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By Root 9860 0

last much longer, and then he would be done with all these people for ever. Sometimes in comic desperation he cried out that his uncle must be made of iron. What a constitution! The ills he suffered from would have killed any decent person twelve months before. When at last the news came that the Vicar was dying Philip, who had been thinking of other things, was taken by surprise. It was in July, and in another fortnight he was to have gone for his holiday. He received a letter from Mrs. Foster to say the doctor did not give Mr. Carey many days to live, and if Philip wished to see him again he must come at once. Philip went to the buyer and told him he wanted to leave. Mr. Sampson was a decent fellow, and when he knew the circumstances made no difficulties. Philip said good-bye to the people in his department; the reason of his leaving had spread among them in an exaggerated form, and they thought he had come into a fortune. Mrs. Hodges had tears in her eyes when she shook hands with him.

“I suppose we shan’t often see you again,” she said.

“I’m glad to get away from Lynn’s,” he answered.

It was strange, but he was actually sorry to leave these people whom he thought he had loathed, and when he drove away from the house in Harrington Street it was with no exultation. He had so anticipated the emotions he would experience on this occasion that now he felt nothing: he was as unconcerned as though he were going for a few days’ holiday.

“I’ve got a rotten nature,” he said to himself. “I look forward to things awfully, and then when they come I’m always disappointed.”

He reached Blackstable early in the afternoon. Mrs. Foster met him at the door, and her face told him that his uncle was not yet dead.

“He’s a little better today,” she said. “He’s got a wonderful constitution.”

She led him into the bedroom where Mr. Carey lay on his back. He gave Philip a slight smile, in which was a trace of satisfied cunning at having circumvented his enemy once more.

“I thought it was all up with me yesterday,” he said, in an exhausted voice. “They’d all given me up, hadn’t you, Mrs. Foster?”

“You’ve got a wonderful constitution, there’s no denying that.”

“There’s life in the old dog yet.”

Mrs. Foster said that the Vicar must not talk, it would tire him; she treated him like a child, with kindly despotism ; and there was something childish in the old man’s satisfaction at having cheated all their expectations. It struck him at once that Philip had been’sent for, and he was amused that he had been brought on a fool’s errand. If he could only avoid another of his heart attacks he would get well enough in a week or two; and he had had the attacks several times before; he always felt as if he were going to die, but he never did. They all talked of his constitution, but they none of them knew how strong it was.

“Are you going to stay a day or two?” he asked Philip, pretending to believe he had come down for a holiday.

“I was thinking of it,” Philip answered cheerfully.

“A breath of sea-air will do you good.”

Presently Dr. Wigram came, and after he had seen the Vicar talked with Philip. He adopted an appropriate manner.

“I’m afraid it is the end this time, Philip,” he said. “It’ll be a great loss to all of us. I’ve known him for five-and-thirty years.”

“He seems well enough now,” said Philip.

“I’m keeping him alive on drugs, but it can’t last. It was dreadful these last two days, I thought he was dead half a dozen times.”

The doctor was silent for a minute or two, but at the gate he said suddenly to Philip:

“Has Mrs. Foster said anything to you?”

“What d’you mean?”

“They’re very superstitious, these people: she’s got hold of an idea that he’s got something on his mind, and he can’t die till he gets rid of it; and he can’t bring himself to confess it.”

Philip did not answer, and the doctor went on.

“Of course it’s nonsense. He’s led a very good life, he’s done his duty, he’s been a good parish priest, and I’m sure we shall all miss him; he can’t have anything to reproach himself with. I very much doubt whether the next vicar