other. He allowed you to compromise yourself in the expectation of this unusual lavishness on his part; and now he repudiates the whole thing, like the miser that he is.”

“Hush, darling! He is a very old man.”

“Oh, yes, it’s all very well for you to find excuses for him. You would find excuses for Satan himself, John. You are far too lenient. Just think what father would say, if you were to be made bankrupt. Can’t you hear his delighted, malevolent chuckles? Oh, it is too terrible, too outrageous! You know 17 what everyone would say—that you had been speculating, or gambling, just because you dabbled a little in mines a few years ago.”

“A thousand dollars would only delay the crash. We owe at least ten times as much as that,” groaned the unhappy man, sinking into the chair his wife had just vacated. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his throbbing head in his hands. “They’ll have to find another rector for St. Botolph’s. I’ve tried hard to satisfy everybody. I’ve begged and worked. We’ve had bazaars, concerts, collections, everything. But people give less and less, and they want more and more. The poor cry louder and louder.”

“John, you are too generous. It’s monstrous that father should cling to his money as he does. He has nobody to leave it to but us—in fact, it is as much ours as his. Yet, he cripples us at every turn. I have almost to go down on my knees for my own allowance—”

“And, when you get it, dearest, I have to borrow half. I’m a wretched muddler. I used to think great things of myself once, but now—well, they’d better make me bankrupt, and have done with it. At least, I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that, if I have robbed the rich man and the trader, it has been to relieve the poor. Why, my own clothes are so shabby that I am ashamed to face the sunlight.”

It did not for one moment occur to his generous 18 nature to glance at the costly garments of his beautiful wife, who wanted for nothing, who spent her days in a round of pleasure. He took her hand as she stood beside him, and raised it to his lips.

“I have been a miserable failure as a husband for you, Mary,” he said. “You remember that they used jestingly to call you the bishop’s wife, and said that you would never regret having married a parson. Well, I really thought in those days that I should make up for the disparity in our relative positions, and raise you to an eminence worthy of you.”

“Poor old John!” laughed his wife, smoothing his gleaming, silvery hair. “It’s not your fault. Father ought to have done more. He’s a perfect beast. He is a miser, mean, deceitful, avaricious, spiteful, everything that’s wicked. He is ruining you, and he will ruin Dick, too. He threatens that, when he dies, we may find all his wealth left to charities. Charities, indeed, when we have to pinch and screw to satisfy insolent tradesmen, and the everlasting hunger of a lot of cringing, crawling loafers and vagabonds who won’t work!”

“Hush, hush, my darling! Don’t let’s get on that topic to-night. We never agree as to some things, and we never shall.”

“There’s talk, too, of Dick’s going to the front. And that will cost money. Anyway, I shall see father to-morrow. You must write to that wretched 19 builder man, and tell him he will have his money. I’ll get it somehow, if I have to pawn my jewels.”

“Your father has repeatedly informed you, dearest,” the rector objected, “that your jewels do not really belong to you—that he has only loaned them to you.”

“Yes, that’s a device of his, although they belonged to my mother. At any rate, write the man a sharp letter.”

“Very well, my dear,” replied the rector, wearily, and he rose, and walked with bowed head toward his desk. “I’ll say that I hope to pay him.”

The two had been through scenes like this before, but never had the situation hitherto been so desperate as to-night.

Netty, soft-footed and soft-voiced, returned to announce that the carriage was ready. Mrs. Swinton thereupon threw away her cigarette, and gathered up her train. For one moment, she bent over her husband’s shoulder, and pressed her soft, fair cheek to his.

“Don’t look so worried, dear,” she murmured. “What’s a thousand dollars! Why, I might win that much at bridge, to-night.”

“Don’t, darling, don’t!” the husband groaned, distractedly.

Any mention of bridge was as salt upon an open wound to him. He knew that his wife played for 20 high stakes among her own set—indeed, every parishioner of St. Botolph’s knew it; it was a whispered scandal. Yet, her touch thrilled him, and he was as wax in her fingers. She spent her life in an exotic atmosphere, but he knew that there was no evil in her nature. There were weaknesses, doubtless; but who was weaker than he, and where is the woman in the world who is at once beautiful and strong?

The man without, lurking beside the window, watched the departure of the mother and daughter. He remained within the shadow until the yellow lights of the carriage had disappeared through the gates; then, he came forward, just as Rudd, the manservant, was closing the front door.

“What, you again?” gasped the servant.

“Yes. It’s all right, I suppose? He ain’t here?”

“The young master?” Rudd inquired, with a grin. “No. And it’s lucky for you that he ain’t.”

“Parson in?” came the curt query.

“Yes,” Rudd answered, reluctantly.

“Well, tell him I’m here,” the deputy commanded, with a truculent air. “He’ll want to see me, I guess. Anyhow, he’d better!”

On the following morning, after breakfasting in her own room, Mrs. Swinton came downstairs, to find the house seemingly empty. She was not sorry to be left alone, for she was feeling out of sorts with all the world. In the bright daylight, she looked a little older; her fair skin showed somewhat faded and wan. She was nervously irritable just now, for last night she had lost three hundred dollars at bridge. The embarrassment over money filled her with wretchedness. There remained no resource save to appeal to her father for the amount needed.

She strolled out with the intention of ordering Rudd to bring around the carriage; but, as she stepped upon the porch, she stopped short at sight of a man who was sprawled in a chair there, smoking a pipe.

“What is it you want?” she demanded haughtily, annoyed by the fellow’s obvious lack of deference, for he had not risen or taken the pipe from his mouth.

“I’ve explained to the gent, ma’am, and he’s gone out to get the money,” was the prompt answer. 22

“You mean, my husband?”

“Yes, the parson, ma’am. I come to levy—execution. You understand, ma’am.”

Further questions dried up in her throat. The humiliation was too great to allow parley. Such an advent as this had been threatened jestingly many times. But the one actual visit of a like sort in the past had been kept a secret from her. Now, in the face of the catastrophe, she felt herself overwhelmed. Nevertheless, the necessity for instant action was imperative.

She went back into the house, and rang for her maid to take the message to Rudd. Then, she dressed hurriedly for the ride to her father’s house. Her hands were trembling, and tears streamed down her cheeks. At intervals, she muttered in rage against her father, whom at this moment she positively hated.

For that matter, old Herresford, by