le old gentleman who had gone away to
die in the Riviera, and Mr Blake had the care of souls to himself.
He was a man to whom his lines had fallen in pleasant places. There
were about 250 men, women, and children, in his parish, and not a
Dissenter among them. For looking after these folk he had L120 per
annum, and as pretty a little parsonage as could be found in England.
There was a squire with whom he was growing in grace and friendship,
who, being the patron of the living, might probably bestow it upon
him. It was worth only L250, and was not, therefore, too valuable to
be expected. He had a modest fortune of his own, L300 a-year perhaps,
and,--for the best of his luck shall be mentioned last,--he was
engaged to the daughter of one of the prebendaries of Winchester, a
pretty bright little girl, with a further sum of L5000 belonging to
herself. He was thirty years of age, in the possession of perfect
health, and not so strict in matters of religion as to make it
necessary for him to abandon any of the innocent pleasures of this
world. He could dine out, and play cricket, and read a novel. And
should he chance, when riding his cob about the parish, or visiting
some neighbouring parish, to come across the hounds, he would not
scruple to see them over a field or two. So that the Rev Montagu
Blake was upon the whole a happy fellow.

He and John Gordon had been thrown together at Oxford for a short
time during the last months of their residence, and though they were
men quite unlike each other in their pursuits, circumstances had
made them intimate. It was well that Gordon should take a stroll for
a couple of hours before dinner, and therefore he started off for
Little Alresford. Going into the parsonage gate he was overtaken by
Blake, and of course introduced himself. "Don't you remember Gordon
at Exeter?"

"John Gordon! Gracious me! Of course I do. What a good fellow you are
to come and look a fellow up! Where have you come from, and where are
you going to, and what brings you to Alresford, beyond the charitable
intention of dining with me? Oh, nonsense! not dine; but you will,
and I can give you a bed too, and breakfast, and shall be delighted
to do it for a week. Ordered your dinner? Then we'll unorder it. I'll
send the boy in and put that all right. Shall I make him bring your
bag back?" Gordon, however, though he assented to the proposition as
regarded dinner, made his friend understand that it was imperative
tha