"Obedience!" he cried angrily, for just passing out of the little rustic gate at the bottom of the Rectory grounds he saw his sister Leo. She was in hat and cloak. Her movements were rapid, and the furtive look she darted back told tales. "No," said the curate; "it would be spying. I cannot." "It is your duty," something seemed to whisper to him. "Perhaps I am contemptibly mean and suspicious," he muttered. "I hope I am. If it is so, I'll--No, no, no, Hartley, my son! Recollect what you are. Such as the bishop should be, such must you be--no brawler--no striker. No: it must be a favourable opportunity for a quiet chat with Leo, for we cannot go on like this, poor child." He went into the hall, took down his hat, reached a stout cudgel-like stick which his hand gripped firmly, as his nerves tingled, while his left hand clenched, and felt as if it were grasping some one by the collar. "A scoundrel!" he muttered. "Going out, dear?" "Ah, Mary! You there! You go about like a mouse. Yes, I've just got to `a man's duty is' in my sermon, and can't get any farther, so I'll go as far as Red Cliff Wood and back for a refresher." He nodded and went out. "Poor Mary!" he muttered; "she must not know; but if I had stayed a minute longer she would have found me out. Now, Master Tom Candlish, if you are there, I'll--" He gave himself a sharp slap on the mouth. "Steady! Man, man, man! how you do forget your cloth! But if Tom Candlish--Pish! Steady, man! Let's go and see." Mary Salis stood in the deep old mullioned window, gazing after him. "Hartley never leaves and speaks like that unless there is something wrong," she said to herself. "If that wretched man has persuaded Leo-- she has just gone out--without a word. Oh, no, no! she would not do such a thing as that. How I do picture troubles where there are none!" She stood watching until her brother disappeared, and then went back into the dining-room, telling herself that it was folly, but her heart refused to be convinced, and set up a low, heavy, ominous throb. CHAPTER TWO. DR NORTH GETS IN HOT WATER. "Yah!" A virtuous mob's war-cry. The favourite ejaculation of the unwashed scoundrels who are always ready to redress grievances and hunt down their fellow-creatures for the crimes they glory in themselves--when they can commit them safely. There is always a large floating contingent ready for this duty, and also--to use their own expression--"to have a go at any think;" and upon several occasions they had had "a go" at the lecture-room of St. Sector's Hospital, Florsbury, the consequence of such "goes" being that the neighbouring glaziers had a large job; but the authorities preferred to content themselves with keeping out the wind and water, and left the exterior unpainted, showing the stone dents, chipped paint, and batterings of the insensate crew of virtuous beings who revel in destruction whenever they have a chance.