elf-consequence because of the child whom he
had introduced into the Christian Church, and to whom he had given
a name. Now he was elated to think that she was the most beautiful
woman he had seen, and angry with the consciousness that she was
snatched from him.

Why had he not returned to Thursley a day, half a day, earlier?
Why had Fate played such a cruel game with him? What a man this
Jonas Kink was who had won the prize. Was he worthy of it? Did he
value Mehetabel as he should? A fellow who could not perceive
beauty in a landscape and see the art in his drawings was not
one to know that his wife was lovely, or if he knew it did so in
a stupid, unappreciative manner. Did he treat Mehetabel kindly;
with ordinary civility? Iver remembered the rebukes, the slights
put on her in his own presence.

Iver's bedroom was neat, everything in it clean. The bed was one of
those great tented four-posters which were at the time much
affected in Surrey, composed of covering and curtains of striped--or
pranked--cotton, blue and white. Mehetabel, in the short while she
had been in the Punch-Bowl, had put the spare room in order. She
had found it used as a place for lumber, every article of furniture
deep in dust, and every curtain rent. The corners of the room had
been given over for twenty years as the happy hunting-ground of
spiders. Although Bideabout had taken some pains to put his house
in order before his marriage, repairs had been executed only on
what was necessary, and in a parsimonious spirit. The spare room had
been passed over, as not likely to be needed. To that as to every
other portion of the house, Mehetabel had turned her attention,
and it was now in as good condition to receive a guest as the
bedrooms in the Ship Inn.

Presently Iver went to sleep, lulled by the patter of the rain on
the roof, on the leaves, and the sobbing of the moist wind through
the ill-adjusted casement.

As he slept he had a dream.

He thought that he heard Thursley Church bells ringing. He believed
he had been to church to be married. He was in his holiday attire,
and was holding his bride by the hand. He turned about to see who
was his partner, and recognized Mehetabel. She was in white, but
whiter than her dress and veil was her bloodless face, and her
dark brows and hair marked it as with mourning.

There was this strange element in his dream, that he could not
leave the churchyard.

He endeavored to follow the path to the gate