old; and Mr. West, he--he--" John Cale hesitated before he went on--"he
died; Mr. Dancox got appointed to a chaplaincy somewhere over the seas;
he was here but about eighteen months, hardly that; and Mr. Atterley,
who has just left, has had a big church with a big income, they say,
given to him over in Oxfordshire."

"Which makes room for me," smiled Robert Grame.

They were inside the church now; a small and very old-fashioned church,
with high pews, dark and sombre. Over the large pew of the Monks,
standing sideways to the pulpit, sundry slabs were on the wall, their
inscriptions testifying to the virtues and ages of the Monk family dead
and gone. Mr. Grame stood to read them. One slab of white marble, its
black letters fresh and clear, caught especially his eye.

"Katherine, eldest child of Godfrey Monk, gentleman, and wife of the
Reverend Thomas Dancox," he read out aloud. "Was that he who was Vicar
here?"

"Ay, 'twas. She married him again her father's wish, and died, poor
thing, just a year after it," replied the clerk. "And only twenty-three,
as you see, sir! The Captain came down and forgave her on her dying bed,
and 'twas he that had the stone put up there. Her baby-girl was taken to
the Hall, and is there still: ten years old she must be now; 'twas but
an hour or two old when the mother died."

"It seems a sad history," observed Mr. Grame as he turned away to enter
the vestry.

John Cale did the honours of its mysteries; showing him the chest for