Everyone in the house except Mrs. Miles was aware that Philip and Bessy were lovers, and from the dependents of the house the tidings spread through the parish. There had been no special secrecy. A lover does not usually pronounce his vows in public. Little half-lighted corners and twilight hours are chosen, or banks beneath the trees supposed to be safe from vulgar eyes, or lonely wanderings. Philip had followed the usual way of the world in his love-making, but had sought his secret moments with no special secrecy. Before the servants he would whisper to Bessy with that look of thorough confidence in his eyes which servants completely understand; and thus while the poor old woman was still in her bed, while she was unaware both of the danger and of her own immediate impotence, the secret--as far as it was a secret--became known to all Launay. Mr. Morrison heard it over at Budcombe, and, with his heart down in his boots, told himself that now certainly there could be no chance for him. At Launay Mr. Gregory was the rector, and it was with his daughters that Bessy had become intimate. Knowing much of the mind of the first lady of the parish, he took upon himself to say a word or two to Philip. “I am so glad to hear that your mother is much better this morning.” “Very much better.” “It has been a most serious illness.” “Terribly serious, Mr. Gregory.” Then there was a pause, and sundry other faltering allusions were made to the condition of things up at the house, from which Philip was aware that words of counsel or perhaps reproach were coming. “I hope you will excuse me, Philip, if I tell you something.” “I think I shall excuse anything from you.” “People are saying about the place that during your mother’s illness you have engaged yourself to Bessy Pryor.” “That’s very odd,” said Philip. “Odd!” repeated the parson. “Very odd indeed, because what the people about the place say is always supposed to be untrue. But this report is true.” “It is true?” “Quite true, and I am proud to be in a position to assure you that I have been accepted. I am really sorry for Mr. Morrison, you know.” “But what will your mother say?” “I do not think that she or anyone can say that Bessy is not fit to be the wife of the finest gentleman in the land.” This he said with an air of pride which showed plainly enough that he did not intend to be talked out of his purpose. “I should not have spoken, but that your dear mother is so ill,” rejoined the parson. “I understand that. I must fight my own battle and Bessy’s as best I may. But you may be quite sure, Mr. Gregory, that I mean to fight it.”