ellow
calf, that seemed to give forth an amber light as from sun-warmed
turning beeches.

The vicar had discarded his clerical coat, and wore a shabby grey-green
Norfolk jacket frayed at the cuffs; nevertheless, Eloquent sincerely
admired him as he rose to give courteous greeting to his guest.

The old vicar was stout and bald, and the grey hair that fringed his
head was decidedly rumpled. A long face, with high, narrow forehead
and pointed beard, cheeks heavy and creased, straight nose, with
strongly marked, sensitive nostrils. The mouth, full-lipped and
shutting firmly under the grey moustache, cut straight across the upper
lip; the eyes, rather prominent blue eyes, had once been bold and
merry, and were still keen. A fine old face, deeply lined and
sorrowful, bearing upon it the impress of great possibilities that had
remained--possibilities. He was somehow in keeping with his room, this
warm, untidy, comfortable room that smelt of tobacco and old leather,
where there was such a curious jumble of things artistic and sporting:
a few pictures and bas-reliefs, nearly all of the pre-Renaissance
Italian School, a big stuffed trout in a glass case, a fox's brush and
mask, an old faded cricket cap; and over the carved mantelshelf, the
portrait of a Georgian beauty in powder and patches, whose oval face,
heavy-lidded eyes, and straight features were not unlike the vicar's
own.

There was in the vicar's manner the welcoming quality that puts the
shyest person at his ease. He was secretly much surprised that young
Gallup should call upon him; but no hint of this appeared in his
manner, and Eloquent found no difficulty in stating the object of his
visit with business-like directness.

"I came to ask you," he remarked with his usual stiff solemnity, "if
you would care for me to read the lessons at morning service
to-morrow. . . . I do not read badly. . . . I have studied elocution."

The humorous lines round the old vicar's eyes deepened, but he answered
with equal gravity, "That is very good of you, and I gratefully accept
your kind offer. General Grantly has promised to read the first
lesson, but I shall be glad if you will read the second. Will you do
both at the afternoon service? There's no evensong on Christmas Day."

This was rather more than Eloquent had bargained for, but . . . she
might come to the afternoon service as well. "I shall be most happy,"
he said meekly, "to do anything I can to assist."