If Phil, while at a distance, had been struck by the change in his appearance, he was nothing less than dismayed now that he saw him close at hand. The gold-rimmed spectacles were there as of yore, but the eyes that looked through them were dim and sunken, with a sort of vacant despair in them and that sad, heavy-lidded weariness which betokens insomnia. Then, too, it was evident that he had not been shaved for some days, which, of itself, was enough to prove that all was not well with him. His white cravat was limp and loosely tied, his hat and clothes were unbrushed, while his shoes were thick with dust and one shoe-string had come untied. The fresh healthy tints of his face were utterly gone; his cheeks had become flabby and pendulous, and, in short, the Rev. Louth Sudlow looked to the full a dozen years older than when Phil had seen him last. The young man was at a loss what to say or do next. Presently he ventured to ask, "Are you making much of a stay in London, Mr. Sudlow?" Again the elder man had to pull his thoughts together before replying. "I--I scarcely know. That is to say, I had intended going back home to-night, but--but certain things have happened, and I have not quite made up my mind what to do." Phil saw that his thoughts would be far away again in a moment or two, and that he must say what he had to say while he could still claim his attention. "You are perhaps not aware, sir," he went on, "that my mother is keeping house for me in London; but such is the case. I need scarcely tell you how pleased she would be to see you. That is my cab waiting there. Let me persuade you to keep me company as far as where I live. We shall just be in time for a cup of my mother's tea, which I remember you used to say was the best you tasted anywhere." Somewhat to his surprise, the Vicar rose at once, although a little stiffly. "I shall be very gratified indeed," he said, "to see Mrs. Winslade again after so long a time. I know no one for whom I have a greater respect and esteem." Half-an-hour later the hansom deposited the two men at Pembury Villa. As Phil had prophesied, they were just in time for a cup of his mother's tea. After the Vicar had partaken of one, together with a few mouthfuls of thin bread-and-butter, he suddenly fell fast asleep in the easy-chair in which he was sitting on one side of the fire. It was past ten o'clock when he awoke. Scarcely had he opened his eyes and had time to call to mind where he was, before his hostess was at his side with a cup of broth in which a glass of sherry had been infused. A few minutes later he averred that he felt better and stronger than he had felt for the past week. It was too late now to think of going down to Iselford till the morrow, and he must perforce stay where he was over night.