The man was no hypocrite, his character was absolutely genuine, he hated whatever he deemed likely to lead people astray; but sorrow and loneliness had warped his nature. Since his father’s death no spark of love had been kindled in his heart, and incessant brooding over one great grievance had distorted his powers of judgment. His zeal had degenerated into fanaticism, his Christianity had faded into that longing to call down fire from heaven on all who disagreed with him, which has often marred the career of great saints and honest disciples. Meanwhile, the kindly Vicar--a man who loathed strife and ill-will--made his way out into the village, and with just a comforting remembrance of the splendid ammonite, his newest treasure, to linger in the recesses of his troubled heart with a sort of grateful glow, went from one to another of his parishioners, gathering by degrees the state of affairs. At the door of the “Bell Inn” he saw Massey and two of his officers dismount, and with the quick glance of one who is always studying his surroundings recognised in the stream of bright lamplight coming from the open door, one of Sir Richard Hopton’s sons. “Good evening to you, Mr. Hopton,” he said, pleasantly. “I am sorry to learn of the trouble that has befallen Sir Richard.” The young man gave him a cordial greeting; somehow with Dr. Coke everyone’s first thought was of the matters they had in common. The Vicar held to his own opinions, and had his likes and his dislikes, but there was nothing combative about him. “Truth to tell, we are about to march towards Canon Frome,” said Sir Richard’s son. “We shall not trouble you long in Bosbury, but the men need food and a few hours’ sleep. A good many of them can be quartered in the Old Palace. I must go round there and see to the arrangements.” “I will come with you,” said the Vicar. “A word to the caretaker may smooth matters. You will find few comforts there, for, as you know, the place was dismantled in the days of good Queen Bess. But here, I see, comes Mr. Silas Taylor, who hath a special love for the old building, and will be able to serve you better than I can. And when you have bestowed your men, come and sup with us at the Vicarage, and bring one of your friends with you; ’tis bitter cold, and you will be glad to sit by a comfortable hearth.” “Good evening to you, Vicar,” said Mr. Taylor, joining them. “You and I are, maybe, on the same errand, for though I am all for the Parliament, I should be sorely grieved were any of our much-prized antiquities to be marred by the troops.” “To be sure you would,” said the Vicar, with his genial laugh. “I was but saying as much to Mr. Hopton here. For the sake of old times you will, I know, have a care of the Old Palace, and we will seek to quarter as many as can be well stowed there, for it will put the villagers to less trouble.” Sounds of a vehement altercation at a little distance made the Vicar hasten down the street.