The vicar was interested. "Then, no doubt," he said, "you can tell me what headway conversion to Christianity is making among the heathen? I once contemplated joining an Indian mission myself, but there were difficulties in the way--my dear wife's health, the birth of my little daughter, and so forth. But it is a subject that has always attracted me strongly."
Coventry strove to recollect if he had ever conversed with a missionary in India. "I believe," he uttered profoundly, "that it is a very intricate question."
"Quite so; and at such a distance it is difficult for stay-at-homes to understand the obstacles that our brave workers have to encounter and overcome. Idolatry, from all accounts, is a very formidable foe. My daughter is just now organising a little sale of work, to be held here next week, in aid of foreign missions; we like to feel that, humble parish as we are, we do our small share to help. But I must not keep you standing in the sun. Will you not take your horse round to the stables and let us offer you a rest and some refreshment before you go on your way?"
Coventry displayed becoming hesitation. He could not think of giving so much trouble, of taking up the vicar's valuable time, though he admitted that a short halt would not be altogether unwelcome in view of the distance he had come and the distance he had still to go. He permitted himself to be persuaded, and his host conducted him to the back of the house, to where a couple of empty stalls and a coach-house almost in ruins faced a weed-choked yard appropriated now by poultry and some pigs.
They re-entered the house by the kitchen, that had a red-brick floor, an open range, and black beams across the low ceiling; they traversed a long flagged passage, passed through a swing-door that must once have been covered with green baize, and thence across the hall to the vicar's study. It was a cool and restful room despite its shabby furniture and musty odour.
"I always half expect to see my predecessor sitting in my chair," the vicar told him whimsically. "He was here for nearly half a century. These old vicarages are steeped in memories. I have been here myself for over twenty years, and I still feel as if I was a kind of interloper! Everything is practically just the same as when I took the living over. We move very slowly in these benighted mountain villages."
Someone passed the open window.
"Rafella!" called the vicar.
Coventry held his breath. What a charming name! Next moment he was gazing at a girl's face framed in passion-flower and roses; and the face was even fairer and more angelic than he had imagined. Delicate, clear-cut features, eyes of heavenly blue, a skin so pink and white that it might almost have been painted, and the hair--the glorious golden hair!
Afterwards he could never very clearly recall what followed. He knew he was introduced to "Rafella" as she stood at the window, that she came in and apologised prettily for the mould that stained her little hands--she said with engaging simplicity that she had been digging potatoes. He knew he was regaled with lemonade and water biscuits, and that she sat and smiled, and looked like a Madonna, while her father talked of missions and asked innumerable questions concerning India. Was the heat out there actually so severe? Was there constant danger from snakes and wild beasts? Was it true that the social life was demoralising to the European? And how about the question of drink, and the example set in that respect, and others, by the English? Also, was it a fact that the Oriental was possessed of strange faculties that could not be explained, and had Captain Coventry himself ever seen a man climb up a rope and vanish into space?