The Woman in the Bazaar

								

He dismounted and searched about the ground for a pebble that might suit
his purpose. Anyone passing would have supposed that the big, bronzed
young man scraping in the dust of the country road must have dropped
some treasured possession.
Presently he passed his hand with practised touch down the horse's
fetlock, and the animal raised its hoof in docile response. Coventry
wedged a little stone between the hoof and the shoe, then turned in the
direction of the vicarage, the bridle over his arm, the horse limping,
ever so slightly, behind him.
At the wooden entrance gate he paused. The vicarage front door stood
open, and across the rough gravel sweep he could see into the hall--see
a stone-paved floor and an oak chest, with hats and coats hanging from
hooks above it. A rose-scented peace enveloped the house and garden; he
heard no sound save the high, clear calling of birds.
A sudden reluctance assailed him, kept him standing at the gate, his
hand on the latch, his heart beating fast; a fateful feeling that if he
disturbed this somnolent calm his whole life, his whole future, would be
affected, whether for evil or for good. The horse nuzzled his shoulder
gently, a yellow butterfly skimmed past. He thought of the girl's golden
hair in the sunshine, and he swung open the gate.
Ivy hid the door-bell, but he found it and pulled boldly. The result was
disconcerting; never had he known a house-bell create such a clamour; it
clanged and re-echoed, and continued till he felt it must surely rouse
not only the vicarage but the entire village. Long before its pealing
ceased a door was opened within, and an elderly cleric, with a grey
beard and a benevolent expression, appeared in the porch.
Coventry raised his hat, apologised for his intrusion, and explained.
"My horse," he said, "has got a stone in his hoof, and I'm a long way
from home. Have you anything you could lend me to get it out?"
That was the beginning. The vicar was cordially sympathetic, and at once
went in search of some instrument, returning with a pruning knife, a
skewer, and a chisel.
"Perhaps one of these?" he said, and then stood by, remarking upon the
weather and the prospects of the fruit crop and the hay, and the unusual
heat, while with much apparent effort the stone was extracted and cast
aside.
Then Coventry stood up and mopped his forehead.
"Yes, the heat is extraordinary, I suppose, for England, though of
course it's nothing compared with India."
"Ah! So you have had some experience of the tropics?"
"I'm home on leave from my regiment in India."
The vicar was interested. "Then, no doubt," he said, "you can tell me
what headway conversion to Christianity is making among the heathen? I
once contemplated joining an Indian mission myself, but there were
difficulties in the way--my dear wife's health, the birth of my little
daughter, and so forth. But it is a subject that has always attracted me
strongly."