rch after the
publishing of the banns; but on Sunday night he missed him, and, the
minute service was ended, he set off for the cottage where he lodged.
He had reached the field-path which led to it, when he heard the sound
of footsteps that stumbled in their running, and, pausing to look
round, he saw a figure, which he did not immediately recognize in the
moonlight as Tom's, dashing across the pathway in the direction of the
river. Almost before he knew what he was doing the rector gave chase,
for he felt the man meant mischief: a conviction which grew into
certainty as he gained upon the runaway, and recognized him as the man
whom he sought.

Tom attempted no further resistance, and, from his incoherent
utterances, Mr. Curzon presently gathered what had occurred.

"And you ran off and left Rose with her dead lover? I could not have
believed you such a coward, Tom!" he said, unable to keep back the
indignation and scorn he felt. "This is no place for you and me; we
must go back at once, and see if anything can be done."

Nothing was said as the two hastened back to the spot where Dixon was
left lying; but, to the utter astonishment of both, when they arrived
there, Rose and Dixon had gone.

"Either some vehicle has driven by which has conveyed Dixon to the
Court, or he was, by God's mercy, only stunned," said the rector.
"We'll go on and find out."

Tom made no answer, but followed the rector's lead. In a kind of dumb
despair he felt he was walking to meet his fate. They made their way
first to the stables, anxious not to give the alarm at the house until
they knew the extent of the mischief. The usual orderly quiet
prevailed, and, in response to the rector's knock, the groom, who had
played such a faithless part by Rose, appeared.

"Is Dixon in? Can I see him for a moment?" asked Mr. Curzon, guardedly.

"He came in, sir, about a quarter of an hour since, but he's gone
straight up to bed. He'd a nasty fall--did not know quite how he'd
done it, slipped up on his heel, he said, and fell on the back of his
head. Rose Lancaster was with him, and seemed terrible cut up about
it, said he lay like a dead thing; and she would never have got him
home if it had not been that a cart drove by and gave 'em both a lift."

"Thank you. Tell Dixon that I'll come round in the morning to see how
he is."

"We need do nothing more to-night; your worst fear is not realized," he
said, as he and Tom turned towards home.