just opposite the church, of which Mr. Quest was one of the churchwardens, and which but two years before was beautifully restored, mainly owing to his efforts and generous contributions.  Driving up to the small and quiet-looking doorway of a very unpretentious building, George descended and knocked.  Thereon a clerk opened the door, and in answer to his inquiries informed him that he believed Mr. Quest had just come over to the office.

In another minute he was shown into an inner room of the ordinary country lawyer’s office stamp, and there at the table sat Mr. Quest himself.

Mr. Quest was a man of about forty years of age, rather under than over, with a pale ascetic cast of face, and a quiet and pleasant, though somewhat reserved, manner.  His features were in no way remarkable, with the exception of his eyes, which seemed to have been set in his head owing to some curious error of nature.  For whereas his general tone was dark, his hair in particular being jet black, these eyes were grey, and jarred extraordinarily upon their companion features.  For the rest, he was a man of some presence, and with the manners of a gentleman.

“Well, George,” he said, “what is it that brings you to Boisingham?  A letter from the Squire.  Thank you.  Take a seat, will you, will I look through it?  Umph, wants me to come and see him at eleven o’clock.  I am very sorry, but I can’t manage that anyway.  Ah, I see, about the Moat Farm.  Janter told me that he was going to throw it up, and I advised him to do nothing of the sort, but he is a dissatisfied sort of a fellow, Janter is, and Major Boston has upset the whole country side by his very ill-advised action about the College lands.”

“Janter is a warmint and Major Boston, begging his pardon for the language, is an ass, sir.  Anyway there it is, Janter has thrown up, and where I am to find a tinant between now and Michaelmas I don’t know; in fact, with the College lands going at five shillings an acre there ain’t no chance.”

“Then what does the Squire propose to do—­take the land in hand?”

“Yes, sir, that’s it; and that’s what he wants to see you about.”

“More money, I suppose,” said Mr. Quest.

“Well, yis, sir.  You see there will be covenants to meet, and then the farm is three hundred acres, and to stock it proper as it should be means nine pounds an acre quite, on this here heavy land.”

“Yes, yes, I know, a matter of four thousand more or less, but where is it to come from, that’s the question?  Cossey’s do not like land now, any more than other banks do.  However, I’ll see my principal about it.  But, George, I can’t possibly get up to the Castle at eleven.  I have got a churchwardens’ meeting at a quarter to, about that west pinnacle, you know.  It is in a most dangerous condition, and by-the-way, before you go I should like to have your opinion, as a practical man, as to the best way to deal with it.  To rebuild