was something with more meaning than a mere sudden outbreak of
blasphemy and madness.

It appeared that the old Vicar, after some years spent in the
quiet discharge of his parochial duties, had been noticed to
become more and more odd in his appearance and behaviour; and
it was also said that he had gradually introduced certain
alterations into the Church services. These had been vaguely
supposed at the time to be of a High Church character, but
afterwards they were put down to a growing mental derangement,
which had finally culminated at that notorious Harvest Festival,
when his career as a clergyman of the Church of England had
ended. On this painful occasion the old man had come into church
outlandishly dressed, and had gone through a service with
chanted gibberish and unaccustomed gestures, and prayers which
were unfamiliar to his congregation. There was also talk of a
woman's figure on the altar, which the Vicar had unveiled at a
solemn moment in this performance; and I also heard echo of
other gossip--gossip that was, however, authoritatively
contradicted and suppressed as much as possible--about the use
of certain other symbols of a most unsuitable kind. Then a few
days after the old man had disappeared--some of the neighbours
believed that he was dead; some, that he was now shut up in an
asylum for the insane.

Such was the fantastic and almost incredible talk I listened to,
but in which, as I say, I found much more meaning than my
neighbours. For one thing, although they knew that the Vicar had
come from Oxford to this remote College living, they knew
nothing of his work and scholarly reputation in that University,