f the past. The barn had been saved and
the fire was out, but the groups of excited, tearful women and
coatless, dishevelled men, the rector with one hand badly burnt, Mrs.
Abercorn loudly deploring the loss of her hat and an antique
bracelet--all was forlorn, changed, miserable! And all this was his
fault, his doing, the result of his carelessness! He could scarcely
frame the words with which to deeply lament the unfortunate accident,
but his very genuine contrition softened the rector's heart even while
he felt some resentment at the sudden fatality which had spoiled the
day and in his own case was destined to leave a very unpleasant
remembrance.

"The question is," said Mr. Abercorn, talking to Enderby and the
schoolmaster, "whether we are to go on with the rest of the programme.
I'm the only one, happy to say, at all injured, and already the pain is
better. Plunge in, men, and get out all the burnt stuff and tidy the
tables. It might have been worse; thank God, none were hurt! And we
mustn't let Mr. Ringfield feel badly about it. The bracket was weak,
I'm sure it was weak, and he's a stranger among us. What are you
saying, Enderby? A judgment on him? Nonsense. I thought you had more
sense. Ask him to remain for the evening and everything shall go on as
we intended to have it."

But Ringfield did not care to stay. Everything was against him; for
the first time in his life he felt himself a failure,--in the way. How
had he come to be so careless? Well he knew, for the face of the
dreadful child, in spite of its deformity, evinced a strong, strong,
insistent resemblance to a face he knew. The dark hair and eyes, the
shape of the forehead, the way the hair grew on the forehead--where had
he seen it all reproduced not so very long ago? Miss Clairville's
expression, colouring, and animated play of gesture lived again in this
mysterious child.

About seven o'clock, just as Mrs. Abercorn's "nice little show" was
beginning, he took his way home. The path lay along the darkest road
he had ever seen; there was neither moon nor stars, and the blackness
of a country road bordered by dense forests can only be understood by
those who have travelled at such a time, and for the nine miles that he
plodded stupidly along--for he declined to wait to be driven--given up
to sombre and sinister thoughts, he was a most unhappy man.

CHAPTER XII

THE HEART OF POUSSETTE

"Yet is the creature rational--endowe