lead. Of all the miserable balls sent down that afternoon that one of
Gosling's was the worst. It was worse than anything of Marriott's. It
flew sluggishly down the pitch well outside the leg stump. The novelist
watched it come, and his eye gleamed. It was about to bounce for the
second time when, with a pleased smile, the batsman stepped out. There
was a loud, musical report, the note of a bat when it strikes the ball
fairly on the driving spot.

The man of letters shaded his eyes with his hand, and watched the ball
diminish in the distance.

'I rather think,' said he cheerfully, as a crash of glass told of its
arrival at the Pavilion, 'that that does it.'

He was perfectly right. It did.




[9]

THE BISHOP FINISHES HIS RIDE


Gethryn had started on his ride handicapped by two things. He did not
know his way after the first two miles, and the hedges at the roadside
had just been clipped, leaving the roads covered with small thorns.

It was the former of these circumstances that first made itself
apparent. For two miles the road ran straight, but after that it was