’He is going to be married—­to marry my own maid, that deceitful Alice, to whom I have been the most indulgent mistress.  Did you ever hear of anything so disgraceful? so mortifying? so disreputable?’

‘And has he only just told you of it?’ said Milly, who, having really heard of worse conduct, even in her innocent life, avoided a direct answer.

’Told me of it! he had not even the grace to do that.  I went into the dining-room suddenly and found him kissing her—­disgusting at his time of life, is it not?—­and when I reproved her for allowing such liberties, she turned round saucily, and said she was engaged to be married to my brother, and she saw no shame in allowing him to kiss her.  Edmund is a miserable coward, you know, and looked frightened; but when she asked him to say whether it was not so, he tried to summon up courage and say yes.  I left the room in disgust, and this morning I have been questioning Edmund, and find that he is bent on marrying this woman, and that he has been putting off telling me—­because he was ashamed of himself, I suppose.  I couldn’t possibly stay in the house after this, with my own maid turned mistress.  And now, Milly, I am come to throw myself on your charity for a week or two. Will you take me in?’

‘That we will,’ said Milly, ’if you will only put up with our poor rooms and way of living.  It will be delightful to have you!’

’It will soothe me to be with you and Mr. Barton a little while.  I feel quite unable to go among my other friends just at present.  What those two wretched people will do I don’t know—­leave the neighbourhood at once, I hope.  I entreated my brother to do so, before he disgraced himself.’

When Amos came home, he joined his cordial welcome and sympathy to Milly’s.  By-and-by the Countess’s formidable boxes, which she had carefully packed before her indignation drove her away from Camp Villa, arrived at the vicarage, and were deposited in the spare bedroom, and in two closets, not spare, which Milly emptied for their reception.  A week afterwards, the excellent apartments at Camp Villa, comprising dining and drawing rooms, three bedrooms and a dressing-room, were again to let, and Mr. Bridmain’s sudden departure, together with the Countess Czerlaski’s installation as a visitor at Shepperton Vicarage, became a topic of general conversation in the neighbourhood.  The keen-sighted virtue of Milby and Shepperton saw in all this a confirmation of its worst suspicions, and pitied the Rev. Amos Barton’s gullibility.

But when week after week, and month after month, slipped by without witnessing the Countess’s departure—­when summer and harvest had fled, and still left her behind them occupying the spare bedroom and the closets, and also a large proportion of Mrs. Barton’s time and attention, new surmises of a very evil kind were added to the old rumours, and began to take the form of settled convictions in the minds even of Mr. Barton’s most friendly parishioners.