To one entering the valley after nightfall the situation of the much-discussed New Wanley could no longer be a source of doubt. Two blast-furnaces sent up their flare and lit luridly the devastated scene. Having glanced in that direction Hubert did his best to keep his eyes averted during the remainder of the walk. He was surprised to see a short passenger train rush by on the private line connecting the works with Agworth station; it was taking away certain visitors who had lingered in New Wanley after the lecture. Knowing nothing of the circumstances, he supposed that general traffic had been commenced. He avoided the village street, and reached the Vicarage by a path through fields. He found the vicar at dinner, though it was only half-past six. The welcome he received was, in Mr. Wyvern’s manner, almost silent; but when he had taken a place at the table he saw satisfaction on his host’s face. The meal was very plain, but the vicar ate with extraordinary appetite; he was one of those men in whom the demands of the stomach seem to be in direct proportion to the activity of the brain. A question Hubert put about the train led to a brief account of what was going on. Mr. Wyvern spoke on the subject with a gravity which was not distinctly ironical, but suggested criticism. They repaired to the study. A volume of Plato was open on the reading-table. ‘Do you remember Socrates’ prayer in the “Phaedrus”?’ said the vicar, bending affectionately over the page. He read a few words of the Greek, then gave a free rendering. ‘Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this place, give me beauty in the inward soul; and may the outward and inward be at one. May I esteem the wise alone wealthy, and may I have such abundance of wealth as none but the temperate can carry.’ He paused a moment. ‘Ah, when I came hither I hoped to find Pan undisturbed. Well, well, after all, Hephaestus was one of the gods.’ ‘How I envy you your quiet mind!’ said Hubert. ‘Quiet? Nay, not always so. Just now I am far from at peace. What brings you hither to-day?’ The equivoque was obviated by Mr. Wyvern’s tone. ‘I have heard stories about Adela Waltham. Is there any truth in them?’ ‘I fear so; I fear so.’ ‘That she is really going to marry Mr. Mutimer?’ He tried to speak the name without discourtesy, but his lips writhed after it. ‘I fear she is going to marry him,’ said the vicar deliberately. Hubert held his peace. ‘It troubles me. It angers me,’ said Mr. Wyvern. ‘I am angry with more than one.’ ‘Is there an engagement?’ ‘I am unable to say. Tattle generally gets ahead of fact.’