“I thank you, sir,” he said, as he slipped on his coat.  “May I have your hand on that?”

“With pleasure,” I answered, and, having shaken hands, conducted him to the door.

From that day the affection between Joseph Laquedem and July Constantine, and their frequent companionship, were open and avowed.  Scandal there was, to be sure; but as it blazed up like straw, so it died down.  Even the women feared to sharpen their tongues openly on Laquedem, who by this time held the purse of the district, and to offend whom might mean an empty skivet on Saturday night.  July, to be sure, was more tempting game; and one day her lover found her in the centre of a knot of women fringed by a dozen children with open mouths and ears.  He stepped forward.  “Ladies,” said he, “the difficulty which vexes you cannot, I feel sure, be altogether good for your small sons and daughters.  Let me put an end to it.”  He bent forward and reverently took July’s hand.  “My dear, it appears that the depth of my respect for you will not be credited by these ladies unless I offer you marriage.  And as I am proud of it, so forgive me if I put it beyond their doubt.  Will you marry me?” July, blushing scarlet, covered her face with her hands, but shook her head.  There was no mistaking the gesture:  all the women saw it.  “Condole with me, ladies!” said Laquedem, lifting his hat and including them in an ironical bow; and placing July’s arm in his, escorted her away.

I need not follow the history of their intimacy, of which I saw, indeed, no more than my neighbours.  On two points all accounts of it agree:  the rapid ageing of the man during this period and the improvement in the poor girl’s intellect.  Some profess to have remarked an equally vehement heightening of her beauty; but, as my recollection serves me, she had always been a handsome maid; and I set down the transfiguration—­if such it was—­entirely to the dawn and growth of her reason.  To this I can add a curious scrap of evidence.  I was walking along the cliff track, one afternoon, between Porthlooe and Lanihale church-town, when, a few yards ahead, I heard a man’s voice declaiming in monotone some sentences which I could not catch; and rounding the corner, came upon Laquedem and July.  She was seated on a rock; and he, on a patch of turf at her feet, held open a small volume which he laid face downwards as he rose to greet me.  I glanced at the back of the book and saw it was a volume of Euripides.  I made no comment, however, on this small discovery; and whether he had indeed taught the girl some Greek, or whether she merely listened for the sake of hearing his voice, I am unable to say.

Let me come then to the last scene, of which I was one among many spectators.

On the morning of August 15th, 1810, and just about daybreak, I was awakened by the sound of horses’ hoofs coming down the road beyond the vicarage gate.  My ear told me at once that they were many riders and moving at a trot; and a minute later the jingle of metal gave me an inkling of the truth.  I hurried to the window and pulled up the blind.  Day was breaking on a grey drizzle of fog which drove up from seaward, and through this drizzle I caught sight of the last five or six scarlet plumes of a troop of dragoons jogging down the hill past my bank of laurels.