“Beg pardon, sir, no. We traveled from London together. We reached Chuxton this afternoon about sunset. We had to wait there for a conveyance hither, and while we waited, and Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Hay and their party took luncheon, I went in search of my dear mother, expecting to find her there where I had left her, but I heard instead that she was living at the rectory with your family. So then I told Mr. Randolph Hay, and he very kindly offered me a seat in his carriage, and so brought me on here. I rode to the Hall with them, and there left them and walked on here.” “And do you mean to say that the squire and his lady are now really at the Hall?” demanded the astonished curate. “Yes, sir, as I said, or should have said, they arrived to-night a little after dusk.” “But,” continued the deeply perplexed curate, “I don’t understand. The squire and—his lady were to have sent a telegram from London announcing their approach, and were expected to make quite a triumphal entry by daylight, amid the ringing of bells and singing of children, and flinging of flowers, and all the parade and pageantry that this season would permit. Prowt, the bailiff, has had his orders to be in readiness for weeks past, and for days has been waiting a telegram.” “I don’t know how that is, sir. I know that Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Hay came home very quietly indeed,” replied Longman. “But was it not a great surprise, not to say shock, to the servants at the Hall? And were they at all ready for the squire and—his lady?” “I think so, sir. I know Mr. Randolph Hay sent a dispatch to the housekeeper at the Hall, with instructions to have rooms aired and fires built, dinner prepared, and everything in readiness to receive himself and his wife this evening. I know it, sir, for I carried the dispatch to the telegraph office myself,” said Longman. “The people will be very much disappointed at missing the pageantry,” remarked the curate. “I do not think Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Hay cared for display. I am a little surprised that it should have been thought of in connection with them,” said Longman, reflectively. “Why, man alive, it was by the squire’s own orders, without the slightest suggestion from anybody here!” laughed the curate. “It was not like him. A more modest and unpretending gentleman I do not know anywhere in this world!” persisted Longman. The curate repressed an inclination to utter a long, low whistle; but he did say to himself: “So much for the blindness of prejudice.” “Oh! I have just thought of it! I will tell you why I think the triumphal entry was abandoned!” exclaimed Hetty. “Why?” inquired her husband. “Why, on account of the death of the rector.” “Oh! to be sure! that was it; though it was a more gracious thought than I should have given the man credit for,” added Mr. Campbell.