"She was a Miss Norris. Daughter of Norris, of Norris Court. Mrs. Darling."
"Oh, to be sure," interrupted the dean, as recollection came to him. "I knew her father. I was once a curate in that neighbourhood."
Mr. St. John looked up at the high-church dignitary before him. "You once a curate!"
The dean laughed. "We must all begin as curates, Frederick."
The young man laughed also. "You knew Mr. Norris, then?"
"Yes; slightly. I once dined at his house. My church was on the confines of Alnwick parish, not very far from Norris Court. Mr. Norris died just as I was leaving. He died rather suddenly, I think. I know it took the neighbourhood by surprise. And, if I remember rightly, there seemed to be some mystery attaching to his death."
"What did he die of?"
"No one knew. It was in that that the mystery lay. Report said he died of fever, but Mr. Pym, the surgeon who attended him, told me it was not fever; though he did not say what it was."
"Is that Pym of Alnwick?"
"Mr. Pym was in practice then at Alnwick. He may be still, for aught I know."