he had appeared when the
meeting began.

A quarter of an hour later he returned to the market-place alone. The
service in the church was still going on. He could hear them singing, the
harvest hymn: "We plough the fields and scatter--The good seed on the
land." But he did not stop to listen. He walked on rapidly in the
direction of Ipscombe.

Delane found the main line from Millsborough to Ipscombe dotted
at intervals with groups of persons returning from the harvest
festival--elderly women with children, a few old labourers, a few
soldiers on leave, with a lively fringe of noisy boys and girls
skirmishing round and about their elders, like so many young animals on
the loose. The evening light was failing. The pools left by a passing
shower, gleamed along the road, and the black elms and oaks, scarcely
touched as yet by autumn gold, stood straight and sharp against a rainy
sky.

The tall, slouching man scrutinized the various groups as he passed them,
as though making up his mind whether to address them or not. He wore a
shabby greatcoat, warmer than the day demanded, and closely buttoned
across the chest. The rest of his dress, felt hat, dark trousers, and tan
boots, had all of it come originally from expensive shops, but was now
only just presentable. The one thing in good condition about him was the
Malacca cane he carried, which had a carved jade handle, and was
altogether out of keeping with his general appearance.

All the same there was something striking in that appearance. Face,
figure and dress represented the wreck of more than one kind of
distinction. The face must once have been exceptionally handsome, before
an underlying commonness and coarseness had been brought out or
emphasized by developments of character and circumstance. The mouth was
now loose and heavy. The hazel eyes had lost their youth, and were
disfigured by the premature wrinkles of either ill-health or dissipation.
None the less, a certain carriage of the head and shoulders, a certain
magnificence in the whole general outline of the man, especially in the
defiant eyes and brow, marked him out from the crowd, and drew attention
of strangers.

Many persons looked at him, as he at them, while he swung slowly along
the road. At last he crossed over towards an elderly man in company with
a young soldier, who was walking lamely with a stick.

"Excuse me," he said, formally, addressing the elder man, "but am I right
for Ipscombe?"

"That