gone before we have had the pleasure of
close acquaintance. This tower of ours is, as you will notice, entirely
gone beyond the possibility of restoration; but the church itself is
well enough. You should see some of the churches in this county. Floors
rotten: ivy lining the walls.'

'Dear me!'

'Oh, that's nothing. The congregation of a neighbour of mine, whenever
a storm of rain comes on during service, open their umbrellas and hold
them up till the dripping ceases from the roof. Now, if you will kindly
bring me those papers and letters you see lying on the table, I will
show you how far we have got.'

Stephen crossed the room to fetch them, and the vicar seemed to notice
more particularly the slim figure of his visitor.

'I suppose you are quite competent?' he said.

'Quite,' said the young man, colouring slightly.

'You are very young, I fancy--I should say you are not more than
nineteen?'

I am nearly twenty-one.'

'Exactly half my age; I am forty-two.'

'By the way,' said Mr. Swancourt, after some conversation, 'you said
your whole name was Stephen Fitzmaurice, and that your grandfather came
originally from Caxbury. Since I have been speaking, it has occurred
to me that I know something of you. You belong to a well-known ancient
county family--not ordinary Smiths in the least.'

'I don't think we have any of their blood in our veins.'

'Nonsense! you must. Hand me the "Landed Gentry." Now, let me see.
There, Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith--he lies in St. Mary's Church,
doesn't he? Well, out of that family Sprang the Leaseworthy Smiths, and
collaterally came General Sir Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith of Caxbury----'

'Yes; I have seen his monument there,' shouted Stephen. 'But there is no
connection between his family and mine: there cannot be.'

'There is none, possibly, to your knowledge. But look at this, my dear
sir,' said the vicar, striking his fist upon the bedpost for emphasis.
'Here are you, Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith, living in London, but
springing from Caxbury. Here in this book is a genealogical tree of the
Stephen Fitzmaurice Smiths of Caxbury Manor. You may be only a family
of professional men now--I am not inquisitive: I don't ask questions of
that kind; it is not in me to do so--but it is as plain as the nose in
your face that there's your origin! And, Mr. Smith, I congratulate you
upon your blood; blue blood, sir; and, upon my life, a very desirable
colour, as the world goes.'

'I wish you