MMraflJlMn II TflMBil THE PERPETUAL CURATE Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://www.archive.org/details/perpetualcurateOOolip Cftrotttflrt of Caritngforti THE PERPETUAL CURATE AUTHOR OF 'SALEM CHAPEL,' Etc. IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. II. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCLXIV The Ririht of 1 ranslation U reserved ORIGIN ALU IT BUSHED IN BLACKWOOD S MAGAZINE JJ-12* CHbromclcg of gtavlingforb. THE PERPETUAL CURATE. CHAPTER XX. Mr Wentworth got back to Carlingford by a happy concurrence of trains before the town had gone to sleep. It was summer, when the clays are at the longest, and the twilight was just falling into night as he took his way through George Street. He went along the familiar street with a certain terror of looking into peo- ple's faces whom lie met, and of asking ques- tions, such as was natural to a man who did not know whether something of public note might not have happened in his absence to call atten- tion to his name. He imagined, indeed, that he did see a strange expression in the looks of VOL. II. a '1 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD : the townsfolk lie encountered on his way. He thought they looked at him askance as they made their salutations, and said something to each other after they passed, which, indeed, in several cases was true enough, though the cause was totally different from any suspected by Mr Wentworth. Anxious to know, and yet unwil- ling to ask, it was with a certain relief that the Curate saw the light gleaming out from the open door of Elsworthy's shop as he approached. He went in and tossed down his travelling-bag on the counter, and threw himself on the soli- tary chair which stood outside for the accommo- dation of customers, with a suppressed excite- ment, which made his question sound abrupt and significant to the ears of Elsworthy. " Has anything happened since I went away 1 " said Mr Wentworth, throwing a glance round the shop, which alarmed his faithful retainer. Some- how, though nothing was farther from his mind than little Kosa, or any thought of her, the (urate missed the pretty little figure at the first glance. " Well — no, sir ; not much as I've heard of," said Elsworthy, with a little confusion. He was tying up his newspapers as usual, but it did not require the touch of suspicion and THE PEKPETUAL CURATE. 3 anxiety which gave sharpness to the Curate's quick eyes to make it apparent that the cord was trembling in Mr Elsworthy's hand. " I hope you've had a pleasant journey, sir, and a comfortable visit — it's been but short — but we always miss you in Carlingford, Mr Wentworth, if it was only for a day." "I'll take my paper," said the young man, who was not satisfied — "so there's no news, isn't there 1 — all well, and everything going on as usual 1 " And the look which the suspicious Curate bent upon Mr Elsworthy made that virtuous individual, as he himself described it, 11 shake in his shoes." " Much as usual, sir," said the frightened clerk, — "nothing new as I hear of but gossip, and that ain't a thing to interest a clergyman. There's always one report or another flying about, but them follies ain't for your hearing. Nothing more," continued Mr Elsworthy, consci- ous of guilt, and presenting a very tremulous countenance to the inspection of his suspicious auditor, "not if it was my last word — nothing but gossip, as you wouldn't care to hear." " I might possibly care to hear if it concerned myself," said the Curate, " or anybody I am in- terested in," he added, after a little pause, with 4 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD : rather a forced smile — which convinced Mr Els worthy that his clergyman had heard all about Rosa, and that the days of his own incumbency as clerk of St Roque's were numbered. " Well, sir, if you did hear, it ain't no blame of mine," said the injured bookseller ; "such a notion would never have come into my mind — no man, I make bold to say, is more particular about keeping to his own rank of life nor me. What you did, sir, you did out of the kindness of your heart, and I'd sooner sell up and go off to the end of the world than impose upon a gentleman. Her aunt's took her away," continued Mr Els- worthy, lowering his voice, and cautiously point- ing to the back of the shop — " She'll not bother you no more." " She"? — who?" cried the Perpetual Curate, in sudden consternation. He was utterly bewil- dered by the introduction of a female actor into the little drama, and immediately ran over in his mind all the women he could think of who could, by any possibility, be involved in myste- rious relations with his brother Jack. " She's but a child," said Elsworthy, pathet- ically ; " she don't know nothing about the ways o' this world. If she was a bit proud o' being noticed, there wasn't no harm in that. THE PERPETUAL CUEATE. 5 But seeing as there's nothing in this world that folks won't make a talk of when they've started, her aunt, as is very partic'lar, has took her away. Not as I'm meaning no reproach to you, Mr Went- worth ; but she's a loss to us, is Kosa. She was a cheerful little thing, say the worst of her," said Mr Elsworthy; "going a-singing and a-chirrup- ing out and in the shop ; and I won't deny as the place looks desolate, now she's away. But that ain't neither here nor there. It was for her good, as my missis says. Most things as is un- pleasant is sent for good, they tell me ; and I wouldn't — not for any comfort to myself — have a talk got up about the clergyman " By this time Mr Wentworth had awakened to a sense of the real meaning of Elsworthy's talk. He sat upright on his chair, and looked into the face of the worthy shopkeeper until the poor man trembled. "A talk about the clergyman'?" said the Curate. " About me, do you mean % and what has little Rosa to do with me 1 Have you gone crazy in Carlingford \ — what is the meaning of it all?" He sat with his elbows on the counter, looking at his trembling adherent — looking through and through him, as Elsworthy said. " I should be glad of an explanation ; what does it mean % " said Mr Wentworth, with 6 CHBONICLES OF CAKLINGFOED : a look which there was no evading; and the clerk of St Roque's cast an anxious glance round him for help. He would have accepted it from any quarter at that overwhelming moment ; but there was not even an errand-boy to divert from him the Curate's terrible eyes. " I — I don't know — I — can't tell how it got up," said the unhappy man, who had not even his " missis " in the parlour as a moral support. " One thing as I know is, it wasn't no blame o' mine. I as good as went down on my knees to them three respected ladies when they come to inquire. I said as it was kindness in you a-see- ing of the child home, and didn't mean nothing more. I ask you, sir, what could I do?" cried Mr Elsworthy. "Folks in Carlingford will talk o' two straws if they're a-seen a-blowing up Grange Lane on the same breath o' wind. I couldn't do no more nor contradict it," cried Rosa's guardian, getting excited in his self-defence; "and to save your feelings, Mr Wentworth, and put it out o' folks's power to talk, the missis has been and took her away." "To save my feelings!" said the Curate, with a laugh of contempt and vexation and impa- tience which it was not pleasant to hear. At another moment an accusation so ridiculous THE PEErETUAL CURATE. would have troubled him very little; but just now, with a sudden gleam of insight, he saw all the complications which might spring out of it to confuse further the path which he already felt to be so burdened. " I'll tell you what, Els- worthy," said Mr Wentworth ; "if you don't want to make me your enemy instead of your friend, you'll send for this child instantly, without a day's delay. Tell your wife that my orders are that she should come back directly. My feel- ings ! do the people in Carlingford think me an idiot, I wonder?" said the Curate, walking up and down to relieve his mind. " I don't know, sir, I'm sure," said Elsworthy. who thought some answer was required of him. To tell the truth, Rosa's uncle felt a little spite- ful. He did not see matters in exactly the same light as Mr Went worth did. At the bottom of his heart, after all, lay a thrill of awakened am- bition. Kings and princes had been known to marry far out of their degree for the sake of a beautiful face; and why a Perpetual Curate should be so much more lofty in his sentiments, puzzled and irritated the clerk of St Roque's. " There ain't a worm but will turn when he's trod upon," said Mr Elsworthy to himself ; and when his temper was roused, he became im- » CHB0NICLE8 OF CABLDTGFOBD : pertinent, according to the manner of his kind. Mr Wentworth gave him a quick look, struck by the changed tone, but unable to make out whether it might not be stupidity. "You un- derstand what I mean, Elsworthy," he said, with his loftiest air. " If Rosa does not return in- stantly, I shall be seriously offended. How you and your friends could be such utter idiots as to get up this ridiculous fiction, I can't conceive ; but the sooner it's over the better. I expect to see her back to-morrow," said the Curate, taking up his bag and looking with an absolute despot- ism, which exasperated the man, in Elsworthy's face. " You may be sure, sir, if she knows as you want to see her, she'll come," said the worm which had been trampled on ; " and them as asks me why, am I to say it was the clergyman's orders V said Elsworthy, looking up in his turn with a consciousness of power. " That means a deal, does that. 1 wouldn't take it upon me to say as much, not of myself ; but if them's your orders, Mr Wentworth " "It appears to me, Elsworthy," said the Curate, who was inwardly in a towering passion, though outwardly calm enough, " either that you've been THE TERPETUAL CURATE. 