LITMIR.BIZ

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lips and quick blue eyes. His hair, as he lifted his hat, was a light brown with a trace of yellow in it, growing in an arch over his forehead. His step was springy, his carriage free. His hair – longer than most men wear it, – the blue scarf at his throat, his long fingers, made one think of art in some shape or other. Probably a musician.

      In the churchyard he looked about him curiously.

      Then he turned to the group of three, and put exactly the same question as that proposed by the first young man.

      "May I ask," he said, "if this is Woodroffe Church?"

      The attendant nymph jumped up. "Oh!" she cried. "It's Dick!"

      "You here, Molly?" he asked. "I never expected – "

      "Hilarie," said the girl, "this is my old friend Dick. We were children together."

      Hilarie bowed graciously. "I am pleased to know your friend," she said. "I was just telling this other gentleman that this is Woodroffe Church. We are going into the church: would you like to come too?"

      Hilarie led the way, and opened the door of the south porch. Within, restorers had been at work. The seats which replaced the old oaken pews were machine-made, and new; they wanted the mellowing touch of two hundred years, and even then they would be machine-made still. The rood screen, as old as the Archbishop, was so polished and scraped, that it looked almost as much machine-made as the seats. Even the roof, after its scraping and painting, looked brand new. Yet they had not destroyed all the antiquity of the church: there were still the grey arches, the grey pillars, the grey walls and the monuments. There were many monuments in the church; two or three tablets in memory of former vicars; all the rest, shields, busts, and sculptured tombs, in memory of bygone Woodroffes. A low recessed arch in the north wall contained the figure of a Crusader. "He is one of the Woodroffes," said the guide. A recent tablet commemorated one who fell at the Alma. "He was another of them," said the guide. "You are walking over the graves of a whole family; they have been buried here from time immemorial. Every slab in the aisle, and every stone in the chancel, covers one of them."

      In the north transept there stood a long low altar-tomb, with carvings on the sides, and a slab of grey granite on the top. Formerly it had been surrounded and covered by a white marble tabernacle richly carved; this was now broken away and destroyed, except a few fragments in the wall. The tomb itself was dilapidated; the granite slab was broken in two, yet the inscription remained perfectly legible. It was as follows: —

"Hic jacentRobertus Woodroffe, Armiger, etHilaris, Uxor Ejus,Qui Robertus obiit Sep. 2, A.D. MCCCCXXXIX."

      In the right-hand corner of the slab were the arms of the deceased.

      "This tomb," said the guide, "was erected by the Archbishop, to the memory of his father."

      On the opposite side of the south transept one of the common Elizabethan monuments was affixed to the wall. It represented figures in relief, and painted. The husband and wife, both in high ruffs, knelt before a desk, face to face. Below them was a procession of boys and girls, six in number. Over their heads was a shield with a coat-of-arms – the same arms as on the other tomb. The monument was sacred to the memory of Robert Woodroffe, Knight, and Johanna his wife. Beneath the figures was a scroll on which the local poet had been allowed to do his worst.

      "After thy Dethe, thy Words and Works survive

      To shew thy Virtues: as if still alive.

      When thou didst fall, fair Mercy shrieked and swoon'd,

      And Charity bemoaned her deadly Wounde.

      The Orphan'd Babe, the hapless Widow cry'd,

      Ah! who will help us now that thou hast dyed?"

      "They made him a knight," said the guide, "against his will. James the First insisted on his assuming the dignity. It was the only honour ever attained by any of this branch. They all stayed at home, contented to make no noise in the world at all. Well, I think I have shown you all the monuments."

      "This is my ancestor," said the man with the violin-case, pointing to the first tomb. "Not this one at all."

      "Why, the elder Robert is my ancestor also!" said the first young man, wondering.

      "Good gracious! He is my ancestor as well!" cried Hilarie, in amazement. "All these Woodroffes belong to me, and I to them."

      "Your ancestor? Is it possible?" she added, turning from one to the other.

      "Is it possible?" the two men repeated.

      "The Archbishop's elder brother is my direct ancestor," said Hilarie. "He is buried here beneath this stone."

      "Mine was Lord Mayor Woodroffe," said the first young man. "He was buried in the Church of All Hallows the Less, where his tomb was destroyed in the Fire."

      "And mine was the Sheriff," said the second young man. "He was buried in St. Helen's, where you may see his tomb to this day."

      "Oh, it is wonderful!" Hilarie looked at her new cousins with some anxiety. The first young man seemed altogether "quite: " well-dressed, well-spoken, well-mannered, well-looking, of goodly stature, a proper youth. In fact, proper in the modern sense. His turn-out was faultless, and of the very day's – not yesterday's – mode. She turned to the other. Circumstances, perhaps, were against him: the dust with which he was covered; the shabby old bag hanging round his neck; his violin-case. A gentleman does not travel on foot, carrying a violin. Besides, his face was not the kind of face which comes out of Eton and Trinity. It was a humorous face; there was a twinkle, or the fag end of a smile, upon it. Such a girl as Hilarie would not at first take readily to such a face. However, he looked quiet, and he looked good-natured; his eyes, realizing the oddness of the situation, were luminous with suppressed laughter.

      "Molly," he said, "please tell this lady – your friend – who I am."

      "Hilarie, this is Dick Woodroffe. I suppose you have never heard of him. I never thought of his name being the same as yours. Dick is an actor. He sings and plays, and writes comediettas; he is awfully clever."

      "Thank you, Molly. Add that I am now on tramp."

      He looked with some contempt on the other young man.

      "Since you are my cousin, Mr. Woodroffe, I hope we shall be friends."

      Hilarie shook hands with him. "My name is Hilarie Woodroffe, and I am descended from the eldest brother. The old house, which I will show you presently, has remained with us. And you – are you really another cousin?"

      She turned to the first comer.

      "I hope so. My name is Humphrey Woodroffe."

      "Oh, this is delightful! May I ask what your branch has been doing all these years?"

      "I have a genealogy at home. We have had no more Lord Mayors or Archbishops. A buccaneer or two; a captain under Charles the First; a judge under William the Third; and an Anglo-Indian, my father, now dead, of some distinction."

      "Your branch has done more creditably than mine. And yours, Cousin Dick?"

      He laughed. "We went down in the world, and stayed there. Some of us assisted in colonizing Virginia, in the last century, by going out in the transports. There is a tradition of highwaymen; some of us had quarters permanently in the King's Bench. I am a musician, and a mime, and a small dramatist. Yet we have always kept up the memory of the Sheriff."

      "Never mind, Dick," said Molly; "you shall raise your branch again."

      He shook his head. "There is not so much staying power," he said, "in a Sheriff as in a Lord Mayor."

      Hilarie observed him curiously. "Why," she said, "you two are strangely alike. Do you observe the resemblance, Molly?"

      "Yes. Oh yes!" – after a little consideration. "Mr. Humphrey is taller and bigger. But they certainly are alike."

      "Good Heavens! It is wonderful. The same coloured hair, growing in the same manner; the same eyes. It is the most extraordinary instance of the survival of a type."

      The young men looked at each other with a kind of jealousy. They resented this charge of resemblance.

      "Like

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