"Yes. Oh, I have heard tales about him in London!" "What kind of tales? "Tales of profligacy. He uses his name here to cloak his London wickednesses." "I don't believe it," cried Miss Lester after a pause. "He is too good a man to be wicked. I don't love him, but I respect him. And if he is as wicked as you say," added Milly, with an afterthought, "he wouldn't be the friend of Mr. Chaskin." "The Rev. Francis Chaskin," sneered Lovel, "who was an officer of the army before he became a vicar in the Church. Oh, I know all about him!" "Is he bad also?" "Herne and he are a pair of--mysteries." "I think you are a third one," said Milly, in a puzzled tone. "Explain!" "No--not here; there is no time, and I have no proofs. Meet me to-morrow night in the Winding Lane at half-past eight, and I'll give you the prenuptial character of your future husband." "To-morrow will be Sunday." "What of that? You can meet me after evening service." "Oh!" Milly looked terrified. "What would Darcy say if he knew that I met you at so late an hour?" "H'm! What would Darcy say if he knew that all his iniquities were about to be laid bare? Come or not, as you like." Miss Lester considered. "Darcy is in London, and won't be back for four days," she said at length. "I'll come--if you promise to tell no one." "I promise. At half-past eight, in the Winding Lane." "Yes; but I won't believe what you tell me." "You said the same thing about Gran Jimboy's prophecy!" said Lovel, drily; "but you believe it for all that." "I don't--I don't! Do you?" When Milly put this question, Lovel looked at her gravely. "I'll answer that question to-morrow night," said he; and then they parted. CHAPTER II. POVERTY VILLA. Barnstead was a moderately large village, which had not increased in population or size since the Middle Ages. In fact, it was less important now than it had been in medieval times, for then several battles, detrimental to a kingly dynasty, had been fought in its vicinity. Now it was a quiet, somnolent spot, which had nothing to do with the affairs of the nation; at all events, these were not transacted within its neighbourhood. Ten miles distant, the roaring manufacturing town of Marborough responded to the business spirit of the century, and was connected by rail with the metropolis, but the iron way came no further; and to reach Barnstead it was necessary to drive or ride. For the convenience of chance visitors a coach ran daily between the Herne Arms in Barnstead and the William Pitt Hotel in Marborough. This was the sole link which connected the village with the outside world.