The Angel had finished his tea and was standing¹ looking pensively² out of the window. He thought the old church down the valley lit by the light of the setting sun was very beautiful, but he could not understand the serried³ ranks of tombstones that lay up the hillside beyond. He turned as Mendham and the Vicar came in.

 

Now Mendham could bully⁴ his Vicar cheerfully enough, just as he could bully his congregation; but he was not the sort of man to bully a stranger. He looked at the Angel, and the "strange woman" theory was disposed of. The Angel's beauty was too clearly the beauty of the youth.

 

"Mr Hilyer tells me," Mendham began, in an almost apologetic tone, "that you—ah—it's so curious—claim to be an Angel."

 

"Are an Angel," said the Vicar.

 

The Angel bowed.

 

[Pg 67]

 

"Naturally," said Mendham, "we are curious."

 

"Very," said the Angel. "The blackness and the shape."

 

"I beg your pardon?" said Mendham.

 

"The blackness and the flaps," repeated the Angel; "and no wings."

 

"Precisely," said Mendham, who was altogether at a loss. "We are, of course, curious to know something of how you came into the village in such a peculiar⁵ costume."

 

The Angel looked at the Vicar. The Vicar touched his chin.

 

"You see," began the Vicar.

 

"Let him explain," said Mendham; "I beg."

 

"I wanted to suggest," began the Vicar.

 

"And I don't want you to suggest."

 

"Bother!" said the Vicar.

 

The Angel looked from one to the other. "Such rugose expressions flit across your faces!" he said.

 

"You see, Mr—Mr—I don't know your name," said Mendham, with a certain

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