the appointed minute.

The inclosure was well adapted for a private interview, being bounded by
bushes of laurel and alder nearly on all sides. He looked round; the
Bishop was not there, nor any living creature save himself. Swithin sat
down upon a tombstone to await Bishop Helmsdale's arrival.

While he sat he fancied he could hear voices in conversation not far off,
and further attention convinced him that they came from Lady
Constantine's lawn, which was divided from the churchyard by a high wall
and shrubbery only. As the Bishop still delayed his coming, though the
time was nearly eleven, and as the lady whose sweet voice mingled with
those heard from the lawn was his personal property, Swithin became
exceedingly curious to learn what was going on within that screened
promenade. A way of doing so occurred to him. The key was in the church
door; he opened it, entered, and ascended to the ringers' loft in the
west tower. At the back of this was a window commanding a full view of
Viviette's garden front.

The flowers were all in gayest bloom, and the creepers on the walls of
the house were bursting into tufts of young green. A broad gravel-walk
ran from end to end of the facade, terminating in a large conservatory.
In the walk were three people pacing up and down. Lady Constantine's was
the central figure, her brother being on one side of her, and on the
other a stately form in a corded shovel-hat of glossy beaver and black
breeches. This was the Bishop. Viviette carried over her shoulder a
sunshade lined with red, which she twirled idly. They were laughing and
chatting gaily, and when the group approached the churchyard many of
their remarks entered the silence of the church tower through the
ventilator of the window.

The conversation was general, yet interesting enough to Swithin. At
length Louis stepped upon the grass and picked up something that had lain
there, which turned out to be a bowl: throwing it forward he took a
second, and bowled it towards the first, or jack. The Bishop, who seemed
to be in a sprightly mood, followed suit, and bowled one in a curve
towards the jack, turning and speaking to Lady Constantine as he
concluded the feat. As she had not left the gravelled terrace he raised
his voice, so that the words reached Swithin distinctly.

'Do you follow us?' he asked gaily.

'I am not skilful,' she said. 'I always bowl narrow.'

The Bishop meditatively paused.

'This moment rem