a very terrible brute with a hideous mouth and hairy tiger-like claws when seen through the microscope; but Lucian had taken away the microscope from his eyes.  He could now walk the streets of Caermaen confident and secure, without any dread of interruption, for at a moment’s notice the transformation could be effected.  Once Dr. Burrows caught him and made him promise to attend a bazaar that was to be held in aid of the Hungarian Protestants; Lucian assented the more willingly as he wished to pay a visit to certain curious mounds on a hill a little way out of the town, and he calculated on slinking off from the bazaar early in the afternoon.  Lord Beamys was visiting Sir Vivian Ponsonby, a local magnate, and had kindly promised to drive over and declare the bazaar open.  It was a solemn moment when the carriage drew up and the great man alighted.  He was rather an evil-looking old nobleman, but the clergy and gentry, their wives and sons and daughters welcomed him with great and unctuous joy.  Conversations were broken off in mid-sentence, slow people gaped, not realizing why their friends had so suddenly left them, the Meyricks came up hot and perspiring in fear lest they should be too late, Miss Colley, a yellow virgin of austere regard, smiled largely, Mrs. Dixon beckoned wildly with her parasol to the “girls” who were idly strolling in a distant part of the field, and the archdeacon ran at full speed.  The air grew dark with bows, and resonant with the genial laugh of the archdeacon, the cackle of the younger ladies, and the shrill parrot-like voices of the matrons; those smiled who had never smiled before, and on some maiden faces there hovered that look of adoring ecstasy with which the old maidens graced their angels.  Then, when all the due rites had been performed, the company turned and began to walk towards the booths of their small Vanity Fair.  Lord Beamys led the way with Mrs. Gervase, Mrs. Dixon followed with Sir Vivian Ponsonby, and the multitudes that followed cried, saying, “What a dear old man!”—­“Isn’t it kind of him to come all this way?”—­“What a sweet expression, isn’t it?”—­“I think he’s an old love”—­“One of the good old sort”—­“Real English nobleman”—­“Oh most correct, I assure you; if a girl gets into trouble, notice to quit at once”—­“Always stands by the Church”—­“Twenty livings in his gift”—­“Voted for the Public Worship Regulation Act”—­“Ten thousand acres strictly preserved.”  The old lord was leering pleasantly and muttering to himself:  “Some fine gals here.  Like the looks of that filly with the pink hat.  Ought to see more of her.  She’d give Lotty points.”

The pomp swept slowly across the grass:  the archdeacon had got hold of Mr. Dixon, and they were discussing the misdeeds of some clergyman in the rural deanery.

“I can scarce credit it,” said Mr. Dixon.

“Oh, I assure you, there can be no doubt.  We have witnesses.  There can be no question that there was a procession at Llanfihangel on the Sunday before Easter; the choir and minister went round the church, carrying palm branches in their hands.”