"Ah, good morning, Mr. Mallow, this is an unexpected pleasure!"
"Mr. Brock!" cried the Irishman, turning suddenly. "I thought you were away."
"So I was," rejoined the Rector, holding out his hand. "I have been recruiting by the sea. I only returned last night. I see you are like myself, Mr. Mallow; you love the freshness of the early morning."
"I felt restless within doors, Mr. Brock, and came out to be soothed."
The Rector nodded approvingly.
"'You fly to Nature's breast for Nature's balm,'" he quoted in a deep, rolling voice. "It is to be regretted that all young men are not so sensible. Well, Mr. Mallow, and how are you?"
"I am in capital health and spirits," replied Laurence, lightly. "And you? You are not looking quite so fit as usual."
"Age, sir, age. Years are beginning to tell on me. After sixty the human frame begins to fail. I lose tone. My recent visit to the seaside was to restore it."
Mallow thought to himself that the result had not been wholly successful, for Mr. Brock looked sallow and wrinkled and hollow-eyed. He was a handsome, burly man, and he carried himself with an air of importance which many a bishop might have envied. His face was clean-shaven, and his features were clean-cut. His skin was of the particular hue one associates with old ivory, and a halo of silvery white hair lent an air of benignity to his expression. The Reverend Manners Brock had been vicar of Casterwell for over twenty years, and was as well-established as the church over which he presided. He was an industrious worker, an excellent orator, and a general social favourite with rich and poor alike. There was not in England a rector more popular or more admired. He might certainly have been a bishop, and--granting that the welfare of the community was the aim of those in power--he perhaps stood a good chance of becoming one. That he would adorn the position, as he adorned the rectorship of Casterwell, there could be no doubt. But, so far, there had been no hint of any such elevation for Mr. Brock.
As he strolled up and down chatting with Mallow, the click of the church-gate was heard. Simultaneously they turned to see a dark young man, with his arm in a sling, advancing along the grassy path. Mr. Brock started when he saw the face of the newcomer, and clutched the arm of his companion.