od and taken on lease a
small estate, called by the odd name of Peacock's Range, which belonged
to Hubert and lay between Church Dykely and Church Leet. Mr. Peveril put
an inopportune question.

"What is the story, Captain, about some chimes which were put up in the
church here and are never allowed to ring because they caused the death
of the Vicar? I was told of it to-day."

Captain Monk looked at Mr. Peveril, but did not speak.

"One George West, I think. Was he parson here?"

"Yes, he was parson here," said Farmer Winter, finding nobody else
answered Mr. Peveril, next to whom he sat. He was a very old man now,
but hale and hearty still, and a steadfast ally of his landlord. "Given
that parson his way and we should never have had the chimes put up.
Sweet sounding bells they are."

"But how could the chimes kill him?" went on Mr. Peveril. "Did they kill
him?"

"George West was a quarrelsome, mischief-making meddler, good for
nothing but to set the parish together by the ears; and I must beg of
you to drop his name when at my table, Peveril. As to the chimes, you
will hear them to-night."

Captain Monk spoke in his sternest tones, and Mr. Peveril bowed. Robert
Grame had listened in surprise. He wondered what it all meant--for
nobody had ever told him of this phase of the past. The table clapped
its unsteady hands and gave a cheer for the chimes, now to be heard
again.

"Yes, gentlemen," said the Captain, not a whit more steady than his
guests. "They shall ring for us to-night, though it brought the parson
out of his grave."

A few minutes before twelve the butler, who had his orders, came into
the dining-room and set the windows open. His master gave him another
order and the man withdrew. Entering the drawing-room, he proceeded to
open those windows also. Mr. Peveril, and one or two more guests, sat
with the family; Hubert lay back in an easy-chair.

"What are you about, Rimmer?" hastily cried out Mrs. Carradyne in
surprise. "Opening the windows!"

"It is by the master's orders, ma'am," replied the butler; "he bade me
open them, that you and the ladies might get a better hearing of the
chimes."

Mrs. Carradyne, superstitious ever, grew white as death. "_The chimes!_"
she breathed in a dread whisper. "Surely, surely, Rimmer, you must be
mistaken. The chimes cannot be going to ring again!"

"They are to ring the New Year in," said the man. "I have known it this
day or two, but was not allowed to tell,