they were to bear fruit, to strike him down in his old age, to turn him and his homeless and helpless on the world. The wretched man dropped his head into his hands and groaned aloud. But, the reader will ask, what was the man made of to start by discounting the worst; to throw up the sponge so abjectly at the very first threat of battle? Well, there may be something in the adage that conscience makes cowards--of certain temperaments, or there may have been a something underlying the whole affair unknown even to Mr Vallance's own lawyers, or, possibly, a good deal of both. We can only say: Reader, persevere, and discover for yourself. Suddenly there floated in upon the summer air a mellow peal of church bells. Mr Vallance aroused himself. He had forgotten it was Sunday, forgotten his anxiety about Geoffry, forgotten everything in this new and terrible blow that threatened him. The turning of the door-handle made him fairly start from his chair, so overwrought were his nerves. "The girls have gone on, Dudley," said his wife, entering, a sumptuous presence in her church-going attire. "All right, my dear. Kindly overtake them, will you? I'll follow you when I'm ready." "But you'll be very late. Why, what is the matter?" she broke off, alarmed by his appearance and the huskiness of his tone. Then glancing at the pile of newly-opened letters--"Is it bad news? Not--not about Geoffry?" "_No_, not about Geoffry; thank Heaven for that. There is no word of the boy or his movements. It is--er--merely a very unfortunate and perplexing matter of business. Please don't wait for me." Those who caught a glimpse of their pastor's face that morning as he swept up the church behind his little procession of choir-boys were startled at the grey, set expression it wore; and when, after several mistakes and omissions in the performance of the service, he brought it to a close without a sermon, the parish--such of it as was present, at least--came to the conclusion that something must have gone very wrong indeed. Had Mr Vallance heard bad news about his son? No, for when the retired jerry-builder, who was also churchwarden, meeting the parson after service, made the enquiry in a sepulchral and sympathising stage-whisper, he met with a very unconcerned answer in the negative. "Parson do look main sick, surely" was the verdict of the village, as, represented by its choicest louts, it hung around the churchyard gate, and subsequently at the corners of the roads and lanes, previous to its afternoon Sunday loaf among the same. "Parson, he be agein', he be." Thus the village verdict. "Poor Mr Vallance was looking very ill this morning," remarked Mrs Santorex at dinner that day. "He could hardly get through the service. Everybody thought at first that he had heard bad news of Geoffry, but it appears not. In fact, he had heard no news of him at all."