the first under the year 1633." I turned the old pages
and pointed to the entry "_Ite paide to George mason for a dayes work
about the churche after the Jew had been, and white wassche is vjd_."

"A Jew? But a Jew had no business in England in those days. I wonder
how and why he came." My visitor took the old volume and ran his finger
down the leaf, then up, then turned back a page. "Perhaps this may
explain it," said he. "_Ite deliued Mr. Beuill to make puision for the
companie of a fforeste barke yt came ashoare iiis ivd_." He broke off,
with a finger on the entry, and rose. "Pray forgive me, sir; I had
taken your chair."

"Don't mention it," said I. "Indeed I was about to suggest that you
draw it to the fire while Frances brings in some supper."

To be short, although he protested he must push on to the inn at
Porthlooe, I persuaded him to stay the night; not so much, I confess,
from desire of his company, as in the hope that if I took him to see the
frescoes next morning he might help me to elucidate their history.

I remember now that during supper and afterwards my guest allowed me
more than my share of the conversation. He made an admirable listener,
quick, courteous, adaptable, yet with something in reserve (you may call
it a facile tolerance, if you will) which ended by irritating me.
Young men should be eager, fervid, _sublimis cupidusque_, as I was
before my beard grew stiff. But this young man had the air of a
spectator at a play, composing himself to be amused. There was too much
wisdom in him and too little emotion. We did not, of course, touch upon
any religious question--indeed, of his own opinions on any subject he
disclosed extraordinarily little: and yet as I reached my bedroom that
night I told myself that here, behind a mask of good manners, was one of
those perniciously modern young men who have run through all beliefs by
the age of twenty, and settled down to a polite but weary atheism.

I fancy that under the shadow of this suspicion my own manner may have
been cold to him next morning. Almost immediately after breakfast we
set out for the church. The day was sunny and warm; the atmosphere
brilliant after the night's rain. The hedges exhaled a scent of spring.
And, as we entered the churchyard, I saw the girl Julia Constantine
seated in her favourite angle between the porch and the south wall,
threading a chain of daisies.

"What an amazingly handsome girl!" my guest excl