and the sagacious customs of the ruminating spider,—­as well as the many surprising and agreeable talents developed by the common flea.  Leach’s virulent hatred of Maryllia Vancourt was not lessened by the apparently useful and scientific nature of the employment he had newly taken up under the guidance of his reverend instructor,—­and whenever he caught a butterfly and ran his murderous pin through its quivering body at Leveson’s bland command, he thought of her, and wished vindictively that she might perish as swiftly and utterly as the winged lover of the flowers.  Every small bright thing in Nature’s garden that he slew and brought home as trophy, inspired him with the same secret fierce desire.  The act of killing a beautiful or harmless creature gave him pleasure, and he did not disguise it from himself.  The Reverend ‘Putty’ was delighted with his aptitude, and with the many valuable additions he made to the ‘specimen’ cards and bottles, and the two became constant companions in their search for fresh victims among the blossoming hedgerows and fields.  St. Rest, as a village, was only too glad to be rid of Leach’s long detested presence to care anything at all as to his further occupations or future career,—­and only Bainton kept as he said ‘an eye on him.’

Bainton was a somewhat curious personage,—­talkative as he showed himself on most occasions, he was both shrewd and circumspect; no stone was more uncommunicative than he when he chose.  In his heart he had set Maryllia Vancourt as second to none save his own master, John Walden,—­her beauty and grace, her firm action with regard to the rescue of the ‘Five Sisters,’ and her quick dismissal of Oliver Leach, had all inspired him with the most unbounded admiration and respect, and he felt that he now had a double interest in life,—­the ’Passon’—­and the ‘lady of the Manor.’  But he found very little opportunity to talk about his new and cherished theme of Miss Vancourt and Miss Vancourt’s many attractions to Walden,—­for John always ‘shut him up’ on the subject with quite a curt and peremptory decision whenever be so much as mentioned her name.  Which conduct on the part of one who was generally so willing to hear and patient to listen, somewhat surprised Bainton.

“For,” he argued—­“there ain’t much doin’ in the village,—­we ain’t always ‘on the go’—­an’ when a pretty face comes among us, surely it’s worth looking at an’ pickin’ to pieces as ’twere.  But Passon’s that sharp on me when I sez any little thing wot might be interestin’ about the lady, that I’m thinkin’ he’s got out o’ the habit o’ knowin’ when a face is a male or a female one, which is wot often happens to bacheldors when they gits fixed like old shrubs in one pertikler spot o’ ground.  Now I should a’ said he’d a’ bin glad to ‘ear of somethin’ new an’ oncommon as ’twere,—­he likes it in the way o’ flowers, an’ why not in the way o’ wimmin?  But Passon ain’t like other folk—­he don’t git on with wimmin nohow—­an’ the prettier they are the more he seems skeered off them.”