"What I asked the governor," replied the barman. "'Dog in the manger,' he say; 'didn't want the next man to reap where he've sowed. What's more, that give him an excuse for stoppun in the place,' he say." Carlton was under no temptation to confute these arguments; his only difficulty was to suppress a smile. "So his people don't think any the better of him for getting himself off, eh?" "The better? That's made them right mad! The governor here, he say that was the gift of the gab and nothun else; all parsons have their fair share; but this here reverend, he do seem to be a holy terror, an' no mistake. A gentleman like Sir Wilton Gleed haven't a chance agen him; so they're all a-sayun, all but Sir Wilton himself. The young gent who was in here this afternoon, he was a-sayun as how the squire wouldn't have the reverend's name so much as spoken at the hall; and he's never been heard to name it himself since the day of the trial, he's that mad. But have you heard the latest?" Carlton had heard quite enough, and his hand was on the latch, nor did he withdraw it as he turned his head. "Against the reverend?" inquired he. "That's it," said the young barman with renewed gusto. "And I nearly let you go without tellun you!" "What has he been doing now?" Carlton was curious to hear. "That's not what he've been doün, but what keep comun o' what he've done," his informant said ominously. "The latest is that some young chap would go to the devil because the reverend had, so he 'listed, and he've been in the very battle there's all this to-do about!" Of Mellis's enlistment Carlton had heard; the rest was news indeed; and his hand tightened on the latch. "Has anything happened to him, then?" he faltered, sick at heart. "Not as we know on yet," said the stout youth, hopefully. "But the lists ain't in, and, if this young chap's killed, everybody says it'll be another death at the reverend's door." "So they want his blood!" exclaimed Carlton. "But what they say is true." As he opened the door a burst of cheering came round from the barn. "That's for the squire," he left the barman saying. "He've been on his legs these ten minutes." The outcast had shut the door behind him, and was groping his way in a darkness no deeper than before, though perfectly opaque after the strong light within. "And one cheer more!" screamed a voice from the barn. Carlton need scarcely have left his rectory to have heard the final roar. Yet it was not the end. "And three groans . . ." This voice was hoarse; the name was lost in the night; but the outcast well knew whose it was. And he stopped instinctively, standing firm upon his feet while the groans were given--as though they lashed him like wind and rain. Then he turned his face to the storm. He could not help it. There was more clapping of the hands. Something further was to come; he might as well hear what.