Throwing open the door of an adjoining room, and retaining the hand of the invalid, the doctor gently led the way, followed by his wife and son.  The former, having recovered from the first burst of her sorrow, and regardless of everything else, now anxiously watched the enfeebled step of the stranger.  On reaching the door, they both turned and bowed to the company in a manner of so much dignity, mingled with sweetness, that all, not excepting Mr. Benfield, rose from their seats to return the salutation.  On passing from the dining parlor, the door was closed, leaving the company standing round the table in mute astonishment and commiseration.  Not a word had been spoken, and the rector’s family had left them without apology or explanation.  Francis, however soon returned, and was followed in a few minutes by his mother, who, slightly apologizing for her absence, turned the discourse on the approaching Sunday, and the intention of Francis to preach on that day.  The Moseleys were too well bred to make any inquiries, and the deanery family was afraid.  Sir Edward retired at a very early hour, and was followed by the remainder of the party.

“Well,” cried Mrs. Jarvis, as they drove from the door, “this may be good breeding, but, for my part, I think both the doctor and Mrs. Ives behaved very rudely, with the crying and sobbing.”

“They are nobody of much consequence,” cried her eldest daughter, casting a contemptuous glance on a plain travelling chaise which stood before the rector’s stables.

“’Twas sickening,” said Miss Sarah, with a shrug; while her father, turning his eyes on each speaker in succession, very deliberately helped himself to a pinch of snuff, his ordinary recourse against a family quarrel.  The curiosity of the ladies was, however, more lively than they chose to avow and Mrs. Jarvis bade her maid go over to the rectory that evening, with her compliments to Mrs. Ives; she had lost a lace veil, which her maid knew, and she thought it might have been left at the rectory.

“And, Jones, when you are there, you can inquire of the servants; mind, of the servants—­I would not distress Mrs. Ives for the world; how Mr.—­Mr.—­what’s his name—­Oh!—­I have forgotten his name; just bring me his name too.  Jones; and, as it may make some difference in our party, just find out how long they stay; and—­and—–­ any other little thing, Jones, which can be of use, you know.”

Off went Jones, and within an hour she had returned.  With an important look, she commenced her narrative, the daughters being accidentally present, and it might be on purpose.

“Why, ma’am, I went across the fields, and William was good enough to go with me; so when we got there, I rang, and they showed us into the servants’ room, and I gave my message, and the veil was not there.  Why, ma’am, there’s the veil now, on the back o’ that chair.”

“Very well, very well, Jones, never mind the veil,” cried the impatient mistress.