And it is to be hoped that these repeated losses will not weary the reader. Events can but be related as they occurred.
The Vicar's roomy, easy-fitting clothes and capacious pockets would present few difficulties to any clever member of the light-fingered craft. But, then, he had not been where any light-fingered gentry could possibly be supposed to be. He had been in the society of his friends and neighbours: there had not been a single individual at Homedale that evening whom he did not know. It was a most unaccountable affair, and the Vicar's sleep that night was by no means so sound as usual.
We must go for a short space of time to Heron Dyke, preceding Miss Winter and her companion's return to it that evening. The reader does not forget that one of the maids had been attacked with sore throat. Dr. Spreckley soon cured her; but since then a few other cases had appeared in the neighbourhood of the Hall from time to time. Not sufficient to constitute an epidemic; though some of the cases were rather grave, and one individual had died.
On this evening, quite late, Hannah Tilney, the gardener's wife at the lodge, came up to the Hall. It was past nine o'clock. Her errand was to ask Mrs. Stone for a small pot of blackcurrant jelly. And Dorothy Stone was very much put about when she heard that this jelly was intended for her grandson, Hubert.
"He has got one of them sore throats come on," said Hannah. "It began yesterday, I know, though he said naught about it, but it's rare and bad to-day; and not a morsel has he ate."
"He said naught about it here to-day," crustily interposed old Aaron, echoing some of her words. "He was up here at his books as usual. It can't be very bad: you women be so easily frightened."
"Well, sir, I know it is bad," persisted Hannah. "He won't take anything for it, but I thought if I put a bit o' jelly by his bedside he might suck a spoonful or two in the night. It eases the throat wonderful, do blackcurrant jelly. And if he should be took worse, I've not a soul in the house that could run to Nullington for Dr. Jago, John being at Norwich!"
"Don't hurry away for a minute," cried Dorothy, as Mrs. Tilney was going off with the jelly. "Aaron," she added in a timid sort of way, "I should like to go down to the lodge and see him. He may be real bad: and he's one that would never complain if he was dying."
"You'd think him real bad if he cut his finger, you would," growled Aaron.
"You must please let me go," pleaded Dorothy, beginning to twitter.