which accompany English country roads.  They know they are intended to be ditches, not mere furrows, and they behave as such.  The one that sheltered Lord Belpher was so deep that only his head and neck protruded above the level of the road, and so dirty that a bare twenty yards of travel was sufficient to coat him with mud.  Rain, once fallen, is reluctant to leave the English ditch.  It nestles inside it for weeks, forming a rich, oatmeal-like substance which has to be stirred to be believed.  Percy stirred it.  He churned it.  He ploughed and sloshed through it.  The mud stuck to him like a brother.

Nevertheless, being a determined young man, he did not give in.  Once he lost a shoe, but a little searching recovered that.  On another occasion, a passing dog, seeing things going on in the ditch which in his opinion should not have been going on—­he was a high-strung dog, unused to coming upon heads moving along the road without bodies attached—­accompanied Percy for over a quarter of a mile, causing him exquisite discomfort by making sudden runs at his face.  A well-aimed stone settled this little misunderstanding, and Percy proceeded on his journey alone.  He had Maud well in view when, to his surprise, she left the road and turned into the gate of a house which stood not far from the church.

Lord Belpher regained the road, and remained there, a puzzled man.  A dreadful thought came to him that he might have had all this trouble and anguish for no reason.  This house bore the unmistakable stamp of a vicarage.  Maud could have no reason that was not innocent for going there.  Had he gone through all this, merely to see his sister paying a visit to a clergyman?  Too late it occurred to him that she might quite easily be on visiting terms with the clergy of Little Weeting.  He had forgotten that he had been away at Oxford for many weeks, a period of time in which Maud, finding life in the country weigh upon her, might easily have interested herself charitably in the life of this village.  He paused irresolutely.  He was baffled.

Maud, meanwhile, had rung the bell.  Ever since, looking over her shoulder, she had perceived her brother Percy dodging about in the background, her active young mind had been busying itself with schemes for throwing him off the trail.  She must see George that morning.  She could not wait another day before establishing communication between herself and Geoffrey.  But it was not till she reached Little Weeting that there occurred to her any plan that promised success.

A trim maid opened the door.

“Is the vicar in?”

“No, miss.  He went out half an hour back.”

Maud was as baffled for the moment as her brother Percy, now leaning against the vicarage wall in a state of advanced exhaustion.

“Oh, dear!” she said.

The maid was sympathetic.

“Mr. Ferguson, the curate, miss, he’s here, if he would do.”

Maud brightened.