"What now?" he said in a loud whisper. "Are _you_ turning renegade?"

The young man bent over his father's shoulder. "I don't feel well;
better let me go quietly, father; I have felt oppressed here all
day"--touching his left side. And he escaped.

There was present at table an elderly gentleman named Peveril. He had
recently come with his wife into the neighbourhood and taken on lease a
small estate, called by the odd name of Peacock's Range, which belonged
to Hubert and lay between Church Dykely and Church Leet. Mr. Peveril put
an inopportune question.

"What is the story, Captain, about some chimes which were put up in the
church here and are never allowed to ring because they caused the death
of the Vicar? I was told of it to-day."

Captain Monk looked at Mr. Peveril, but did not speak.

"One George West, I think. Was he parson here?"

"Yes, he was parson here," said Farmer Winter, finding nobody else
answered Mr. Peveril, next to whom he sat. He was a very old man now,
but hale and hearty still, and a steadfast ally of his landlord. "Given
that parson his way and we should never have had the chimes put up.
Sweet sounding bells they are."

"But how could the chimes kill him?" went on Mr. Peveril. "Did they kill
him?"

"George West was a quarrelsome, mischief-making meddler, good for