"Ah," said Alf, swaggering. "I know what I know, and what no one else don't know, only me; and I don't like it." "Brothers never do," retorted Mr. Trupp. "Especially if they wanted the girl themselves." "Ah, 'taint that," said Alf, sour and white. "I shan't marry off the streets, whatever else. No, sir. He's not been a good brother to me--nobody can't throw that up against him. But that's no reason why when I see him askin' for trouble I shouldn't try to save him. Me own blood brother and all." Mr. Trupp got into the car. "I'll tell you what," he muttered. "You're a true churchman, Alf, if you're nothing else. I will say that for you." CHAPTER LX THE END OF A CHAPTER The char-a-banc, called by courtesy a coach, which was bound for what is known locally as "the long drive," waited at Billing's Corner for any Old Town passengers. It had started from Holywell, and Colonel and Mrs. Lewknor sat beside the driver. A ramshackle old gentleman came rambling furtively across the road. The coachman nudged the Colonel. "That's old Mr. Caspar," he whispered. He had for learning the profound respect of the illiterate. "They say he knows so much he don't know all he do know. Talks Hebrew in his sleep, they say." The Colonel answered musingly. "Is that Caspar?" and thought how little this old man had changed from the young man who forty years before had shambled just thus about the courts of Trinity. The old gentleman, who had the air of being pursued, climbed to his place at the back of the char-a-banc. Mrs. Lewknor turned. She knew that for some reason Fear had laid hold once more of her Man of Faith. "Ah, Mr. Caspar!" she called in her gay voice. "I thought it was you!--I forget if you've ever met my husband." "I knew your boy in India, Mr. Caspar," said the Colonel in his delightful manner. "He was one of the best cricketers in the regiment." The friendly voices and kind eyes appeared to soothe the old man. "He's going to be married to-morrow," he panted. "I'm just going over to Aldwoldston to see the lady." In the village the char-a-banc drew up under the great chestnut-tree by the market-cross; while the passengers descended for tea in the black-and-white-timbered _Lamb_. Mr. Caspar, too, got down. Mrs. Lewknor heard him ask the way to Frogs' Hall, and saw him lumber off in that flurried way of his as if pursued. She followed him into River Lane. He heard her and turned with eyes aghast behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. She met him with swiftest sympathy. "May I come with you, Mr. Caspar?" she asked. He seemed relieved. "Yes," he panted, and started off down the steep lane, between the high flint-walls embedded in nettles, at a shuffling trot regardless of the little lady following at his heels. In the silence she gave him of her strength. In the Brooks he paused and mooned helplessly across at the river and the hills squandered in the sunshine beyond and the cattle who mooned back.