“You forget our neighbor,” I answered, laughing. “He has not called yet, and I mean him to.” Lady Naselton leaned back amongst the soft cushions of her barouche, and smiled a pitying smile at me. “You need not wait for him, at any rate,” she said. “If you do you will suffer for the want of fresh air.” The carriage drove off, and I skirted the church yard, and made my way round to the Vicarage gate. Away across the park I could see a huge knickerbockered figure leaning over a gate, with his back to me, smoking a pipe. It was not a graceful attitude, nor was it a particularly reputable way of spending a Sunday morning. I was reminded of him again as I walked up the path towards the house. A few yards from our dining room window a dog was lying upon a flower bed edge. As I approached, it limped up, whining, and looked at me with piteous brown eyes. I recognized the breed at once. It was a beagle--one of Mr. Deville’s without a doubt. It lay at my feet with its front paw stretched out, and when I stooped down to pat it, it wagged its tail feebly, but made no effort to rise. Evidently its leg was broken. I fetched some lint from the house, and commenced to bind up the limb as carefully as possible. The dog lay quite still, whining and licking my hand every now and then. Just as I was finishing off the bandage I became conscious that some one was approaching the garden--a firm, heavy tread was crossing the lane. In a moment or two a gruff voice sounded almost at my elbow. “I beg pardon, but I think one of my dogs is here.” The words were civil enough, but the tone was brusque and repellant. I looked round without removing my hands from the lint. Our neighbor’s appearance was certainly not encouraging. His great frame was carelessly clad in a very old shooting suit, which once might have been of good cut and style, but was now only fit for the rag dealer. He wore a grey flannel shirt with a turn-down collar of the same material. His face, whatever its natural expression might have been, was disfigured just then with a dark, almost a ferocious, scowl. His hand was raised, as though unwillingly, to his cap, and a pair of piercing grey eyes were flashing down upon me from beneath his heavily marked eyebrows. He stood frowning down from his great height, a singularly powerful and forbidding object. I resumed my task. “No doubt it is your dog!” I said, calmly. “But you must wait until I have finished the bandage. You should take better care of your animals! Perhaps you don’t know that its leg is broken.” He got down on his knees at once without glancing at me again. He seemed to have forgotten my very existence. “Lawless,” he exclaimed, softly--”little lady, little lady, what have you been up to? Oh, you silly little woman!”