cavernous hollows under the eyes, and certain lines on the forehead and
at the corners of the mouth, as though graven by some long fatigue,
showed themselves disfiguringly. The personality, however, on which this
fatigue had stamped itself was clearly one of remarkable vigour, physical
and mental. A massive head covered with strong black hair, curly at the
brows; eyes grayish-blue, small, with some shade of expression in them
which made them arresting, commanding, even; a large nose and irregular
mouth, the lips flexible and kind, the chin firm--one might have made
some such catalogue of Meynell's characteristics; adding to them the
strength of a broad-chested, loose-limbed frame, made rather, one would
have thought, for country labours than for the vigils of the scholar. But
the hands were those of a man of letters--bony and long-fingered, but
refined, touching things with care and gentleness, like one accustomed to
the small tools of the writer.

At last the Rector threw himself back in his chair, while some of the
litter on his lap fell to the floor, temporarily dislodging one of the
terriers, who sat up and looked at him with reproach.

"Now then!" he said, and reached out for the letter on the mantelpiece.
He turned it over a moment in his hand and opened it.

It was long, and the reader gave it a close attention. When he had
finished it he put it down and thought a while, then stretched out his
hand for it again and reread the last paragraph:

"You will, I am sure, realize from all I have said, my dear Meynell, that
the last thing I personally wish to do is to interfere with the parochial
work of a man for whom I have so warm a respect as I have for you. I have
given you all the latitude I could, but my duty is now plain. Let me have