard's periods of collapse--shivering, flabby, starting at every
sound, a misery to himself and a spectacle to others.

'Mr. Henslowe!' cried Robert, still pursuing him, 'may I speak to you a
moment?'

The ex-agent turned, his prominent bloodshot eyes glowering at the
speaker. But he had to catch at his stick for support, or at the nervous
shock of Robert's summons his legs would have given way under him.

Robert came up with him and stood a second, fronting the evil silence of
the other, his boyish face deeply flushed. Perhaps the grotesqueness
of that former scene was in his mind. Moreover the vestry meetings had
furnished Henslowe with periodical opportunities for venting his gall on
the Rector, and they had never been neglected. But he plunged on boldly.

'I am going away next week, Mr. Henslowe; I shall be away some
considerable time. Before I go I should like to ask you whether you do
not think the feud between us had better cease. Why will you persist in
making an enemy of me? If I did you an injury it was neither wittingly
nor willingly. I know you have been ill, and I gather that--that--you
are in trouble. If I could stand between you and further mischief I
would--most gladly. If help--or--or money--' He paused. He shrewdly
suspected, indeed, from the reports that reached him, that Henslowe was
on the brink of bankruptcy.

The Rector had spoken with the utmost diffidence and delicacy, but
Henslowe found energy in return for an outburst of quavering animosity,
from which, however, physical weakness had extracted all its sting.

'I'll thank you to make your canting offers to some one else, Mr.
Elsmere. When I want your advice I'll ask it. Good day to you.' And he
turned away with as much of an attempt at dignity as his shaking limbs
would allow of.

'Listen, Mr. Henslowe,' said Robert firmly, walking beside him: 'you
know--I know--that if this goes on, in a year's time you will be in your
grave, and y