On the day following Sir Richard's interview with Anstice the latter received an unexpected call from the Vicar of Littlefield parish.
The two men were on fairly intimate terms. For the clergyman, as a scholar and a gentleman, Anstice had a real respect, though the religious side of Mr. Carey's office, as expressed in his spiritual ministrations, could hardly be expected to appeal to the man who could never rid himself of the feeling that God had deliberately failed him at a critical moment.
Mr. Carey, on his side, had a genuine liking for Anstice, whose skill he admired with the impersonal admiration which a specialist in one profession accords to an expert in another vocation. But mingled with his admiration was an uneasy suspicion that all was not well with the spiritual health of this most indifferent of his parishioners, and he was grieved, with the charity of a large and generous nature, by the gloom, the melancholy, which at times were written only too plainly on the other's face.
The two men were brought into contact now and again by the very nature of their respective callings. Soul and body are after all so closely related that the health of the one depends largely on that of the other; and at times both priest and physician must take their share in the gracious task of healing. And on the occasions when their work brought them together the mutual liking and respect between the two was sensibly strengthened.
So that it did not cause Anstice more than a passing sensation of surprise when on this cold and raw November evening the Reverend Fraser Carey was announced as a visitor.
"Mr. Carey here? Where have you taken him, Alice?"
"Into the drawing-room, sir. The fire's not lighted, but I can put a match to it in a moment."
"No, don't do that." Anstice hated the little-used drawing-room. "Take Mr. Carey into my room, and bring up some coffee directly, will you?"
"Yes, sir." The maid, who in common with the rest of the household regarded Anstice with an admiration not unmixed with awe, withdrew to carry out her instructions; and hastily finishing an important letter, Anstice went in search of his rare visitor.
"Hallo, Carey--jolly good of you to look me up on a beastly night like this." He poked the fire into a brighter blaze, and drew forward a capacious leather chair. "Sit down and light up. We'll have some coffee presently--I know you don't care for anything stronger."
"Thanks, Anstice." Mr. Carey sank down into the big chair and held his transparent-looking hands to the flames. "It is a bad night, as you say, and this fire is uncommonly cosy."