He watched her till she had disappeared in the Vicarage garden, then paid a visit to the invalid, who was far from sharing Hilary’s enjoyment of her risky journeys to and fro, and always liked to hear that she had gained the Vicarage in safety. “When I think of all that you are doing for me, and of the danger of discovery, it makes me eager to be gone,” he said, watching his kindly host as he placed within reach all that he could need. “Nay, I’m in no haste to get rid of you,” said the Vicar, with a smile. “You forget that I shall be left a lonely old bachelor when you and Hilary fare forth on your wedding journey.” “It seems unfair, sir, that I should rob your home of its brightness,” said Gabriel. “Ay, and not only that, but rouse in me a certain dissatisfaction with my lot,” said the Vicar, his eyes twinkling. “I have serious thoughts of entering upon the holy estate of matrimony myself, an I can prevail on Sir Richard Hopton to accept my proposal for the hand of his daughter.” “Hilary’s friend, Mistress Frances?” said Gabriel, with keen interest. “Ay, but say naught about it till I learn my fate,” said the Vicar. “The lady, for aught I know, may refuse me as decidedly as Hilary refused Squire Geers, of Garnons.” The recollection of this made them both laugh, and in much better spirits the Vicar quitted the tower, locking the door and putting the key in his pocket as he groped his way across the graveyard to the garden gate. It was now dark, save for the stars which just revealed here and there a white gravestone or the dim outline of bush or tree. Suddenly the Vicar became conscious of the presence of some living creature; though as yet he could see nothing he felt that he was not alone, and, pausing to listen intently, he distinctly heard the sound of breathing. “Who goes there?” he said, in a hearty voice which belied his real anxiety. “’Tis I, sir, Peter Waghorn,” said the fanatic, gloomily. “What, man! still longing to cast down the cross?” said the Vicar. “I had hoped you had come to see that we look on it with no superstition. But I know well ’tis a hard matter for all of us to see with each other’s eyes. I should make a rare bungle did I try my hand at wood-carving, and you would make nothing at all of the pre-historic tooth which I am carrying from my museum room in the tower to show to Mistress Hilary.” It was too dark for him to see the expression on Waghorn’s face, and he remained in ignorance of the man’s intentions. Did he suspect that they used the tower to shelter Gabriel? Or did he merely keep a watchful eye on the Vicarage? Either surmise was disquieting. Dr. Coke fell back on his usual kindly sympathy, hoping to reach the heart of this strange and complex character. “Come in and see me some night,” he said, genially, “for I have some rare old oak which you would be interested in. I’ve a great mind to get you to carve me a corner cupboard for my study, an you think the wood will serve.”