9 drinking, or that you mean to be impertinent — which is it %" "Me! — drinking, sir V cried the shopkeeper. " If I had been one as was given that way, I wouldn't have attended to your interests not as I have done. There ain't another man in ( Jar- lingford as has stood up for his clergyman as I have ; and as for little Eosa, sir, most folks as had right notions would have inquired into that ; but being as I trusted in you, I wasn't the one to make any talk. I've said to everybody as has asked me that there wasn't nothing in it but kindness. I don't say as I hadn't my own thoughts — for gentlemen don't go walking up Grange Lane with a pretty little creature like that all for nothing ; but instead o' making any- thing of that, or leading of you on, or putting it in the child's head to give you encouragement, what was it I did but send her away afore you came home, that you mightn't be led into temp- tation ! And instead of feelin' grateful, you say I've been drinking ! It's a thing as I scorn to answer," said Mr Elsworthy ; " there ain't no need to make any reply — all Carlingford knows me ; but as for Rosa, if it is understood plain between us that it's your wish, I ain't the man to interfere," continued Rosa's guardian, with a 10 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD : smile which drove the Curate frantic ; " but she hasn't got no father, poor thing, and it's my business to look after her ; and I'll not bring her back, Mr Went worth, unless it's understood between us plain." Strong language, forcible but unclerical, was on the Curate's lips, and it was only with an effort that he restrained himself. " Look here, Elsworthy," he said ; " it will be better for you not to exasperate me. You understand per- fectly what I mean. I repeat, Rosa must come back, and that instantly. It is quite unneces- sary to explain to you why I insist upon this, for you comprehend it. Pshaw ! don't let us have any more of this absurdity," he exclaimed, impatiently. " No more, I tell you. Your wife is not such a fool. Let anybody who inquires about me understand that I have come back, and am quite able to account for all my actions," said the Curate, shouldering his bag. He was just about leaving the shop when Elsworthy rushed after him in an access of alarm and repentance. " One moment, sir," cried the shopkeeper ; " there ain't no offence, Mr Wentworth 1 I am sure there ain't nobody in Carlingford as means better, or would do as much for his clergyman. THE TERPETUAL CURATE. 11 One moment, sir ; there was one thing as I for- got to mention. Mr Wodehouse, sir, has been took bad. There was a message up a couple of hours ago to know when you was expected home. He's had a stroke, and they don't think as he'll get over it — being a man of a full 'abit of body," said Mr Elsworthy in haste, lest the Curate should break in on his unfinished speech, " makes it dangerous. I've had my fears this long time past." " A stroke," said the Curate — " a fit, do you mean ? When, and how \ and, good heavens ! to think that you have been wasting my time with rubbish, and knew this !" Mr Went worth tossed down his travelling-bag again, and wiped his forehead nervously. He had forgotten his real anxiety in the irritation of the moment. Now it returned upon him with double force. " How did it come on V he asked, "and when?" and stood waiting for the answer with a world of other questions, which he could not put to Elsworthy, hanging on his lips. " I have a deal of respect for that family, sir," said Elsworthy ; " they have had troubles as few folks in Carlino;ford know of. How close they have kep' things, to be sure ! — but not so close as them that has good memories, and can 12 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD : put two and two together, couldn't call to mind. My opinion, sir, if you believe me," said the clerk of St Roque's, approaching close to the ('mate's ear, " is, that it's something concerning the son." "The son!" said Mr Wentworth, with a troubled look. Then, after a pause, he added quickly, as if his exclamation had been an oversight, " What son ? has Mr Wodehouse a son?" " To think as they should have been so close with the clergyman ! " said Elsworthy, inno- cently ; " though he ain't no credit that they should talk of him. He's been gone out o' Car- lingford nigh upon twenty year ; but he ain't dead for all that ; and I'm told as he's been seen about Grange Lane this last spring. I am one as hears all the talk that's a-o'oino; on, being, as you might say, in a public position of life. Such a thing mightn't maybe come to your ears, sir ? " he continued, looking inquisi- tively in Mr Wentworth's face ; " but wherever he is, you may be sure it's something about him as has brought on this attack on the old man. It was last night as he was took so bad, and a couple of hours ago a message came up. Miss Wodehouse (as is the nicest lady in Grange THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 13 Lane, and a great friend to me) had took a panic, and she was a-crying for yon, the man said, and wouldn't take no denial. If I had known where yon was to be found, I'd have sent word." " Send down my bag to my house," said the Curate, hastily interrupting him. " Good-night — don't forget what I said about the other matter." Mr Wentworth went out of the shop with a disagreeable impression that Els- worthy had been examining his face like an inquisitor, and was already forming conclusions from what he had seen there. He went away hurriedly, with a great many vague fears in his mind. Mr Wodehouse's sudden illness seemed to him a kind of repetition and echo of the Squire's, and in the troubled and uncertain state of his thoughts, he got to confusing them together in the centre of this whirl of unknown disaster and perplexity. Perhaps even thus it was not all bitterness to the young man to feel his family united with that of Lucy Wodehouse. He went down Grange Lane in the summer darkness under the faint stars, full of anxiety and alarm, yet not without a thrill in his heart, a sweeter under-current of conscious agitation in the knowledge that he was hastening to her 14 CHRONICLES OF CAELINGFOED : presence. Sudden breaks in his thoughts re- vealed her, as if behind a curtain, rising to re- ceive him, giving him her hand, meeting his look with a smile ; so that, on the whole, neither Gerald's distress, nor Jack's alarmiug call, nor his father's attack, nor Mr Wodehouse's illness, nor the general atmosphere of vexation and trouble surrounding his way, could succeed in making the young man totally wretched. He had this little stronghold of his own to retire into. The world could not fall to pieces so long as he continued with eager steps to de- vour the road which led to Mr Wodehouse's garden-door. Before he had reached that goal, however, he met a group who were evidently returning from some little dinner in Grange Lane. Mr Went- worth took off his hat hastily in recognition of Mrs Morgan, who was walking by her husband's side, with a bright-coloured hood over her head instead of a bonnet. The Curate, who was a man of taste, could not help observing, even in the darkness, and amid all his preoccupations, how utterly the cherry-coloured trimmings of her head-dress were out of accordance with the serious countenance of the Eector's wife, who THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 15 was a little heated with her walk. She was a good woman, but she was not fair to look upon ; and it occurred to Mr Wentworth to wonder if Lucy were to wait ten years for him, would the youthful grace dry and wither out of her like this ! And then all at once another idea flashed upon his mind, without any wish of his. Like the unhappy lover in the ballad, he was suddenly aware of a temptation — " How there looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright, And how he knew it was a fiend." " Of course the Rectory will go to Frank." He could not tell why at that moment the words rang into his ear with such a penetrating sound. That he hated himself for being able to think of such a possibility made no dif- ference. It came darting and tingling into his mind like one of those suggestions of blasphemy which the devils whispered in Christian's ear as he went through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He went on faster than ever to escape from it, scarcely observing that Mrs Morgan, instead of simply acknowledging his bow as she passed, stopped to shake hands and to say how glad she was he had come back again. He 16 CHRONICLES OF CABUNGFOKD. thought of it afterwards with wonder and a strange gratitude. The Rector's wife was not like the conventional type of a pitying angel ; and even had she been so, he had not time to recognise her at that moment as he went struggling with his demons to Mr Wodehouse's green door. CHAPTER XXI. When the green door was opened, Mr Went- worth saw at a glance that there was agitation and trouble in the house. Lights were twinkling irregularly in the windows here and there, but the family apartment, the cheerful drawing- room, which generally threw its steady, cheerful blaze over the dark garden, shone but faintly with half-extinguished lights and undrawn curtains. It was evident at a glance that the room was deserted, and its usual occupants engaged else- where. " Master's very bad, sir," said the ser- vant who opened the door ; " the young ladies is both with him, and a hired nurse come in besides. The doctor don't seem to have no great hopes, but it will be a comfort to know as you have come back. Miss Wodehouse wanted you very bad an hour or two ago, for they