the decisive words too precipitately, Mr.
Brock tried him first with a little compliment on the range of his
reading, as shown by the volume of Sophocles and the volume of Goethe
which had been found in his bag, and asked how long he had been
acquainted with German and Greek. The quick ear of Midwinter detected
something wrong in the tone of Mr. Brock's voice. He turned in the
darkening twilight, and looked suddenly and suspiciously in the rector's
face.

"You have something to say to me," he answered; "and it is not what you
are saying now."

There was no help for it but to accept the challenge. Very delicately,
with many preparatory words, to which the other listened in unbroken
silence, Mr. Brock came little by little nearer and nearer to the point.
Long before he had really reached it--long before a man of no more than
ordinary sensibility would have felt what was coming--Ozias Midwinter
stood still in the lane, and told the rector that he need say no more.

"I understand you, sir," said the usher. "Mr. Armadale has an
ascertained position in the world; Mr. Armadale has nothing to conceal,
and nothing to be ashamed of. I agree with you that I am not a fit
companion for him. The best return I can make for his kindness is
to presume on it no longer. You may depend on my leaving this place
to-morrow morning."

He spoke no word more; he would hear no word more. With a self-control
which, at his years and with his temperament, was nothing less than
marvelous, he civilly took off his hat, bowed, and returned to the inn
by himself.

Mr. Brock slept badly that night. The issue of the interview in the lane
had made the problem of Ozias Midwinter a harder problem to solve than
ever.

Early the next morning a letter was brought to the rector from the inn,
and the messenger announced that the strange gentleman had taken his
departure. The letter inclosed an open note addressed to Allan, and
requested Allan's tutor (after first reading it himself) to forward it
or not at his own sole discretion. The note was a startlingly short one;
it began and ended in a dozen words: "Don't blame Mr. Brock; Mr. Brock
is right. Thank you, and good-by.--O. M."

The rector forwarded the note to its proper destination, as a matter of
course, and sent a few lines to Mrs. Armadale at the same time to quiet
her anxiety by the news of the usher's departure. This done, he waited
the visit from his pupil, which would probably follow the deliver