"I have addressed and posted many a parcel to you, sir, in the days before I left home to earn my living." "And you weren't going to tell me that? You left me to find out--yes, yes; 'formidable Inspector,' and that sort of thing, eh? I'm not an ogre, though. Now this little discovery has just put the finishing touch to a delightful morning!" Hester, encouraged by his smile, laughed merrily, and so did he; less at the spoken words than because of the good gladness brimming their hearts. "But tell me," he went on, becoming serious again, "if a child, out of shyness, hid from you a small secret of that sort, you would be sorry--eh? And you would rightly be sorry, because by missing that little of his entire trust you had by so much fallen short of being a perfect teacher." "And two of these children," thought Hester, with a glance at Clem and Myra, "solemnly believe I am a witch!" As the Inspector went down the hill towards the ferry, he overtook another and older acquaintance in an old college friend. This was Sir George Dinham of Troy, who had attended the ceremony uninvited, and greatly to the awe of everyone assembled--the Inspector and Hester alone excepted. Indeed, his presence had bidden fair at the start to upset the proceedings; for Parson Endicott and Mr. Sam had both approached him hat in hand, and begged him, not without servility, to preside. This proposal he had declined with his habitual shy, melancholy smile, and shrunk away to a back row of the audience. In his great house over Troy he lived a recluse: a scholar, a childless man, the last of his race, rarely seen by the townsfolk, of whom two-thirds at least were his tenants. He had heard of the Inspector's coming, and some ray of remembered affection had enticed him forth from his shell, to listen. Now, at the sound of the Inspector's footstep on the road behind him, he turned and waited, leaning on his stick. The two men had not met since a Commemoration Ball when young Dinham led his friend proudly up to a beautiful girl, his bride that was to be. She died a bare six weeks later; and from that day her lover had buried himself with his woe. "George!" "How d'ye do, Jack? I had to turn out to listen, you see--_ecce quam sempiterna vox juventutis!_ You have improved on your old debating style, having, as I gather, found belief." The Inspector flushed. "Ah, you gathered that?" "Yes, I haven't lost the knack of understanding those I once understood. Not that it needed anything of the sort. Man, you were admirably straight--and gentle, too--you that used to be intolerant. You mustn't think, though, that I'm convinced; I can't afford to be." "You mean--?"