But long before he came to Grayfield he felt that this could not be. At that moment his old Magdalen friend was the last person in the universe he desired to meet. If he had now to face his kind it must be some other. Thus, as the stately chimneys and fine gables of the Manor house, rising proudly behind an enchanted copse of fern and Canterbury bells, came into view, he urged old Alice past them at her best pace and on to the Chequers, Grayfield’s model public house. Its landlord, Hickman, a civil, obliging fellow, was known to the vicar, who in this dilemma was very glad of his help. It was not fair to ask the full journey of poor old Alice. He was able to exchange her temporarily for the landlord’s young mare. But in the process he had to submit to an ordeal that he would have given much to be spared. “I see, sir, in the _Advertiser_,” said Hickman, as he gave the ostler a hand in the inn yard, “that the Captain’s gone. My boy went the same day. He was not in the Captain’s lot, but I happen to know that he thought there was no one like him. He was such a gentleman, and he had a way with him that had a rare power over young chaps.” The vicar could not answer the honest fellow, whose voice failed suddenly and whose eyes were full of tears. But he held out his hand very simply, and Hickman, his tears now falling softly, like those of a child, took it. “Excuse me, sir. Bill was my all. You see, I buried the wife in the spring. Things are at a dead end for me now.” The vicar, unable to speak, offered his hand again. All at once Hickman took him firmly by the coat-sleeve and led him a dozen paces away from the ostler. “Excuse the great freedom, sir”--the big, not over-bright fellow’s whisper was excessive in its humility--“but, as a minister of the Gospel, there’s one question I’d like to ask you.” Mr. Perry-Hennington shuddered at the perception of what was coming. “The only hope for a chap like me is that I’ll meet the wife and the boy in Heaven. Otherwise, I’m at a dead end as you might say. As one man to another, what chance do you think there is?” The vicar grew cold at the heart. “Of course, I’m not a churchgoer; I am not a religious man or anything of that kind. My father wasn’t. I’ve always tried to go straight, keep sober, pay my way and so on, but of course, I’ve never taken Communion or read the Bible or done anything to curry favor. That’s not my nature. Still, I reckon myself a fairish, decentish chap; and on Sunday evening, after the service, I went round to talk to our vicar here, Mr. Pierce.” “Yes.” Mr. Perry-Hennington gave an eager gasp. “That was very wise. What did he say to you?” His lips could hardly shape the question. “Why, sir, he said that a Christian couldn’t doubt for a moment that one day he would be with his wife and children in Heaven.” “Mr. Pierce said that!” “He did. And I told him I didn’t pretend to be a Christian and I asked him if he thought I had left it too late.” “Yes?”