‘Crumpets?’ said he.

‘Past and gone, sir,’ said the woman with a sigh.  She had a coarsely poetical cast of mind, and commonly spoke of the sale of her goods as one might speak of the passing of summer flowers.  The curate was turning away.

‘I would make bold, sir,’ said the woman, ’to ask if you’ve heard that we’ve let our second-floor front for a while.  It’s a great thing for us, sir, as you know, to ’ave it let, not that you’ll approve the person as ‘as took it.’

‘Oh!’ said the curate, ‘how is that?’

’He’s the new Jewish rabbi, sir, being as they’ve opened the place of their heathenish worship again.  It’s been shut this two year, for want of a Hebrew to read the language.’

’Oh, no, Mrs. Yeander; you’re quite mistaken in calling the Jews heathens.’

’The meeting-place is down by the end of the street, sir—­a squarish sort of house.  It’s not been open in your time; likely you’ll not know it.  The new rabbi’s been reading a couple of weeks to them.  They do say it’s awful queer.’

‘Oh, indeed!’ said the curate; ‘what are their hours of service?’

’Well, to say the truth, sir, they’ll soon be at it now, for it’s Friday at sunset they’ve some antics or other in the place.  The rabbi’s just gone with his book.’

‘I think I’ll look them up, and see what they’re at,’ said he, going out.

He was a thin, hard-working man.  His whole soul was possessed by his great love for Violetta, but even the gladness of its success could not turn him from his work.  When the day was over he would indulge in brooding on his joy; until then the need of the world pressed.  He stepped out again into the evening glow.  The wind had grown stronger, and he bent his head forward and walked against it towards the west.  He felt a sudden sympathy for this stranger who had come to minister in his own way to the few scattered children of the Jews who were in the town.  He knew the unjust sentiment with which he would be surrounded as by an atmosphere.  The curate was broad in his views.  ’All nations and all people,’ thought he, ’lust for an excuse to deem their neighbour less worthy than themselves, that they may oppress him.  This is the selfishness which is the cause of all sin and is the devil.’  When he got to this point in his thoughts he came to a sudden stand and looked up.  ‘But, thank God,’ he said to himself, ’the True Life is still in the world, and as we resist the evil we not only triumph ourselves, but make the triumph of our children sure.’  So reasoned the curate; he was a rather fanatical fellow.

The people near gave him ‘good-day’ when they saw him stop.  All up and down the street the children played with shrill noises and pattering feet.  The sunset cloud was brighter, and the dark peaked roofs of tile and thatch and slate, as if compelled to take some notice of the fire, threw back the red where, here and there, some glint of moisture gave reflection to the coloured light.  He had come near the end of the town, and, where the houses opened, the red sky was fretted with dark twigs and branches of elm trees which grew on the grassy slope of the cliff.  The elm trees were in the squire’s park, and the curate looked at them sadly and thought of Herbert who had died.