“I am shocked,” I cried, “shocked and saddened. Men who have much power for good, seem always that much more tempted to evil; and that it should be the reverse, in the eyes of Providence, holds but little sway.”

“My dear, my most excellent Miss Austen,” Captain Fielding replied, with some emotion; “you have given voice to my very thought. I hope our two minds may be always in concert.”

I thought then, with a rush of foreboding, of the hanged man at the end of the Cobb, the scene I had witnessed the previous day, and my own doubts of Mr. Sidmouth's motives. I suspected another incitement to murder — one that had nothing to do with the notorious Reverend or his smuggled goods. But to voice such fears and suspicions, even to Captain Fielding, on the strength of so little, must be impossible; the ruin of Mr. Sid-mouth's reputation — nay, even his life — might hang upon such idle talk.

It could not do harm, however, to probe what more Captain Fielding might know of the murky affair.

We had secured refreshment and moved towards the settee at one end of the room, before I took up my subject.

“Lyme seems particularly prone to such grotesqueries of character as Mr. Sidmouth displays,” I observed, as I setded myself delicately upon the edge of a cushion. “The hanged man on the Cobb, for example. It was a very singular example of crudery, was it not?”

A look of surprise from Captain Fielding, and a hesitation; for a Mrs. Barnewall to raise such matters, might be acceptable, but for a Miss Austen to broach them, apparently was not.

“Poor Tibbit,” he answered at the last, as he eased himself next to me and extended his game leg before him. “He leaves a wife and five children, and all ill-provided for.”

“You knew him then? How tragic! And nothing is known, I suppose, of his murderers?”

“Nothing.” The Captain offered me a glass of wine, his fingers grazing my own. Unless my eyes misgave me, his hand trembled at the touch. “The fellow was a scoundrel, of course; he has turned up at my home a thousand times, to labour in the garden or mend a stone wall. The sort of idler who can be hired for a few pence, in the performing of odd jobs — which sums are as quickly dissipated at the Three Cups, as turned to his children's account. Tibbit shall not be missed, even by his wife.”

“But is that reason to ignore the manner of his end?” I enquired gently, as I took a sip of punch. “Is not the death of even the slightest creature of weight in the scales of justice?”

“Oh! But of course! If you would look for a reason in his death, Miss Austen, you need search no further than the manner of his life. I will wager that if Bill Tibbit did not meet his end at the hands of the Reverend, then it was through some fellows he double-crossed, in an affair of devilry; and though the local justice were to question the entire village, and solemnly record their protestations of innocence, and preoccupation with their affairs on the night in question, he should not arrive at the truth of it. No, Miss Austen”—the Captain said, drawing me back towards the ballroom as the musicians recommenced— “the scales of justice are balanced already. Bill Tibbit knows why he is dead, I warrant; but that we shall ever know, is quite unlikely.”

IT WAS SOME HOURS LATER, AS I WAS RESTING IN THE COMFORT OF AN alcove settee, having danced with Mr. Crawford, and a few of Captain Fielding's brother officers (who had gone in search of negus), that Mr. Sidmouth arrived. Mindful of all that the Captain had told me, I felt some little trepidation upon perceiving the master of High Down; a confusion of disapprobation and dislike, which warred with my appreciation of his appearance. For indeed, he showed to greater advantage in his dark blue tailcoat and cream-coloured breeches, than he had in an open shirt, standing in his doorway on a rainy night. The fine figure, the aquiline line of his nose, the dark glow of brown eyes, the sternly commanding countenance — all these cried out nobility where I now knew there to be only the vilest propensities. He divested himself of hat and walking stick, drew on his white gloves, and commenced to scan the room, as though in search of acquaintance; and an expression of glad alacrity encompassing his features not long thereafter, I assumed he had found it. A brisk step, a bow — and I was to see him exert his charms upon a slip of a girl, not above nineteen, and very pretty at that She was accompanied by an older, shrewish-looking woman, dressed all in mourning, whose aspect held less of warmth in regarding Mr. Sidmouth; and at their being joined presently by Mr. Crawford, I presumed the ladies to be of his household. But I had not time to observe their conversation, for behind Mr. Sidmouth stood Henry and Eliza.

I judged from the animation of the Comtesse's countenance that she had succeeded in scraping acquaintance with the master of High Down Grange. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes snapped, under the recent influence of his brusque regard; and Henry's brow bore a faint crease, as though already wearied by this rival for his wife's attentions.

“Jane!” Eliza called, as she tripped on her small feet, encased in red satin slippers, across the room. Her bobbed brown head was adorned with pearls, and a cameo locket circled her neck on a length of dark red ribbon; her dress was of cream sarcenet, very fine for Lyme, and trimmed in the same rosy hue. Her gown slipped well down upon her arms, showing to advantage her excellent shoulders and bosom, in a manner that was all the London rage, but which must have afforded dear Henry some anxious moments. What artistry the maid Manon employed to keep Eliza so bountifully displayed, and yet still clothed, never failed to amaze me.

“I have met your roguish suitor,” she confided, as she pecked me on the cheek, “and 1 applaud your taste. He will quite do for a heartless flirtation.”

“Do you imagine yourself to voice my intentions, Eliza, or your own?”

“Now, do not scold me, Jane. You know me too well to imagine I should steal your beaux. I am five-and-thirty at least”

In fact, she was three-and-forty, some ten years older than my brother Henry; but with a woman such as Eliza, whose beauty and spirits defy attempts to cage them, the flow of years is best left untallied. It may be that she had long since forgot to consider the anniversaries of her birth, and sincerely believed herself on the flow tide of forty; what is certain, in any case, is that age had no power to repress her.

“Mr. Sidmouth is not my beau,” I replied with asperity, “and I may say with feeling that I hope he never may be. I have heard such things of him tonight, Eliza, as confirm my worst suspicions. I believe him now to be the very worst sort of fellow, and must thank Providence for having allowed us to come to so little harm while under his roof.”

‘Oh, pshaw!” Eliza rejoined. “I see you are determined to sink me in respectability. I will not have it” She settled herself beside me and glanced quickly about the room, a sharp-eyed bird. “And with whom have you been dancing? For it can only be another man who would strip Sidmouth of his good name. Only one anxious to win your affections would attempt to assassinate his character.”

“I must disagree, Eliza,” I said drily, “for it seems calumny is more properly the province of women. Men have other weapons, that may carry mortal injury; but a lady may use only words.”

“Unless she employs poison, as she did at Scargrave,” Eliza said, sidelong, “but then gossip may be considered one of the most lethal of those, I suppose. I will not be convinced, Jane. A rival for your interest has torn Mr. Sidmouth's reputation. Do admit.”

“And there he comes,” I replied, as the gallant but limping form of the Captain appeared through the throng, “bearing a cup by way of peace-offering. Will you dance, Eliza, or have you the time to be acquainted with Captain Percival Fielding?”