"That young man" seemed to have vanished from his thoughts, and the lecture he had intended to read the young schoolmistress upon the bad appearance of such meetings as those which had taken place that morning dropped from his memory, and his lips formed words that surprised him as much as his acts. "I trust that you have found everything correct at--at the schoolhouse, Miss Thorne?" "Quite, I thank you," replied Hazel, with quiet dignity, and she entirely forgot that she was addressing her superior, and left out the "sir." "Of course everything is very strange and new to you at first; but er-- er, you will soon feel quite at home with us, I hope." "Indeed, I hope so," said Hazel earnestly. "The time has been so short as yet." "Yes--of course--so very short," replied the vicar. "My sisters will call to-morrow, I have no doubt and see Mrs Thorne. I shall be down at the school in the afternoon. You saw Miss Burge, of course, this morning?" "Oh yes. Miss Burge walked up to church with me." "And Mr William Forth Burge too, if I mistake not. Most admirable people, Miss Thorne. Great patrons of our schools. I trust that you will--er--er--try to--er--that is, endeavour to meet them in little matters, connected with the management of the children." "You may rely upon my trying to thoroughly fulfil my duties, Mr Lambent," said Hazel quietly. "Of course--to be sure, Miss Thorne, no doubt," he said hastily; and as he spoke he wondered at himself more and more; "but I must not detain you, Miss Thorne. Er--allow me one moment, the curtain is rather awkward to one unaccustomed to the place." And, to the astonishment--the utter astonishment--of his sisters, who were standing as stiffly in the chancel as if they were a couple of monumental effigies, the Reverend Henry Lambent opened the door, passed out first, and then stood holding the curtain aside for Hazel to pass, which she did, bowing gravely and with quiet dignity to the two ladies before gliding along the nave and out of the door. Neither of the sisters spoke, but stood, like the vicar, watching the new mistress leave the church. At last Miss Beatrice turned. "What excuse did she make, Henry?" she said. "I--er--I beg your pardon, Beatrice?" "I say, what excuse did she make? Really, her conduct is very, strange." "Excuse? Oh, of course, about her visitor," said the vicar absently. "I er--I--on second consideration thought it would be better to ignore the matter. Perhaps she was not to blame." "Henry!" "Beatrice, my dear," said the vicar quietly, "I always abstain from having refreshments in the vestry, but the morning service is long and I feel faint. Let us go home to lunch." Miss Beatrice had the first rule over the vicarage, her elder sister the second rule, and generally speaking, the vicar let them have matters entirely their own way; still, there were times when he took the reins in his own hands, and then it was dangerous to interfere.