This was the galling present and the dark future which had made so young and unsentimental a woman as Mary Wells think of suicide for a moment or two; and it now deprived her of her rest, and next day kept her thinking and brooding all the time her now leaden limbs were carrying her through her menial duties. The afternoon was sunny, and Sir Charles and Lady Bassett took their usual walk. Mary Wells went a little way with them, looking very miserable. Lady Bassett observed, and said, kindly, “Mary, you can give me that shawl; I will not keep you; go where you like till five o'clock.” Mary never said so much as “Thank you.” She put the shawl round her mistress, and then went slowly back. She sat down on the stone steps, and glared stupidly at the scene, and felt very miserable and leaden. She seemed to be stuck in a sort of slough of despond, and could not move in any direction to get out of it. While she sat in this somber reverie a gentleman walked up to the door, and Mary Wells lifted her head and looked at him. Notwithstanding her misery, her eyes rested on him with some admiration, for he was a model of a man: six feet high, and built like an athlete. His face was oval, and his skin dark but glowing; his hair, eyebrows, and long eyelashes black as jet; his gray eyes large and tender. He was dressed in black, with a white tie, and his clothes were well cut, and seemed superlatively so, owing to the importance and symmetry of the figure they covered. It was the new vicar, Mr. Angelo. He smiled on Mary graciously, and asked her how Sir Charles was. She said he was better. Then Mr. Angelo asked, more timidly, was Lady Bassett at home. “She is just gone out, sir.” A look of deep disappointment crossed Mr. Angelo's face. It did not escape Mary Wells. She looked at him full, and, lowering her voice a little, said, “She is only in the grounds with Sir Charles. She will be at home about five o'clock.” Mr. Angelo hesitated, and then said he would call again at five. He evidently preferred a duet to a trio. He then thanked Mary Wells with more warmth than the occasion seemed to call for, and retired very slowly: he had come very quickly. Mary Wells looked after him, and asked herself wildly if she could not make some use of him and his manifest infatuation. But before her mind could fix on any idea, and, indeed, before the young clergyman had taken twenty steps homeward, loud voices were heard down the shrubbery. These were followed by an agonized scream. Mary Wells started up, and the young parson turned: they looked at each other in amazement. Then came wild and piercing cries for help--in a woman's voice. The young clergyman cried out, _“Her_ voice! _her_ voice!” and dashed into the shrubbery with a speed Mary Wells had never seen equaled. He had won the 200-yard race at Oxford in his day. The agonized screams were repeated, and Mary Wells screamed in response as she ran toward the place. CHAPTER XVI.