to perform that ceremony and to return thither on its
completion.

Then the majority of the onlookers straggled homeward, leaving a few
wives and sweethearts waiting by the steps, with patient eyes fixed on
the spidery figures in the rigging of "The Last Hope." Dormer Colville
and the Marquis de Gemosac were left alone, while the rector stood a
few yards away, glaring abstractedly at them through his gold-rimmed
spectacles as if they had been some strange flotsam cast up by the high
tide.

"I remember," said Colville to his companion, "that I have an
introduction to the pastor of the village, who, if I am not mistaken, is
even now contemplating opening a conversation. It was given to me by
my banker in Paris, who is a Suffolk man. You remember, Marquis, John
Turner, of the Rue Lafayette?"

"Yes--yes," answered the Marquis, absently. He was still watching the
retreating villagers, with eyes old and veiled by the trouble that they
had seen.

"I will take this opportunity of presenting myself," said Colville, who
was watching the little group from the rectory without appearing to do
so. He rose as he spoke and went toward the clergyman, who was probably
much younger than he looked. For he was ill-dressed and ill-shorn, with
straggling grey hair hanging to his collar. He had a musty look, such
as a book may have that is laid on a shelf in a deserted room and never
opened or read. Septimus Marvin, the world would say, had been laid upon
a shelf when he was inducted to the spiritual cure of Farlingford. But
no man is ever laid on a shelf by Fate. He climbs up there of his own
will, and lies down beneath the dust of forgetfulness because he lacks
the heart to arise and face the business of life.

Seeing that Dormer Colville was approaching him, he came forward with a
certain scholarly ease of manner as if he had once mixed with the best
on an intellectual equality.

Colville's manners were considered perfect, especially by those who were
unable to detect a fine line said to exist between ease and too much
ease. Mr. Marvin recollected John Turner well. Ten years earlier he had,
indeed, corresponded at some length with the Paris banker respecting a
valuable engraving. Was Mr. Colville interested in engravings? Colville
confessed to a deep and abiding pleasure in this branch of art,
tempered, he admitted with a laugh, by a colossal ignorance. He then
proceeded to give the lie to his own modesty by talking easily and well