At last the awkward steps were reached, and after supporting Mrs Glaire to a couch, the new vicar turned to go, followed to the door by Eve. "Good-bye, and thank you--so much, Mr Selwood," she said, pressing his hand warmly. "I did not think we should meet again so soon. And, Mr Selwood--" She stopped short, looking up at him timidly. "Yes," he said, smiling. "Don't be afraid to speak; we are not strangers now." "No, no; I know that," she cried, eagerly. "I was only going to say--to say--don't judge dear Richard harshly from what you saw this morning. He was excited and hurt." "Of course, of course," said the vicar, pressing the little hand he held in both his. "How could any one judge a man harshly at such a time? Good-bye." "Good-bye." "And with such a little ministering angel to intercede for him," muttered the vicar, as the door closed. "Heigho! these things are a mystery, and it is as well that they should be, or I don't know what would become of poor erring man." Volume 1, Chapter IX. AN ENLIGHTENED ENGLISHMAN. On reaching the vicarage, Murray Selwood found one of the rooms made bright and comfortable with the furniture that had been sent in, and the table spread ready for a composite meal, half breakfast, half dinner, with a dash in it of country tea. Everything was scrupulously clean, and Mrs Slee was bustling about, not looking quite so wan and unsociable as when he saw her first. "I've scratted a few things together," she said, acidly, "and you must mak' shift till I've had more time. Will you have the pot in now? I put the bacon down before the fire when I saw you coming. But, lord, man, what have ye been doin' to your hand?" "Only bruised it a bit: knocked the skin off," said Mr Selwood, smiling. "Don't tell me," said Mrs Slee, sharply. "You've been faighting." "Well, I knocked a man down, if you call that fighting," said the vicar, smiling, as he saw Mrs Slee hurriedly produce a basin, water, and a coarse brown, but very clean, towel, with which she proceeded to bathe his bleeding hand. "Oh, it's nothing," he said, as he took out his pocket-book. "You'll find scissors and some sticking-plaister in there." "I don't want no sticking-plaister," she said, taking a phial of some brown liquid from inside a common ornament. "This'll cure it directly." "And what may this be?" said the vicar, smiling, as he saw his leech shake the bottle, and well soak a small piece of rag in the liquid. "Rag Jack's oil," said Mrs Slee, pursing up her lips, and then anointing and tying up the injured hand. "It cures everything." The vicar nodded, not being without a little faith in homely country simples; and then the rag was neatly sewed on, and an old glove cut so as to cover the unsightly bandage. "Did they upset you?" she then queried. "Well, no," he said; and he briefly related what had taken place. "By the way, I hope that gentleman in the red waistcoat is no relation of yours. Is he?"