About five miles from Singleton, where Redmond Hall stands, is the little village of Sandycliffe, a small primitive place set in corn-fields, with long sloping fields of grain, alternating with smooth green uplands and winding lanes, with the tangled hedgerows, so well known in southern scenery. Sandycliffe is not actually on the sea-shore, but a short walk from the village up one of those breezy uplands would bring the foot-passenger within view of the blue sea-line; on one side is Singleton, with its white cliffs and row of modest, unpretending houses, and on the other the busy port of Pierrepoint, with its bustle and traffic, its long narrow streets, and ceaseless activity. Sandycliffe lies snugly in its green hollow; a tiny village with one winding street, a few whitewashed cottages grouped round a small Norman church, with a rose-covered vicarage inhabited by the curate's large family. The vicar lived a mile away, at the Grange, a large red-brick house with curious gables, half covered with ivy, standing on high ground, with a grand view of the sea and the harbor of Pierrepoint. It might seem strange to any one not conversant with the facts of the case, that the small, sparsely populated village should require the services of a curate, and especially a hardworking man like Mr. Anderson; but a sad affliction had befallen the young vicar of Sandycliffe; the result of some illness or accident, two or three years after his ordination, had left him totally blind. People who had heard him had prophesied great things of Mr. Ferrers--he had the rare gift of eloquence; he was a born orator, as they said--a rising light in his profession; it was absurd that such powers should be wasted on a village congregation, made up of rustics and old women; he must preach from some city pulpit; he was a man fitted to sway the masses in the east end of London, to be a leader among his fellows; it was seldom that one saw such penetration and power united with such simple unobtrusive goodness. Mr. Ferrers would smile a little sadly when the speeches reached his ear. He was a man who cared little for the praises of his generation; his one aim in life was to devote his talents to his Master's service--to work in the corner of the vineyard allotted to him. His inner consciousness, indeed, told him that he had capabilities for a larger sphere, a wider range of work; when the call came he would be ready to leave his few sheep in the wilderness and go out into pastures now. He was like a knight watching beside his armor until the reveillé sounded; when the time came he was ready to go down to the battle. When the call came! Alas! it never came in this world for Raby Ferrers. In the full prime of youth and strength the mysterious doom of blindness came upon the young vicar and left him groping in a darkened world.