laid both hands on the arms of her chair, and turned her face slowly
upon them.

She was a leper!

They gave one look at that featureless face, with the white scales
shining upon it, and ran back with their arms lifted before their
eyes. One woman screamed. Then a dead stillness fell on the place,
and the cottage was empty.

On the following Saturday Parson Morth walked down to the inn, just
ten minutes after stalling his mare. He strode into the tap-room in
his muddy boots, took two men by the neck, knocked their skulls
together, and then demanded to hear the truth.

"Very well," he said, on hearing the tale; "to-morrow I march every
man Jack of you up to the valley, if it's by the scruff of your
necks, and in the presence of both of those ladies--of _both_, mark
you--you shall kneel down and ask them to come to church. I don't
care if I empty the building. Your fathers (who were men, not curs)
built the south transept for those same poor souls, and cut a slice
in the chancel arch through which they might see the Host lifted.
That's where _you_ sit, Jim Trestrail, churchwarden; and by the Lord
Harry, they shall have your pew."

He marched them up the very next morning. He knocked, but no one
answered. After waiting a while, he put his shoulder against the
door, and forced it in.

There was no one in the kitchen. In the inner room one sister sat in