traordinary, unbelievable almost. And then another thought
flashed into his brain, making his heart stand still.

A door to the left opened, and a priest came out. He looked momentarily
at Antony, then went into the sanctuary, genuflected, took the covered
chalice from the altar, genuflected again, and went back into the
sacristy, leaving the door partly open.

Antony got suddenly to his feet. He went towards the sacristy. The
priest, hearing the sound of steps, opened the door wide.

"Excuse me," said Antony, "but can you tell me where Woodleigh is?" His
Irish brogue was forgotten.

"Certainly," replied the priest. "It is about two miles from here,
inland." He looked rather curiously at the man, who, though labourer by
his dress, yet spoke in an obviously refined voice. He waited, perhaps
expecting some further question.

"That was all I wanted to know," said Antony. "Thank you." He turned back
into the church.

Father Dormer looked after him. There was a puzzled look in his eye.

Antony came out of the church and into the sunlight. He called to
Josephus, who was busy with the investigation of a distant smithy, and
turned up the street, walking rather quickly.

CHAPTER XIV

HONOR VINCIT

His brain was working rapidly, the while he felt a curious leaden
sensation at his heart. He had never even contemplated the possibility of
the Duchessa living in the neighbourhood, though he now marvelled why he
had never happened to question her as to the exact locality of
Woodleigh.

Of course he knew, and assured himself that he knew, that the chances
were all against any probability of their meeting. How was it likely they
should meet, seeing that she was a _grande dame_, and he merely an
under-gardener at the Hall? Of course it was not probable. Nevertheless
there was just the faintest chance. He couldn't deny that remote chance.
And if they did meet, and she should recognize him?--There was the
question.

Explanation would be impossible in view of his promise. And what would
she think? Wouldn't it be conceivable, nay, wouldn't it be natural that
she should be indignant at the thought that she had admitted to her
friendship a man, who, to her eyes, would appear one of inferior birth?
Wouldn't his behaviour on the _Fort Salisbury_ appear to her in the light
of a fraud? Wouldn't his letter appear to her as a piece of preposterous
presumption on his part? How could it be expected that she should see
beneath t