“Yes. Father stopped them when he heard of it; but the boys still will call after him, and he turns and waves his stick at them, and they do it all the more. Father says he thinks he’s queer in the head, and, of course, all the villagers say that he’s mad; but I think he’s a miser!”
“Why?” asked her companion with some amazement.
“Oh, because he keeps himself shut up like that; he must have something hidden, I’m sure. Why, he doesn’t answer father when he knocks! But, of course, after that time I met him last week, perhaps he will now.”
“What was that?” inquired her listener.
“Oh, didn’t Margot tell you? She was quite upset about it. Almost as bad as she was over the gipsy baby—she wanted to go and do something for him!” And Stella poured forth her tale of the encounter with the old man, ending with the remark, “and he said something about a ‘confession’ that he had to make!”
“Margot is very tender-hearted,” said Mrs. Fleming, “and has never been able to stand seeing anyone suffer. But yours is a very strange story, Stella.” She sat back, plainly interested, till her meditations were broken in upon once more by her companion.
“Oh, how quickly we’ve come! The rectory’s only round the next corner, and here’s Jim with his bicycle.”
The car drew up to enable Stella to alight, and that Mrs. Fleming might receive a note which the rector’s boy was waiting to deliver. It proved to be from Stella’s mother, who had read Miss Slater’s communication, and who wrote to say that the rector was out in the parish, where, she did not know, and that under the circumstances she had thought it the speediest plan to write to Mrs. Fleming to this effect. “If he comes in shortly I will dispatch him after you with all haste,” she wrote; “and I much hope that your anxieties will soon be set at rest.”
There was nothing to do, therefore, but to turn the car in the direction of the “Little House,” following the parting advice of Stella as to its whereabouts.
“Only about half a mile; straight along the road; and then you’ll see it quite plainly. It’s quite easy to find, even in the dusk, and thank you awfully for driving me down!” Stella waved her hand, and disappeared through the rectory gate as the motor took to the road again. Mrs. Fleming could hardly restrain her anxious feelings, and was really thankful when the car drew up and the chauffeur pointed out the outline of a small house standing on the moor by the cliff, and not far away.