thought as master was reviving, and could VOL. II. B 18 CHBONICLES OF CARLINGFOKD: understand. I'll go and let them know you are here." "Don't disturb them, unless 1 can be of use/' said Mr Wentworth. The look of the house, and the atmosphere of distress and anxiety about it, chilled him suddenly. His visions and hopes seemed guilty and selfish as he went slowly up those familiar steps and into the house, over which the shadow of death seemed already lying. He went by himself into the forsaken drawing-room, where two neglected candles were burning feebly in a corner, and the wistful sky looking in as if to ask why the domestic temple was thus left open and uncared for. After the first moment he went hastily to the windows, and drew down the blinds in a kind of tender impatience. He could not bear that anything in the world, even her father's danger, should discompose the sweet, good order of the place where Lucy's image dwelt. There was her chair and her basket of work, and on the little table a book marked with pencil-marks, such as youthful readers love to make ; and by degrees that breath of Lucy lingering in the silent room overcame its dreariness, and the painful sense of desertion which had struck him at first. He hovered about that corner where THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 19 her usual place was, feeling in his heart that Lucy in trouble was dearer, if possible, than Lucy in happiness, and hung over her chair, with a mixture of reverence and tenderness and yearning, which could never be expressed in words. It was the divinest phase of love which was in his mind at the moment ; for he was not thinking of himself, but of her, and of how he could succour and comfort her, and interpose his own true heart and life between her and all trouble. It was at this moment that Lucy her- self entered the room ; she came in softly, and surprised him in the overflowing of his heart. She held out her hand to him as usual, and smiled, perhaps less brightly, but that of course arose from the circumstances of the house ; and her voice was very measured and steady when she spoke, less variable than of old. What was it she said ? Mr Wentworth unconsciously left the neighbourhood of that chair over which he had been bending, which, to tell the truth, he had leaned his head upon, loverlike, and perhaps even kissed for her sake, five minutes before, and grew red and grew pale with a strange re- vulsion and tumult of feeling. He could not tell what the difference was, or what it meant. He only felt in an instant, with a sense of the 20 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD : change that chilled him to the heart, as if somehow a wall of ice had risen between them. He could see her through that transparent veil, and hear her speak, and perceive the smile which cast no warmth of reflection on him ; but in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, every- thing in heaven and earth was changed. Lucy herself, to her own consciousness, trembled and faltered, and felt as if her voice and her looks must betray an amount of emotion which she would have died rather than show ; but then Lucy had rehearsed this scene before, and knew all she intended by it ; whereas upon the Cur- ate, in his little flush and overflow of tenderness, it fell like a sudden earthquake, rending his fair edifice of happiness asunder, and casting him out into unexpected darkness. Sudden confu- sion, mortification, even a sense of injury and bitterness, came swelling over his heart as he set a chair for her as far away as possible from the corner in which he had been mdulsrins; such vain and unwarrantable dreams. " It happened yesterday," said Lucy ; " we have not been quite able to make out what was the cause ; at least I have not been able to find it out. The clerks at the office say it was some- thing about — but that does not matter," she THE PERPETUAL CUBATB. 21 went on, with her sweet politeness : "you don't care for the details. I sometimes fancy Mary knows more than she tells me, and I think you are in her confidence, Mr Wentworth. But I am not going to ask you any questions. The doctors say he is not suffering so much as he seems to be. It is terrible to see him lie there not knowing any of us," said Lucy, with a tremble in her voice. "But you thought him better some time ago \ " said the Curate, whose words choked him, and who could not endure to speak. " Yes, about six o'clock," said Lucy, " he tried to speak, and put Mary in a great fright, I can- not tell why. "Would you be good enough, Mr Wentworth," she went on hastily, with a strange mixture of earnestness and coldness, "if you know of anything she is keeping secret, to bid her tell me 1 I am able to bear anything there may be to bear — surely as well as she is, who has had no trouble," said Lucy, softly ; and for a moment she wavered in her fixed composure, and the wall of ice moved as if it might fall. " Nor you 1 " said the Curate, bending anxi- ously forward to look into her eyes. He was inexpressibly moved and agitated by the infer- ence, which perhaps no listener less intensely 22 < HBONII LBS OF I aim INGFORD : concerned would have drawn from what Lucy said. He could not bear that she should have any trouble which he might not do something to relieve her of. " Oh, no, nor I," said Lucy, quickly, and in that moment the softening of tone disappeared entirely. "Mary will be pleased to see you, Mr WYiitworth. I will go and relieve her pre- sently. Papa is asleep just now, and I was down-stairs giving some directions when you came in. I wanted to ask you to look after that poor woman at No. 10. She still keeps living on, and I have not been able to see her to-day. She misses me when I don't go," said Lucy, with a very little unconscious sigh. " Would you see her, please, to-morrow, if you have time % " " Yes, certainly," said the Curate ; and then there was a pause. " Is there nothing but this that you will let me do for you ? " he asked, trusting to his looks to show the heart, which at this moment he was so much tempted to disclose to her, but dared not. And even in all her trouble Lucy was too much of a woman to neglect an opportunity so tempting. " Thank you," she said. " Yes, there are those poor little Bertrams I was to have seen THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 23 to-day — if you would be so very good as to send some one to them." Lucy lifted her eyes only as she ended this little speech. She had meant it cruelly, to be sure, and the arrow had gone home ; but when she met the look that was fixed on her after her little shaft was fired. Lucy's resolution faltered. The tears came rushing to her eyes so hot and rapid that she could not restrain them. Some trouble of her own gave poignancy to that outbreak of filial grief. " Papa is so very ill ! " she said, with a sob, as a scalding drop fell upon her hand ; and then got up suddenly, afraid of the conse- quences. But the Curate, mortified, wounded, and disheartened as he was, had no comprehen- sion either of the bitterness or the relenting that was in Lucy's thoughts. Eosa Elsworthy did not so much as occur to him in all his confused wonderings. He went after her to the door, too much perplexed and distressed to be indig- nant, as his first impulse was. She turned half round, with a tremulous little inclination of her head, which was all the good -night she could venture on. But the young man was too much disturbed to permit this. "You will give me your hand, surely," he said, taking it, and holding it fast — a hand so 2 1 CHBONIi LES OF I aki.ixoford : different from that weak woman's band that clung to Gerald without any force to hold him, in \\ 50 CHRONICLES OF CABLTNGFOED: the sofa in Buperb indifference, victorious over all sense of right, did more to corjfirm his hum- ble admirer in the life which he had almost made up his mind to abandon, than even his own inclination towards forbidden pleasure. He was dazzled by the success of his principal ; and in comparison with that instructive sight, his fathers probable deathbed, his sisters' tears, and even his own present discomfort, faded into insignificance. What Jack "Went worth was, Tom Wodehouse could never be ; but at least he could follow his great model humbly and afar off. These sentiments made him receive but sulkily the admonitions of the Curate, when he led the way out of the preoccupied sitting- room ; for Mr Wentworth was certainly not the victor in this passage of arms. " I will do what I can to help you out of this," said the Curate, pausing within the door of Wodehouse's room, "for the sake of your — friends. But look here, Wodehouse ; I have not preached to you hitherto, and I don't mean to do so now. "When a man has done a crime, he is generally past preaching. The law will punish you for forging your father's name " " It's my name as well as his, by Jove ! " in- THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 51 terrupted the culprit, sullenly ; " I've a right to sign it wherever I please." "But the law," said Mr "Went worth, with emphasis, "has nothing to do with the breaking of your father's heart. If he dies, think whe- ther the recollection will be a comfortable one. I will save you, if I can, and there is time, though I am compromised already, and it may do me serious injury. If you get free and are cleared from this, will you go away and break off your connection with — yes, you are quite right — I mean with my brother, whatever the connection may be ? I will only exert myself for you on condition that you promise. You will go away somehow, and break off your old habits, and try if it is possible to begin anew 1 " Wodehouse paused before he answered. The vision of Jack in