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"It's a rank iniquitous load. Surely thy father doesn't know thou'rt carrying anything so heavy?"

"Pray let me täake it, Sir?"

"No, that I will not. We must carry it together if I can't carry it all."

With her help he managed to hoist it from the lane, and though she would have taken it from him entirely he insisted that the heavier part should lie on his shoulders. But she must be strong as a Flanders mare, he thought, for all she looked so slight and small.

They walked on together for a half a mile, he going first and she following. It was not a good position for talking, since not only were they in single file but they were bent almost double, with their heads half lost among twigs and branches. None the less Gervase tried to make her talk to him. He had always liked her and pitied her, and now he felt a little guilty about her, for since his retirement from the Parsonage he had not once been to Newhouse. He disliked Exalted Harman and he suspected that the feeling was mutual, so he preferred to visit those who, he thought, regretted his departure. The pleasure of capping texts would easily be outweighed by any hypocritical praise of Dr. Braceley . . . . But he ought to have gone, if only to keep an eye on the poor little bud. . . . Not that she had any claims on him . . . but she was helpless and abused, and that should be claim enough for any man. Now they were putting disgraceful burdens upon her and working her to death. He must go to see Exalted Harman and rate him for it. He might no longer seem to have any pastoral authority, but he came from the Manor, he was heir of Conster—that should carry weight with a mere yeoman of two hundred acres.