and as my lady when he spoke.

"Your ladyship must remember that it may be my duty to speak to my
parishioners on many subjects on which they do not agree with me. I am
not at liberty to be silent, because they differ in opinion from me."

Lady Ludlow's great blue eyes dilated with surprise, and--I do
think--anger, at being thus spoken to. I am not sure whether it was very
wise in Mr. Gray. He himself looked afraid of the consequences but as if
he was determined to bear them without flinching. For a minute there was
silence. Then my lady replied--"Mr. Gray, I respect your plain speaking,
although I may wonder whether a young man of your age and position has
any right to assume that he is a better judge than one with the
experience which I have naturally gained at my time of life, and in the
station I hold."

"If I, madam, as the clergyman of this parish, am not to shrink from
telling what I believe to be the truth to the poor and lowly, no more am
I to hold my peace in the presence of the rich and titled." Mr. Gray's
face showed that he was in that state of excitement which in a child
would have ended in a good fit of crying. He looked as if he had nerved
himself up to doing and saying things, which he disliked above
everything, and which nothing short of serious duty could have compelled
him to do and say. And at such times every minute circumstance which
could add to pain comes vividly before one. I saw that he became aware
of our presence, and that it added to his discomfiture.

My lady flushed up. "Are you aware, sir," asked she, "that you have gone
far astray from the original subject of conversation? But as you talk of
your parish, allow me to remind you that Hareman's Common is beyond the
bounds, and that you are really not responsible for the characters and
lives of the squatters on that unlucky piece of ground."

"Madam, I see I have only done harm in speaking to you about the affair
at all. I beg your pardon and take my leave."

He bowed, and looked very sad. Lady Ludlow caught the expression of his
face.

"Good morning!" she cried, in rather a louder and quicker way than that
in which she had been speaking. "Remember, Job Gregson is a notorious
poacher and evildoer, and you really are not responsible for what goes on
at Hareman's Common."

He was near the hall door, and said something--half to himself, which we
heard (being nearer to him), but my lady did not; although she saw that
he s