It was on North's lips to say furiously, "There, speak out, man! If you know all about this, say so at once;" but the words seemed to halt there, and he only gazed wonderingly as Salis talked on in his easy, good-tempered way. "Moredock came up to tell me this morning." "Moredock?" "Yes; we were to have had the vestry meeting, you know." "Of course: I said I was too ill to come," said North hoarsely. "So you are. Well, the old fellow went up to dust and put the place straight, and he found that some one had broken in by the window, and had evidently been interrupted, for my gown was torn down and thrown on the floor, and they had carried off my new surplice." "Carried off your surplice!" stammered North. "Yes," said the curate, looking at his friend wonderingly, and thinking how ill he seemed. "Nearly new surplice, sir; and I shall have to come round _in forma pauperis_ for subscriptions to get another. You will have to fund up among the rest, if you don't want to see your poor parson in rags, or sister Mary working her poor little fingers to the bone to keep the old one darned. Ah! here we are." The curate uttered a sigh of relief, for he had been chattering away with a purpose--to keep his friend's attention from his state, for, as he held his arm, he could feel him reel from time to time. "Thank Heaven!" muttered North, as he staggered in at the gates of the Manor. "Good-bye, Salis, good-bye." "Yes, I'll say good-bye presently, old chap. It's no use disguising the fact. You're ill, and ought not to have come out. I shall see you to bed, and you must tell me what to do." "No, no; I can manage," protested North. But Salis would not go. "My dear boy, it's of no use. You know how obstinate I am. I should stop with you if it were small-pox, so just hold your tongue. Hah! Now Mrs Milt, the doctor's got his turn after laughing at us poor mortals so long. Let's get him to bed, and you must help me to keep him there." "I'm not a bit surprised," began Mrs Milt, in a vinegary, snappish way; and then the tears started to her eyes, and she caught North's hand in hers and kissed it. "Oh, my poor, dear master!" she sobbed. It was all momentary. The spasm passed off, and in a busy, tender, matter-of-fact way, she helped the half-delirious man to bed, when, acting upon a hint or two he gave, the old housekeeper and Salis laid their heads together to prescribe. Volume 2, Chapter XX. A PARCEL BY CARRIER. Dr Benson drove over daily from King's Hampton to attend Sir Thomas Candlish, and, to do Dr Benson justice, he made a very good professional job of the injury to the young baronet, both from his own and the ordinary point of view. Tom Candlish protested, but the doctor was inexorable.