the Curate's sitting-room still dazzled him. " You daren't say as much to your brother as you say to me," he replied, after a while, in his sulky way ; " but I'm a gentleman, by Jove, as well as he is." And he threw him- self down in a chair, and bit his nails, and grumbled into his beard. " It's hard to ask a fellow to give up his liberty," he said, without lifting his eyes. Mr Wentworth, perhaps, was a little contemptuous of the sullen wretch who 52 CHRONICLES OF I LRLIXGFOBD : already had involved him in so much annoy- ance and trouble. "You can take your choice," he said; "the law will respect your liberty less than I shall;" and all the Curate's self-control could not con- ceal a certain amount of disdain. " By Jove ! " said "Wodehouse, lifting up his eyes, " if the old man should die, you'd change your tone ; " and then he stopped short and looked suspiciously at the Curate. "There's no will, and I'm the heir," he said, with sullen braggadocio. Mr Wentworth was still young, and this look made him sick with disgust and indignation. "Then you can take your chance," he said, impatiently, making a hasty step to the door. He would not return, though his ungrateful guest called him back, but went away, much excited and disgusted, to see if the fresh air outside would restore his composure. On his way down-stairs he again met Sarah, who was hovering about in a restless state of curiosity. "I've made up a bed for you, please, sir, in the little dressing-room," said Sarah ; " and, please, Cook wants to know, wouldn't you have any- thing to eat?" The question reminded Mr Wentworth that he had eaten nothing since THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 53 luncheon, which he took in his father's house. Human nature, which can bear great blows with elasticity so wonderful, is apt to be put out, as everybody knows, by their most trifling acces- sories, and a man naturally feels miserable when he has had no dinner, and has not a place to shelter him while he snatches a necessary mouthful. "Never mind; all the rooms are occupied to-night," said the Perpetual Curate, feeling thoroughly wretched. But Cook and Sarah had arranged all that, being naturally indignant that their favourite clergyman should be "put upon" by his disorderly and unex- pected guests. " I have set your tray, sir, in missis's parlour," said Sarah, opening the door of that sanctuary ; and it is impossible to describe the sense of re- lief with which the Perpetual Curate flung him- self down on Mrs Hadwin's sofa, deranging a quantity of cushions and elaborate crochet-work draperies without knowing it. Here at least he was safe from intrusion. But his reflections were far from beino- agreeable as he ate his beef- steak. Here he was, without any fault of his own, plunged into the midst of a complication of disgrace and vice. Perhaps already the name of Lucy Wodehouse was branded with 54 CHRONICLES OF CARLLNGFORD : her brother's shame; perhaps still more over- whelming infamy might overtake, through that means, the heir and the name of the Went- worths. And for himself, what he had to do was to attempt with all his powers to defeat justice, and save from punishment a criminal for whom it was impossible to feel either syni- pathy or hope. When he thought of Jack up- stairs on the sofa over his French novel, the heart of the Curate burned within him with in- dignation and resentment ; and his disgust at his other guest was, if less intense, au equally painful sensation. It was hard to waste his strength, and perhaps compromise his character, for such men as these ; but on the other hand he saw his father, with that malady of the Went- worths hanging over his head, doing his best to live and last, like a courageous English gentle- man as he was, for the sake of " the girls " and the little children, who had so little to expect from Jack ; and poor stupid Mr Wodehouse dying of the crime which assailed his own credit as well as his son's safety. The Curate of St Korme's drew a long breath, and raised himself up unconsciously to his full height as he rose to go up-stairs. It was he against the world at the moment, as it appeared. He set himself to THE PERPETUAL CUKATE. 55 his uncongenial work with a heart that revolted against the evil cause of which he was about to constitute himself the champion. But for the Squire, who had misjudged him — for Lucy, who had received him with such icy smiles, and closed up her heart against his entrance ; — some- times there is a kind of bitter sweetness in the thought of spending love and life in one lavish and prodigal outburst upon those to whom our hearts are bound, but whose affections make us no return. CHAPTER XXIII. The Curate went to breakfast next morning with a little curiosity and a great deal of pain- ful feeling. He had been inhospitable to his brother, and a revulsion had happened such as happens invariably when a generous man is forced by external circumstances to show him- self churlish. Though his good sense and his pride alike prevented him from changing his resolution of the previous night, still his heart had relented toward .lack, and he felt sorry and half ashamed to meet the brother to whom he had shown so much temper and so little kind- ness. It was much later than usual when he came down-stairs, and Jack was just coming out of the comfortable chamber which belonged of right to his brother, when the Curate entered the sitting-room. Jack was in his dressing- gown, as on the previous night, and came forth THE PERPETUAL CUEATE. 57 humming an air out of the ' Trovatore,' and looking as wholesomely fresh and clean and dainty as the most honest gentleman in Eng- land. He gave his brother a good-humoured nod, and wished him good morning. " I am glad to see you don't keep distressingly early hours," he said, between the bars of the air he was humming. He was a man of perfect diges- tion, like all the Wentworths, and got up, ac- cordingly, in a good temper, not disposed to make too much of any little incivility that might have taken place. On the contrary, he helped himself to his brother's favourite omelet with the most engaging cheerfulness, and en- tered into such conversation as might be sup- posed to suit a Perpetual Curate in a little country town. " I daresay you have a good many nice people about here," said Jack. " I've done nothing but walk about since I came — and it does a man good to see those fresh little women with their pink cheeks. There's one, a sister of our friend's, I believe," he continued, with a nod towards the door to indicate Wodehouse — " an uncommonly pretty girl, I can tell you ; and there's a little rosebud of a creature at that shop, whom, they tell me, you're interested in. Your living is not 58 CHB0N1CLE8 OF CAELINGFOM) : wortli much, I suppose 1 It's unlucky having two clergymen in a family; but, to be sure, you're going in for Skelmersdale. By the way, that reminds me — how are the aunts \ I have not heard anything of them for ages. Female relations of that description generally cling to the parsons of the race. I suppose they are all living — all three \ Such people never seem to die." " They are here," said the Curate, succinctly, " living in Carlingford. I wonder nobody has told you." A sudden bright spark lighted in the prodi- gal's eyes. " Ah, they are here, are they \ " he said, after a momentary pause ; " so much the better for you ; but in justice you ought to be content with the living. I say so as your elder brother. Gerald has the best right to what they've got to leave. By the by, how are Ger- ald and the rest? you've just been there. I suppose our respected parent goes on multiply- ing. To think of so many odious little wretches calling themselves Wentworth is enough to make one disgusted with the name." " My father was very ill when I left ; he has had another attack," said the Curate. " He does not seem able to bear any agitation. Your telegram upset him altogether. 1 don't know THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 59 what you've been about — he did not tell me," continued the younger brother, with a little emotion, " but he is very uneasy about you." " Ah, I daresay," said Jack ; " that's natural ; but he's wonderfully tough for such an old fellow. I should say it would take twenty attacks to fiuish him ; and this is the second, isn't it 1 I wonder how long an interval there was between the two ; it would be a pretty cal- culation for a post-obit. Wodehouse seems to have brought his ancestor down at the first shot almost ; but then there's no entail in his case, and the old fellow may have made a will. I beg your pardon ; you don't like this sort of talk. I forgot you were a clergyman. I rather like this town of yours, do you know. Sweet situation, and good for the health, I should say. I'll take your advice, I think, about the — how did you call it \ — Black Boar. Unless, indeed, some charitable family would take me in," said the elder brother, with a glance from under his eyelids. His real meaning did not in the least degree suggest itself to the Curate, who was thinking more of what was past than of what was to come. " You seem to take a great interest in Wode- house 1 " said Mr "Wentworth. 