‘His clothes was fust-class, and he paid his way honourable. Had the best rooms over yonder,’ with a jerk of his head in the direction of the George, ‘and tipped everybody ’andsome. He warn’t here above a month or six weeks; but he hired a pianner from Mr. Stammers, up street, and there he’d sit by the hour together, Mrs. Capon told me, strum, strum, strum. “Music that made you feel creepy-crawly like,” says Mrs. Capon; “not a good hearty tune as you could understand, but meandering and meandering like till you felt as if you’d gone to sleep in a cathedral while the organ was playin’,” says Mrs. Capon.’ Music! Yes, that was the spell which had lured his child to her ruin. Nothing less than that fatal magic, which had held her from her babyhood, could have been strong enough to beguile that poor young soul. ‘Did you hear the man’s name?’ asked the Rector. ‘I heerd it, sure enough, sir; but I never were a good hand at remembering names. Mrs. Capon ud tell you in a moment.’ ‘No, no,’ exclaimed the Rector nervously; ‘I’ve no curiosity; it’s of no importance. Good-afternoon, Huskings. You—you may send me a sack of barley;’ this with a little pang, remembering what a joyless business his poultry-yard had become of late. He went ‘up street’ to Mr. Stammers, who kept a little music-shop and let out pianos. ‘You’d better look in at the Rectory and tune the piano before my daughter comes home, Stammers,’ said the Rector, with a bitter pain at his heart, and then sat down in the chair by Mr. Stammers’ door—set wide open on this warm afternoon—a little out of breath, though the High-street from the corn-merchant’s door to the music-seller’s was a dead level. ‘Yes, sir. Miss Davoren away, sir? I thought I missed her at church last Sunday. Mr. Filby’s playing don’t come anything nigh hers. What a wonderful gift she has, sir! The Marchioness was up town yesterday—they are at the Castle for a week, ong parsong—and drew up here to give an order. I made bold to show her the little fantasia I took the liberty to dedicate to Miss Davoren. She smiled so sweet when she saw the name. “You’ve reason to be proud of your Rector’s daughter, Mr. Stammers,” she said; “such a lovely young lady, and such a fine musician! I wish I had time to call at the Rectory.” And then she arst after your ’elth, sir, and your good lady’s, and Miss Davoren’s, quite affable, just before she drove away. She was drivin’ her own ponies.’ ‘She was very good,’ said Mr. Davoren absently. O, vain delight in earthly pomp and pride! The notice of these magnates of the land had not saved his child from destruction; nay, perhaps had been, in some unknown manner, the primary cause of her fall. ‘Yes, you had better tune the piano, Stammers,’ he went on, with a feeble sigh. ‘She will like to find it in good tune when she comes back. By the way, you let a piano to the gentleman at the George the other day—Mr.—’