"What were your speculations?" said Chichester, showing a sudden and
definite waking up of keen interest.

"One of them was this--"

Before he could continue, the door opened again, and the tall and
powerful form of the rector appeared. And as the outer man of Chichester
seemed to Malling to have begun subtly to change, in obedience surely
to the change of his inner man, so seemed Mr. Harding a little altered
physically, as he now slowly came forward to greet his wife's two
visitors. The power of his physique seemed to be struck at by something
within, and to be slightly marred. One saw that largeness can become
but a wide surface for the tragic exhibition of weakness. As the rector
perceived the presence of Chichester, an expression of startled pain fled
over his face and was gone in an instant. He greeted the two men and sat
down.

"Have you just begun tea?" he asked, looking now at his wife.

"We are just going to begin it," she replied. "We are talking about the
sermon of last Sunday."

"Oh," rejoined the rector.

He turned to Malling.

"Did you come to hear me preach again?"

There was a note as of slight reassurance in his voice.

"Mr. Chichester's sermon," said Lady Sophia.

"Oh, I see," said the rector. He glanced hastily from one to the other of
the three people in the room, like a man searching for sympathy or help.
"What were you saying about our friend Chichester's sermon?" he asked,
with a forced air of interest.

Lady Sophia distributed cups for tea.

"I was speaking of that part of it which dealt with the man who followed
his double," said Malling.

"Ah?" said the rector.

He was holding his tea-cup. His hand trembled slightly at this moment,
and the china rattled. He set the cup down on the small table before
him.

"You said," observed Chichester--toward whom Lady Sophia immediately
turned, with an almost rapt air--"that it suggested some curious
speculations to your mind. I should very much like to know what they
were."

"One was this. Suppose the man in the garden, who looked in upon his
double, had not fled away. Suppose he had had the courage to remain,
and, in hiding--for the sake of argument we may assume the situation to
be possible--"

"Ah, indeed! And why not?" interrupted Chichester.

His voice, profoundly melancholy, fell like a weight upon those who heard
him. And again Malling thought of him almost as some one set apart from
his fellows by some mysterious knowledge,