60 CHEONICLE8 OF CARLIXGFORD : " Yes ; and so do you," said Jack, with a keen glance of curiosity — " I can't tell why. My interest in him is easily explained. If the affair came to a trial, it might involve other people who are of retiring dispositions and dislike publicity. I don't mind saying," continued the heir of the Wei it worths, laying down his knife and fork, and looking across at his brother with smiling candour, "that I might myself be brought before the world in a way which would wound my modesty; so it must not be per- mitted to go any further, you perceive. The partner has got a warrant out, but has not put it into execution as yet. That's why I sent for you. You are the only man, so far as I can see, that can be of any use." "I don't know what you mean," said the Curate, hastily, " nor what connection you can possibly have with Wodehouse ; perhaps it is better not to inquire. I mean to do my best for him, independent of you." "Do," said Jack Wentworth, with a slight yawn ; " it is much better not to inquire. A clergyman runs the risk of hearing things that may shock him when he enters into worldly business ; but the position of mediator is thor- oughly professional. Now for the Black Boar. THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 61 I'll send for my traps when I get settled," lie said, rising in his languid way. He had made a very good breakfast, and he was not at all disposed to make himself uncomfortable by quarrelling with his brother. Besides, he had a new idea in his mind. So he gave the Curate another little good - humoured nod, and dis- appeared into the sleeping-room, from which he emerged a few minutes after with a coat replac- ing the dressing-gown, ready to go out. "I daresay I shall see you again before I leave Car- lingford," he said, and left the room with the utmost suavity. As for Mr Wentworth, it is probable that his brother's serenity had quite the reverse of a soothing effect upon his mind and temper. He rose from the table as soon as Jack was gone, and for a long time paced about the room composing himself, and planning what he was to do — so long, indeed, that Sarah, after coming up softly to inspect, had cleared the table and put everything straight in the room before the Curate discovered her presence. It was only when she came up to him at last, with her little rustical curtsy, to say that, please, her missis would like to see him for a moment in the parlour, that Mr Wentworth found out that she was there. This interrup- 62 CHRONICLES OF CAELTNGFOKD : tion roused liira out of his manifold and compli- cated thoughts. "I am too busy just now, but I will see Mrs Had win to-night," he said ; "and you can tell her that my brother has gone to get rooms at the Blue Boar." After he had thus satisfied the sympathetic handmaiden, the Curate crossed over to the closed door of Wode- house's room and knocked. The inmate there was still in bed, as was his custom, and answered Mr Wentworth through his beard in a recumbent voice, less sulky and more uncer- tain than on the previous night. Poor Wode- house had neither the nerve nor the digestion of his more splendid associate. He had no strength of evil in himself when he was out of the way of it ; and the consequence of a restless night was a natural amount of penitence and shame in the morning. He met the Curate with a depressed countenance, and answered all his questions readily enough, even giving him the particulars of the forged bills, in respect to which Thomas Wodehouse the younger could not, somehow, feel so guilty as if it. had been a name different from his own which he had affixed to those fatal bits of paper ; and he did not hesitate much to promise that he would go abroad and try to make a new beginning if this THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 63 matter could be settled. Mr Wentworth went out with some satisfaction after the interview, believing in his heart that his own rem on- strances had had their due effect, as it is so natural to believe — for he did not know, having slept very soundly, that it had rained a good deal during the night, and that Mrs Hadwin's biggest tub (for the old lady had a passion for rain-water) was immediately under poor Wode- house's window, and kept him awake as it filled and ran over all through the summer darkness. The recollection of Jack "Wentworth, even in his hour of success, was insufficient to fortify the simple soul of his humble admirer against that ominous sound of the unseen rain, and against the flashes of sudden lightning that seemed to blaze into his heart. He could not help thinking of his father's sick-bed in those midnight hours, and of all the melancholy array of lost years which had made him no longer " a gentleman as he used to be," but a skulking vagabond in his native place ; and his peni- tence lasted till after he had had his breakfast and Mr Wentworth was gone. Then perhaps the other side of the question recurred to his mind, and he began to think that if his father died there might be no need for his banish- G4 CHRONICLES OF CAKLIXGFORD : rnent; but Mr AVeutworth knew nothing of this change in his proteges sentiments, as he went quickly up Grange Lane. Wharfside and all the district had lain neglected for three long days, as the Curate was aware, and he had promised to call at No. 10 Prickett's Lane, and to look after the little orphan children whom Lucy had taken charge of. His occupations, in short, both public and private, were overpower- ing, and he could' not tell how he was to get through them ; for, in addition to everything else, it was Friday, and there was a litany ser- vice at twelve o'clock in St Roque's. So the young priest had little time to lose as he hurried up once again to Mr AVodehouse's green door. It was Miss Wodehouse who came to meet the Curate as soon as his presence was known in the house — Miss Wodehouse, and not Lucy, who made way for her sister to pass her, and took no notice' of Mr AVentworth's name. The elder sister entered very hurriedly the little parlour down-stairs, and shut the door fast, and came up to him with an anxious inquiring face. She told him her father was just the same, in faltering tones. "And, oh, Mr Wentworth, has anything happened % " she exclaimed, with end- THE PEEPETUAL CURATE. 65 less unspeakable questions in her eyes. It was so hard for the gentle woman to keep her secret — the very sight of somebody who knew it was a relief to her heart. " I want you to give me full authority to act for yon," said the Curate. " I must go to Mr Wode- house's partner and discuss the whole matter." Here Miss Wodehouse gave a little cry, and stopped him suddenly. " Oh, Mr Wentworth, it would kill papa to know you had spoken of it to any one. You must send him away," she said, breathless with anxiety and terror. "To think of discussing it with any one when even Lucy does not know ! " She spoke with so much haste and fright that it was scarcely possible to make out her last words. "Nevertheless I must speak to Mr Waters," said the Curate ; " I am going there now. He knows all about it already, and has a warrant for his apprehension; but we must stop that. I will undertake that it shall be paid, and you must give me full authority to act for you." When Miss Wodehouse met the steady look he gave her, she veered immediately from her fright at the thought of having it spoken of, to gratitude to him who was thus ready to take her burden into his hands. VOL. II. E 66 CHBONICLES OF CARLINGFOED: "Oh, Mr "Wentworth, it is so good of you — it is like a brother!" said the trembling woman; and then she made a pause. " I say a brother," she said, drawing an involuntary moral, "though we have never had any good of ours ; and oh, if Lucy only knew !" The Curate turned away hastily, and wrung her hand without being aware of it. " No," he said, with a touch of bitterness, " don't let her know. I don't want to appeal to her gratitude ; " and with that he became silent, and fell to list- ening, standing in the middle of the room, if perhaps he might catch any sound of footsteps coming down-stairs. " She will know better some day." said Miss Wodehouse, wiping her eyes ; " and oh, Mr "Wentworth, if papa ever gets better !" Here the poor lady broke down into inarticulate weeping. " But I know you will stand by us," she said, amid her tears ; " it is all the comfort I have — and Lucy " There was no sound of any footstep on the stair — nothing but the ticking of the timepiece on the mantelshelf, and the rustling of the cur- tains in the soft morning breeze which came through the open window, and Miss Wodehouse's crying. The Curate had not expected to see THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 67 Lucy, and knew in his heart that it was better they should not meet just at this moment; but, notwithstanding this, it was strange how bitter and disappointed he felt, and what an impa- tient longing he had for one look of her, even though it should be a look which would drive him frantic with mortified love and disappointed expectation. To know that she was under the same roof, and that she knew he was here, but kept away, and did not care to see him, was gall to his excited mind. He went away hastily, pressing poor Miss Wodehouse's hand with a kind of silent rage. " Don't talk about Lucy," he said, half to himself, his heart swelling and throbbing; at the sound of the name. It was the first time he had spoken it aloud to any ear but his own, and he left the house tingling with an indignation and mortification and bitter fondness which could not be expressed in words. What he was about to do was for her sake, and he thought to himself, with a forlorn pride, that she would never know it, and it did not matter. He could not tell that Lucy was glancing out furtively over the blind, ashamed of herself in her wounded heart for doing so, and wondering whether even now he was occupied with that unworthy love which had made an everlasting 68 CHB0N1CLE8 OF CAELINGFORD; separation between them. If it bad been any one worthy, it would have been different, poor Lucy thought, as she pressed back the tears into her eyes, and looked out wistfully at him over the blind. She above-stairs in the sick-room, and he in the fresh garden hastening out