They came up towards the study window that looked on to the drive; when Anthony, who was in front, suddenly recoiled and then laughed. "They are at it again," he said. The next moment Mary was looking through the window too. The Rector was sitting in his chair opposite, a small dark, clean-shaven man, but his face was set with a look of distressed determination, and his lower lip was sucked in; his eyes were fixed firmly on a tall, slender woman whose back was turned to the window and who seemed to be declaiming, with outstretched hand. The Rector suddenly saw the faces at the window. "We seem to be interrupting," said Mary coolly, as she turned away. CHAPTER V A RIDER FROM LONDON "We will walk on, Master Anthony," said Mistress Corbet. "Will you bring the keys when the Rector and his lady have done?" She spoke with a vehement bitterness that made Isabel look at her in amazement, as the two walked on by the private path to the churchyard gate. Mary's face was set in a kind of fury, and she went forward with her chin thrust disdainfully out, biting her lip. Isabel said nothing. As they reached the gate they heard steps behind them; and turning saw the minister and Anthony hastening together. Mr. Dent was in his cassock and gown and square cap, and carried the keys. His little scholarly face, with a sharp curved nose like a beak, and dark eyes set rather too close together, was not unlike a bird's; and a way he had of sudden sharp movements of his head increased the likeness. Mary looked at him with scarcely veiled contempt. He glanced at her sharply and uneasily. "Mistress Mary Corbet?" he said, interrogatively. Mary bowed to him. "May we see the church, sir; your church, I should say perhaps; that is, if we are not disturbing you." Mr. Dent made a polite inclination, and opened the gate for them to go through. Then Mary changed her tactics; and a genial, good-humoured look came over her face; but Isabel, who glanced at her now and again as they went round to the porch at the west-end, still felt uneasy. As the Rector was unlocking the porch door, Mary surveyed him with a pleased smile. "Why, you look quite like a priest," she said. "Do your bishops, or whatever you call them, allow that dress? I thought you had done away with it all." Mr. Dent looked at her, but seeing nothing but geniality and interest in her face, explained elaborately in the porch that he was a Catholic priest, practically; though the word minister was more commonly used; and that it was the old Church still, only cleansed from superstitions. Mary shook her head at him cheerfully, smiling like a happy, puzzled child. "It is all too difficult for me," she said. "It cannot be the same Church, or why should we poor Catholics be so much abused and persecuted? Besides, what of the Pope?" Mr. Dent explained that the Pope was one of the superstitions in question.