away again himself till death took him at full gallop,—­which is ’ow he always wished to die.  But poor Miss Maryllia—­” And Mrs. Spruce sighed dolefully—­ “‘Twas hard on her, seein’ him ride off so gay and well and cheery in the early mornin’ to be brought home afore noon a corpse!  Ay, it was an awsome visitation of the Lord!  Often when the wind goes wimblin’ through the pines near the house I think I ’ear her shriek now,—­ay, sir!—­it was like the cry of somethin’ as was havin’ its heart tore out!”

Walden stood very silent, listening.  This narrative was new to him, and even Mrs. Spruce’s manner of relating it was not without a certain rough eloquence.  The ancient history of the Vancourts he knew as well as he knew the priceless archaeological value of their old Manor-house as a perfect gem of unspoilt Tudor architecture,—­ but though he had traced the descent of the family from Robert Priaulx de Vaignecourt of the twelfth century and his brother Osmonde Priaulx de Vaignecourt who had, it was rumoured, founded a monastery in the neighbourhood, and had died during a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, he had ceased to follow the genealogical tree with much attention or interest when the old Norman name of De Vaignecourt had degenerated into De Vincourt and finally in the times of James I. had settled down into Vancourt.  Yet there was a touch of old-world tragedy in Mrs. Spruce’s modern history of the young girl’s shriek when she found herself suddenly fatherless on that fatal hunting morning.

“And now,” continued Mrs. Spruce, coaxing one bonnet-string at a time off each portly shoulder with considerable difficulty; “I s’pose I must be goin’, Passon Walden, and thank you kindly for all!  It’s a great weight off my mind to have told you just what’s ‘appened, an’ the changes likely to come off, and I do assure you I’m of your opinion, Passon, in letting Oliver Leach shift for himself, for if so be Miss Vancourt has the will of her own she had when she was a gel, I shouldn’t wonder if there was rough times in store for him!  But the Lord only knows what may chance to all of us!” and here she heaved another dismal sigh as she tied the refractory bonnet-strings into a bow under her fat chin.  “It’s right-down sinful of me to be wishin’ rough times to any man, seein’ I’m likely in for them myself, for a person’s bound to be different at nigh seven-and-twenty to what she was at fifteen, and the modern ways of leddies ain’t old ways, the Lord be merciful to us all!  And I do confess, Passon, it’s a bit upsettin’ at my time of life to think as how I’ve lived in Abbot’s Manor all these years, and now for all I can tell, me and William may have to shift.  And where we’ll go, the Lord only knows!”

“Now don’t anticipate misfortune, Mrs. Spruce!” said Walden, beginning to shake off the indescribable feeling of annoyance against which he had been fighting for the past few minutes and resuming his usual quiet air of cheerfulness; “Miss Vancourt is not likely to dismiss you unless you offend her.  The great thing is to avoid offence,—­and to do even more than your strict duty in making her old home look its best and brightest for her return and—­” Here he hesitated for a moment, then went on—­“Of course if I can do anything to help you, I will.”