to his work, were both thinking in their hearts how perverse life was, and how hard it was not to be happy — as indeed they well might in a general way ; though perhaps one glance of the Curate's eyes upward, one meeting of looks, might have resulted quite unreasonably in a more felicitous train of thinking, at least for that day. CHAPTER XXIY. When Mr Went worth arrived in the little vestry at St Roque's to robe himself for the approach- ing service, it was after a long and tough con- test with Mr Wodehouse's partner, which had to a great extent exhausted his energies. Mr Wodehouse was the leading attorney in Carling- ford, the chief family solicitor in the county, a man looked upon with favourable eyes even by the great people as being himself a cadet of a county family. His partner, Mr Waters, was altogether a different description of man. He was much more clever, and a good deal more like a gentleman, but he had not a connection in the world, and had fought his way up to prosperity through many a narrow, and perhaps, if people spoke true, many a dirty avenue to fortune. He was very glad of the chance which brought his partner's reputation and credit thus under his 70 CHEONICLES OF CABUNGFOBD : power, and he was by no means disposed to deal gently with the prodigal sou. That is to say, he was quite disinclined to let the family out of his clutches easily, or to consent to be silent and "frustrate the ends of justice" for anything else than an important equivalent. Mr AVent worth had much ado to restrain his temper while the wily attorney talked about his conscience ; for the Curate was clearsighted enough to perceive at the first glance that Air Waters had no real intention of proceeding to extremities. The lawyer would not pledge himself to anything, notwithstanding all Mr AVentworth's arguments. " AVodehouse himself was of the opinion that the law should take its course," he said ; but out of respect for his partner he might wait a few days to see what turn his illness would take. "I confess that I am not adapted for my profession, Mr AVentworth. My feelings overcome me a great deal too often," said the sharp man of business, looking full into the Curate's eyes, " and while the father is dying I have not the heart to proceed against the son ; but I pledge myself to nothing — recollect, to nothing." And with this and a very indignant mind Air AVent- worth had been forced to come away. His thoughts were occupied with the contrarieties of THE PERPETUAL CUEATE. 71 the world as he hastened along to St Eoque's — how one man had to bear another's burdens in every station and capacity of life, and how an- other man triumphed and came to success by means of the misfortunes of his friends. It was hard to tell what made the difference, or how humankind got divided into these two great classes, for possibly enough the sharp attorney was as just in his way as the Curate ; but Mr Wentworth sot no more satisfaction in thinking of it than speculatists generally have when they investigate this strange, wayward, fantastical humanity which is never to be calculated upon. He came into the little vestry of St Roque's, which was a stony little room with a groined roof and windows too severely English in their character to admit any great amount of light, with a sensation of fatigue and discouragement very natural to a man who had been interfering in other people's affairs. There was some com- fort in the litany which he was just going to say, but not much comfort in any of the human indi- viduals who would come into Mr Wentworth's mind as he paused in the midst of the suffrage for "sick persons" and for those who "had erred and were deceived," that the worshippers might whisper into God's ear the names for which their 72 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD : hearts were most concerned. The young priest sighed heavily as he put on his surplice, ponder- ing all the obstinate selfishness and strange con- tradictions of men ; and it was only when he heard a rather loud echo to his breath of weari- ness that he looked up and saw Elsworthy, who was contemplating him with a very curious expression of face. The clerk started a little on being discovered, and began to look over all the choristers' books and set them in readiness, though, indeed, there were no choristers on Fri- days, but only the ladies, who chanted the re- sponses a great deal more sweetly, and wore no surplices. Thinking of that, it occurred to Mr Wentworth how much he would miss the round full notes which always betrayed Lucy's presence to him even when he did. not see her ; and he forgot Elsworthy, and sighed again without thinking of any comment which might be made upon the sound. " I'm sorry to see, sir, as you ain't in your usual good spirits ? " said that observant spectator, com- ing closer up to "his clergyman." Elsworthy's eyes were full of meanings which Mr Went- worth could not, and had no wish to, decipher. "I am perfectly well, thank you," said the Perpetual Curate, with his coldest tone. He THE PEKPETUAL CURATE. 73 had become suspicious of the man, he could scarcely tell why. "There's a deal of people in church this morning," said the clerk ; and then he came closer still, and spoke in a kind of whisper, "About that little matter as we was speaking of, Mr AVentworth — that's all straight, sir, and there ain't no occasion to be vexed. She came back this morning," said Elsworthy, under his breath. " Who came back this morning 1 " asked the Curate, with a little surprise. His thoughts had been so much with Lucy that no one else occurred to him at the moment ; and even while he asked this question, his busy fancy began to wonder where she could have been, and what motive could have taken her away 1 " I couldn't mean nobody but Kosa, as I talked to you about last night," said Elsworthy. " She's come back, sir, as you wished ; and I have heard as she was in Carlimrford last nio;ht just afore you come, Mr Wentworth, when 1 thought as she was far enough off ; which you'll allow, sir, whoever it was she come to see, it wasn't the right thing, nor what her aunt and me had reason to expect." The Curate of St Roque's said " Pshaw ! " 74 CHBONICLES OF CAELINGFORD : carelessly to himself. He was not at all in- terested in Eosa Elsworthy. Instead of making any answer, be drew on tbe scarlet band of bis bood, and marched away gravely into tbe read- ing-desk, leaving tbe vestry-door open behind bim for tbe clerk to follow. The little dangers that harassed his personal footsteps had not yet awakened so much as an anxiety in bis mind. Things much more serious preoccupied his thoughts. He opened his prayer-book with a consciousness of the L>*ood of it which comes to men only now and then. At Oxford, in his day, Mr Wentworth had entertained his doubts like others, and like most people was aware that there were a great many things in heaven and earth totally unexplainable by any philosophy. But he had always been more of a man than a thinker, even before he became a high Angli- can ; and being still much in earnest about most things he had to do with, he found great comfort just at this moment, amid all bis per- plexities, in the litany he was saying. He was so absorbed in it, and so full of that appeal ont of all troubles and miseries to the God who can- not be indifferent to His creatures, that he was almost at the last Amen before he distinguished that voice, which of all voices was most dear to THE PEEPETUAL CUEATE. 75 him. The heart of the young man swelled, when he heard it, with a mingled thrill of sym- pathy and wounded feeling. She had not left her father's sick-bed to see him, but she had found time to run down the sunny road to St Roque's to pray for the sick and the poor. When he knelt down in the reading-desk at the end of the service, was it wrong, instead of more abstract supplications, that the young priest said over and over, " God bless her," in an out- burst of pity and tenderness % And he did not try to overtake her on the road, as he might have done had his heart been less deeply touched, but went off with abstracted looks to Wharfside, where all the poor people were very glad to see him, and where his absence was spoken of as if he had been three months instead of three days away. It was like going back a century or two into primitive life, to go into "the district," where civilisation did not prevail to any very distressing extent, and where people in general spoke their minds freely. But even when he came out of No. 10, where the poor woman still kept on living, Mr Wentworth was made aware of his private troubles ; for on the opposite side of the way, where there was a little bit of vacant ground, the Rector was standing with some of 76 chronicles OF carlingford: the schismatics of Wharfside, planning how to place the iron church which, it was said, he meant to establish in the very heart of the "district." Mr Morgan took off his hat very stiffly to the Perpetual Curate, who returned up Prickett's Lane with a heightened colour and quickened pulse. A man must be an angel in- deed who can see his work taken out of his hands and betray no human emotion. Mr Went worth went into Elsworthy's, as he went back, to write a forcible little note to the Rector on the subject before he returned home. It was Rosa who handed him the paper he wanted, and he gave her a little nod without looking at her. But when he had closed his note, and laid it on the counter to be delivered, the Curate found her still standing near, and looked at the little blushing creature with some natural ad- miration. " So you have come back," he said ; "but mind you don't go into Grange Lane any more after dark, little Rosa." When he had left the shop and finished