erly-looking strides,
and bringing himself to an abrupt halt made a disdainful back at him.
Again Thistlewood advanced, but this time he drew himself up a trifle
behind his rival, and laid a finger on his shoulder.

'Well?' said Protheroe, without turning his head.

'I shall want a word with thee by and by, my lad,' Thistlewood said
quietly.

'Have it now,' replied Lane, settling his shoulders jauntily.

'There's time in plenty afore us,' Thistlewood answered, regarding him
with supreme disfavour.

The younger man looked straight before him with an exasperating aspect
of indifference.

'When you like,' he said.

'Very well,' replied Thistlewood. 'In five minutes' time from now.'

'Church time,' said Lane smilingly, surveying the landscape.

'Beest that keen set on the sermon?' John inquired.

'Don't know that I am,' replied the enemy, rising a little on his toes,
and then settling his shoulders anew.

'Five minutes' time from now.'

The jaunty airs and scornful disregard began to warm Thistlewood's blood
a little.

'Canst look a man i' the face when thee talk'st to him? 'he asked.

'Yes, bless your heart and soul alive!' cried Lane, swaggering round and
beaming on him.

For half a minute they looked at each other, the one angry, resolute,
and lowering, with head bent a little forward, his glance directed
upward past his down-drawn brows, the other smiling with seeming
sweetness and gaiety.

Thistlewood seemed to restrain himself with something of an effort.

'We'll talk together by and by,' he said, and turning, deliberately
walked back into the churchyard.

For a few seconds Lane stood glorying, but on a sudden it occurred to
him that his rival was behaving in a more dignified manner than himself,
and this was a reflection not to be endured without instant action.
So he marched back into the churchyard also, and left John in the
foreground. When Bertha appeared her elder lover paid his respects
first, and Lane came up afterwards, looking, as she remembered later on,
prodigiously gloomy and resolved.

The bell had been silent for a minute, and the curate's voice had begun
to drone within the building. The rivals were alone, and nobody was
within sight or earshot.

'Shall we walk a pace or two, Mr. Protheroe?' asked John.

Mr. Protheroe, without speaking, sauntered out at the gate, vaulted a
stile opposite, and paused in a field pathway. Thistlewood followed,
throwing first one leg and then th