annoyance in the intrusion of a feminine authority,—­a modern Squire-ess, who no doubt would probably bring modern ways with her into the little old-world place,—­who would hunt and shoot and smoke,—­perhaps even swear at her grooms,—­who could tell?  She would not, she could not interfere with, the church, or its minister, were she ever so much Miss Vancourt of Abbot’s Manor,—­but she could if she liked ‘muddle about’ with many other matters, and there could be no doubt that as the visible and resident mistress of the most historic house in the neighbourhood, she would be what is called ‘a social influence.’

“And not for good!” mused John Walden, during a meditative stroll in his garden on the even of the May-day on. which he had heard the disturbing news; “Certainly not for good!”

He raised his eyes to the sky where the curved bow of a new moon hung clear and bright as a polished sickle.  All was intensely still.  The day had been a very busy one for him;—­the children’s dinner and their May-games had kept his hands full, and not till sunset, when the chimes of the church began to ring for evening service, had he been able to snatch a moment to himself for quiet contemplation.  The dewy freshness of the garden, perfumed by the opening blossoms of the syringa, imparted its own sense of calm and grave repose to his mind,—­and as he paced slowly up and down the gravel walk in front of his study window watching the placid beauty of the deepening night, a slight sigh escaped him.

“It cannot be for good!” he repeated, regretfully; “A woman trained as she must have been trained since girlhood, with all her finer perceptions blunted by perpetual contact with the assertive and ostentatious evidences of an excess of wealth,—­probably surrounded too by the pitiful vulgarisms of a half-bred American society, too ignorant to admit or recognise its own limitations,—­she must have almost forgotten the stately traditions of the fine old family she springs from.  One must not expect the motto of ‘noblesse oblige’ to weigh with modern young women—­more’s the pity!  I’m afraid the mistress of Abbot’s Manor will be a disturbing element in the village, breeding discontent and trouble where there has been till now comparative peace, and a fortunate simplicity of life.  I’m sorry!  This would have been a perfect First of May but Ha-ha-ha-ha!” And he broke into a laugh so joyous and mellow that Bainton found it quite irresistible and joined in it with a deep “Hor-hor-hor!” evoked from the hollow of his throat, and beginning loudly, but dying away into a hoarse intermittent chuckle.

“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the Reverend John again, throwing back his head with a real enjoyment in his capability for laughter; “You did quite right to disturb me, Bainton,—­quite right!  Where are Sir Morton and his party?  What are they doing?”

“They was jes’ crossin’ the churchyard when I spied ’em,” answered Bainton; “An’ Sir Morton was makin’ some very speshul observations of his own on the ‘herly Norman period.’  Hor-hor-hor!  An’ they’ve got ole Putty Leveson with ’em—­”