this little matter, he bethought himself of his aunts, whom he had not seen since he returned. Aunt Dora was not at her usual sentinel window when he crossed Grange Lane towards their garden- door ; and the door itself was open, and some THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 77 one from the Blue Boar was carrying in a large portmanteau. Mr NVentworth's curiosity was strangely excited by the sight. He said, " Who has come, Lewis % " to Miss Wentworth's man, who stood in the hall superintending the arrival. but ran up-stairs without waiting for any answer. He felt by instinct that the visitor was some one likely to increase the confusion of affairs, and perplex matters more and more to him- self. But even this presentiment did not prepare him for the astonishing sight which met his eyes when he entered the drawing-room. There the three ladies were all assembled, regarding with different developments of interest the new- comer, who had thrown himself, half-reclining, on a sofa. Aunt Dora was sitting by him with a bottle of eau-de-Cologne in her hand, for this meeting had evidently gone to the heart of the returned prodigal. Aunt Dora was ready to have sacrificed all the veal in the country in honour of Jack's repentance ; and the Curate stood outside upon the threshold, looking at the scene with the strangest half-angry, half-comical realisation of the state of mind of the elder brother in the parable. He had himself been rather found fault with, excused, and tolerated 78 CHE0NICLE8 OF I AKI.IXGFORD : among his relations ; but Jack had at once be- come master of the position, and taken posses- sion of all their sympathies. Mr AVentworth stood gazing at them, half-amused, and yet more angry than amused — feeling, with a little indig- nation, as was natural, that the pretended peni- tence of the clever sinner was far more effective and interesting than his own spotless loyalty and truth. To be sure, they were only three old ladies — three old aunts — and he smiled at the sight ; but though he smiled, he did not like it, and perhaps was more abrupt than usual in his salutations. Miss Leonora was seated at her writing-table, busy with her correspondence. The question of the new gin-palace was not yet decided, and she had been in the middle of a letter of encouragement to her agents on the subject, reminding them that, even though the licence was granted, the world would still go on all the same, and that the worst possibilities must be encountered, when Jack the prodigal made his appearance, with all the tokens of re- formation and repentance about him, to throw himself upon the Christian charity of his rela- tions. A penitent sinner was too tempting a bait for even Miss Leonora's good sense to withstand, and she had postponed her letter- THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 79 writing to hear bis explanations. But Jack had told his story by this time, and had explained how much he wanted to withdraw out of the world in which he had been led astray, and how sick he was of all its whirl of temptations and disappointment ; and Miss Leonora had re- turned to her letter when her younger nephew arrived. As for Miss Wentworth, she was seated placidly in her usual easy-chair, smiling with equable smiles upon both the young men, and lifting her beautiful old cheek for Frank to kiss, just as she had lifted it to Jack. It was Miss Dora who was most shaken out of her allem- o ance ; she who had always made Frank her special charge. Though she had wept herself into a day's headache on his behalf so short a time ago, aunt Dora for the moment had allowed the more effusive prodigal to supersede Frank. Instead of taking him into her arms as usual, and clinging to him, she only put the hand that held the eau-de-Cologne over his shoulder as she kissed him. Jack, who had been so dread- fully, inexpressibly wicked, and who had come back to his aunts to be converted and restored to his right mind, was more interesting than many curates. She sat down again by her peni- tent as soon as she had saluted his brother ; 80 CHBONIOLES OF CABUNGFOBD : autl even Misa Leonora, when she paused in her letter, turned her eyes towards Jack. " So Gerald is actually going over to Koine," said the strong-minded aunt. "I never ex- pected anything else. I had a letter from Louisa yesterday, asking me to use my in- fluence : as if I had any influence over your brother ! If a silly wife was any justification for a man making an idiot of himself, Gerald might be excused ; but I suppose the next thing we shall hear of will be that you have followed him, Frank. Did you hear anything further about Janet and that lover of hers 1 In a large family like ours there is always some- thing troublesome going on," said Miss Leonora. to to & ' " I am not surprised to hear of your father's attack. My father had a great many attacks, and lived to eighty ; but he had few difficulties with the female part of his household," she continued, with a grim little smile — for Miss Leonora rather piqued herself upon her exemp- tion from any known sentimental episode, even in her youth. " Dear Jack's return will make up for a great deal," said aunt Dora. " Oh, Frank, my dear, your brother has made us all so happy. He has just been telling us that he means to give THE PERPETUAL CUE ATE. 81 up all his racing and betting and wickedness ; and when he has been with us a little, and learned to appreciate a domestic circle " said poor Miss Dora, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. She was so much overcome that she could not finish the sentence. But she put her disengaged hand upon Jack's arm and patted it, and in her heart concluded that as soon as the blanket was done for Louisa's bassinet, she would work him a pair of slippers, which should endear more and more to him the domestic circle, and stimulate the new-born virtue in his repentant heart. " I don't know what Jack's return may do," said Mr \Ventworth, " but I hope you don't imagine it was Gerald who caused my father's illness. You know better, at least," said the indignant Curate, looking at the hero on the sofa. That interesting reprobate lifted his eyes with a covert gleam of humour to the unre- sponsive countenance of his brother, and then he stroked his silky beard and sighed. " My dear aunt, Frank is right," said Jack, with a melancholy voice. " I have not con- cealed from you that my father has great rea- son to be offended with me. I have done very much the reverse of what I ought to have done. VOL. II. f 82 CHK0NICLE8 OF CARLIXGFORD : I see even Frank can't forgive me ; and I don't wonder at it," said the prodigal, " tliough I have done him no harm that I know of;" and again the heir of the Went worths sighed, and covered his face for a moment with his hand. " Oh, Frank," cried Miss Dora, with streaming eyes — " oh, my dear boy ! — isn't there joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth 1 You're not going to be the wicked elder brother that grudged the prodigal his welcome — you're not going to give way to jealousy, Frank V " Hold your tongue, Dora," said the iron-grey sister ; " I daresay Frank knows a great deal better than you do ; but I want to know about Gerald, and what is to be done. If he goes to Kome, of course you w T ill take Wentworth Eec- tory ; so it will not be an unmingled evil," said Miss Leonora, biting her pen, and throwing a keen glance at the Curate of St Eoque's, " espe- cially as you and we differ so entirely in our views. I could not consent to appoint anybody to Skelmersdale, even if poor Mr Shirley were to die, who did not preach the Gospel ; and it would be sad for you to spend all your life in a Perpetual Curacy, where you could have no income, nor ever hope to be able to marry," she continued steadily, with her eyes fixed THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 83 upon her nephew. " Of course, if }~ou had entered the Church for the love of the work, it would be a different matter," said the strong- minded aunt. "But that sort of thing seems to have gone out of fashion. I am sorry about Gerald — very sorry; but after what I saw of him, I am not surprised ; and it is a comfort to one's mind to think that you will be provided for, Frank." Miss Leonora wrote a few words of the letter as she finished this speech. What she was saying in that epistle was (in reference to the gin-palace) that all discouragements were sent by God, and that, no doubt, His meaning was, that we should work all the harder to make way against them. After putting down which encouraging sentiment, she raised her eyes again, and planted her spear in her nephew's bosom with the greatest composure in the world. " My Perpetual Curacy suits me very well," said Mr Wentworth, with a little pride ; " and there is a good deal to do in Carlingford. How- ever, I did not come here to talk about that. The Eector is going to put up an iron church in my district," said the young man, who was rather glad of a subject which permitted a little of his indignation to escape. " It is very 84 CHRONICLES OP CABLINGFOED : easy to interfere with other people's work." And then he paused, not choosing to grumble to an unsympathetic audience. To feel that nobody cares about your feelings, is better than all the rules of self-control. The Perpetual Curate stopped instinctively with a dignified restraint, which would have been impossible to him under other circumstances. It was no merit of his, but he reaped the advantage of it all the same. " But oh, my dear," said Miss Dora, " what a comfort to think of what St Paul says — ' Whether it be for the right motive or not, Christ is still preached.' And one never knows what chance word may touch a heart," said the poor