True to his appointment, Dr. Parker arrived at one o’clock. Before he came Mr. Perry-Hennington told Edith in a casual way the reason of his coming to Penfold. To her father’s consternation, something in the nature of a scene had followed. “Then you intend to have him removed to an asylum!” she exclaimed in a tone of horror. “Undoubtedly. The public interest demands nothing less.” The girl was greatly upset. And nothing her father could say had any effect upon her distress. She felt herself responsible for this tragic pass. Her unhappy intervention in the first place had brought the thing about, and now she rued it bitterly. She implored her father to let the matter drop. But her prayer was vain. At all times a singularly obstinate man, upon a question of conscience and duty he was not likely to be moved by mere words. Out of respect for his daughter’s feelings, and also out of regard for the ears of Prince, the parlor maid, Mr. Perry-Hennington did not refer to the matter in the course of the meal. But as soon as it was over he discussed it at length with his visitor. And he presented his view of the matter with such a cogent energy that, for such a mind as Dr. Parker’s, whose main concern was “things as they are,” the case of John Smith was greatly prejudiced. He did not say as much to the vicar, indeed he did his best to keep an open and impartial mind on the subject, but he would have been more or less than himself had he not felt that only the strongest possible justification could have moved such a man as Mr. Perry-Hennington to his present course of action. In the privacy of the study the vicar explained the situation to Dr. Parker at considerable length, giving chapter and verse for the theory he had formed. And then the two gentlemen set out to find John Smith. Fate went with them. A slow, solemn climb from the vicarage to the village green brought a prompt reward. Straight before them a frail, bareheaded, poorly-clad figure was outlined against a rather wild June sky. “Our man,” the vicar whispered. Dispositions of approach were made automatically. The two gentlemen stepped on to the common sedately enough. As they did so, the vicar ostentatiously pointed out the grandeur of the scene, and its wide, sweeping outlook on two counties, while the doctor lingered in examination of the heath and the plucking of a flower. As usual the young man was leaning against the priest’s stone. Near by was a delicate flower which Dr. Parker stooped to gather. “Tell me, what’s the name of this little thing?” he said to the vicar, in a loud bluff voice. “You’re overtaxing my knowledge,” said the vicar, with a similar bluff heartiness. “I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it before. But here is a man who can help us, no doubt.” With a courteous, disarming smile, the vicar suddenly brought his eyes to bear on John Smith. And then he added in a voice full of kindness and encouragement: “I am sure _you_ can tell us the name of this flower.”