The Rectory of the sleepy little Northamptonshire village of Kingsthorpe was a spacious old Jacobean house, hidden by ivy, with red, lichen-covered roofs, tall chimneys, and diamond-paned, mullioned windows. Standing back from the broad, white highway, a large, old-fashioned, flower-garden lay in front, while at the rear an orchard and well-kept lawn sloped down to the picturesque river Nene. The Reverend George Farrar, the rector, was a rubicund, happy-looking man, a true type of the port-drinking, fox-hunting British parson, and with his wife and two handsome daughters, was popular with all throughout his rural parish, from the Earl at the Hall down to the most humble and impecunious cottager. Though he hunted with the Fitzwilliam Pack, and could handle a cue with dexterity acquired by long practice, nevertheless there was no cant about him, and he was both pious and charitable. It was at Kingsthorpe that Madame Kovalski was visiting during August, she having met the Farrars frequently in London and dispensed to them the hospitality of her house in Lexham Gardens, Kensington. By dint of a little artful manœuvring and the exertions of a mutual friend, I also had contrived to make the acquaintance of the warm-hearted old rector, and had responded to his cordial invitation to spend a fortnight at “Sleepy Hollow,” as he called it. There were several other guests, but my attention was devoted to Madame Vera, with whom I very soon became on terms of pleasant friendship. We were idling away one hot afternoon together in a punt up a romantic and picturesque backwater of the Nene. Behind us the ground rose, covered thickly with beeches and hawthorn. A small weir, with a few eel baskets of brown osier, closed in the creek. The water was still, and around us masses of white water-lily studded the surface with silver stars. Beneath the deep emerald leaves, perch and dace darted from time to time, or lazily sucked in some drowning moth or wandering fly. The atmosphere was stifling in the sun, yet beneath the protecting willow to which I had chained the punt there was a pleasant soothing breeze that kept the gnats away and made the afternoon quite enjoyable. Vera looked ravishing. I had no idea that the woman upon whom I had to keep observation was so young and beautiful. Her broad white hat, set back on her shapely head, threw out her copper hair and deep-blue eyes. The olive silk that clung round her firm shoulders and waist outlined the broad curve of her limbs and fell in soft draperies about her little feet. The lace sleeves through which her white arms showed were a pretty idea, but far too tempting for a bachelor. I had found her not averse to flirtation, otherwise I should not have spoken as I did.