little woman, shaking her limp curls away from her cheeks. u It was you being offended with him that made dear Jack think of coming to us ; and what a happiness it is to think that he sees the error of his ways," cried poor Miss Dora, drying her tears. "And oh, Frank, my dear boy, 1 trust you will take warning by your brother, and not run into temptation," continued the anxious aunt, remembering all her troubles. " If you were to go wrong, it would take away all the pleasure of life." " That is just what I was thinking," said aunt Cecilia from her easy-chair. THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 8o " For, oh, Frank, my dear," said Miss Dora, much emboldened by this support, " you must consider that you are a clergyman, and there are a great many things that are wrong in a clergy- man that would not matter in another man. Oh, Leonora, if you would speak to him, he would mind you," cried the poor lady ; " for you know a clergyman is quite different ;" and Miss Dora again stopped short, and the three aunts looked at the bewildered Curate, who. for his part, sat gazing at them without an idea what they could mean. " What have I been doing that would be right in another man V he said, with a smile which was slightly forced; and then he turned to Jack, who was laughing softly under his breath, and stroking his silky beard. The elder brother was highly amused by the situation altogether, but Frank, as was natural, did not see it in the same light. "What have you been saying?" said the indignant Curate ; and his eyes gave forth a sudden light which frightened Miss Dora, and brought her in to the rescue. "Oh, Frank, he has not been saying anything," cried that troubled woman ; " it is only what we have heard everywhere. Oh, my dear boy, it is only for your good I ever thought of speak- 86 CHE0N1CLE8 OF CAELINGFORD : ing. There is nobody iu the world to whom your welfare is so precious," said poor Miss Dora. " Oh, Frank, if you and your brother were to have any difference, I should think it all my fault — and I always said you did not mean anything," she said, putting herself and her eau- de-Cologne between the two, and looking as if she were about to throw herself into the Curate's arms. " Oh, Frank, dear, don't blame any one else — it is my fault!" cried aunt Dora, with tears ; and the tender-hearted foolish creature kept between them, ready to rush in if any con- flict should occur, which was a supposition much resented by the Curate of St Koque's. " Jack and I have no intention of fighting, I daresay," he said, drawing his chair aw r ay with some impatience ; and Jack lay back on the sofa and stroked his beard, and looked on with the greatest composure while poor Miss Dora ex- hausted her alarm. "It is all my fault," sobbed aunt Dora ; " but, oh, my dear boy, it was only for your good ; and I always said you did not mean anything," said the discomfited peace- maker. All this, though it was highly amusing to the prodigal, was gall and bitterness to the Perpetual Curate. It moved him far more deeply than he could have imagined it possible THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 87 for anything spoken by his aunt Dora to move him. Perhaps there is something in human na- ture which demands to be comprehended, even where it is aware that comprehension is impos- sible ; and it wounded him in the most unrea- sonable way to have it supposed that he was likely to get into any quarrel with his brother, and to see Jack thus preferred to himself. " Don't be a fool," said Miss Leonora, sharply : " I wish you would confine yourself to Louisa's bassinet, and talk of things you can understand. I hope Frank knows what he is doing better than a set of old women. At the same time, Frank," said Miss Leonora, rising and leading the way to the door, " I want to say a word to you. Don't think you are above misconception. Most people believe a lie more readily than the truth. Dora is a fool," said the elder sister, pausing, when she had led her nephew outside the drawing-room door, "but so are most people; and I advise you to be careful, and not to give occasion for any gossip ; otherwise, I don't say i" disapprove of your conduct." She had her pen in one hand, and held out the other to him, dismissing him; and even this added to the painful feeling in the Curate's heart. " I should hope not," he said, somewhat stiffly; 88 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD : "good-bye — my conduct is not likely to be affected by any gossip, and I don't see any need for taking precautions against imaginary dan- ger." Miss Leonora thought her nephew looked very ungracious as he went away. She said to herself that Frank had a great deal of temper, and resembled his mother's family more than the Wentworths, as she went back to her writ- ing-table ; and though she could not disapprove of him, she felt vexed somehow at his rectitude and his impatience of advice ; whereas, Jack, poor fellow! who had been a great sinner, was, according to all appearance, a great penitent also, and a true Wentworth, with all the family features. Such were Miss Leonora's thoughts as she went back to finish her letters, and to en- courage her agents in her London district to carry on the good work. " God moves in a mysterious way, His won- ders to perform." she wrote apropos of the gin- palace, and set very distinctly before her spiritual retainers all that Providence might intend by this unexpected hindrance ; and so quite con- tented herself about her nephew, whose views on this and many other subjects were so different from her own. Meanwhile Mr Wentworth went about the THE PEKPETUAL CUKATE. 89 rest of his day's work in a not unusual, but far from pleasant, frame of mind. AVlien one sud- denly feels that the sympathy upon which one calculated most surely has been withdrawn, the shock is naturally considerable. It might not be anything very great while it lasted, but still one feels the difference when it is taken away. Lucy had fallen off from him ; and even aunt Dora had ceased to feel his concerns the first in the world. He smiled at himself for the wound he felt ; but that did not remove the sting of it. After the occupations of the day were over, when at last he was going home, and when his work and the sense of fatigue which accompanied it had dulled his mind a little, the Curate felt him- self still dwelling on the same matter, contem- plating it in a half-comic point of view, as proud men are not unapt to contemplate anything that mortifies them. He began to realise, in a hum- orous way, his own sensations as he stood at the drawing-room door and recognised the prodigal on the sofa ; and then a smile dawned upon his lip as he thought once more of the prodigal's elder brother, who regarded that business with unsympathetic eyes and grudged the supper. And from that he went into a half-professional line of thought, and imagined to himself, half 90 < IIKONICLES OF CAHLINGFORD : smiling, how, if ho had been Dr Gumming or the minister of Salem Chapel, he might have written a series of sermons on the unappreciated charac- ters of Scripture, beginning with that virtuous uninteresting elder brother ; from which sug- gestion, thouuh he was not the minister of Salem nor Dr Gumming, it occurred to the Perpetual Curate to follow out the idea, and to think of such generous careless souls as Esau, and such noble unfortunates as the peasant-king, the mournful magnificent Saul — people not gener- ally approved of, or enrolled among the martyrs or saints. He was pursuing this kind of half- reverie, half-thought, when he reached his own house. It was again late and dark, for he had dined in the mean time, and was going home now to write his sermon, in which, no doubt, some of these very ideas were destined to re- appear. He opened the garden-gate with his latch-key, and paused, with an involuntary sense of the beauty and freshness of the night, as soon as he got within the sheltering walls. The stars were shining faint and sweet in the summer blue, and all the shrubs and the grass breathing forth that subdued breath of fragrance and conscious invisible life which gives so much sweetness to the night. He thought he heard whispering THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 91 voices, as he paused glancing up at the sky ; and then from the side-walk he saw a little figure run, and heard a light little footstep fluttering towards the door which he had just closed. Mr Wentworth started and went after this little flying figure with some anxiety. Two or three of his long strides brought him up with the escap- ing visitor, as she fumbled in her agitation over the handle of the door. "You have come again, notwithstanding what I said to you 1 but you must not repeat it, Rosa/' said the Curate ; " no good can come of these meetings. I will tell your uncle, if I ever find you here again." " Oh no, no, please don't," cried the girl ; " but, after all, I don't mind," she said, with more confidence : " he would think it was some- thing very different ;" and Rosa raised her eyes to the Curate's face with a coquettish inquiry. She could not divest herself of the thought that Mr \Vent worth was jealous, and did not like to have her come there for anybody but himself. " If you were not such a child, I should be very angry," said the Curate ; " as it is, I am very angry with the person wdio deludes you into coming. Go home, child," he said, open- ing the door to her, " and remember I will not allow you on any pretext to come here again." 92 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD. His words were low, and perhaps Rosa did not care much to listen ; but there was quite light enough to show them both very plainly, as he stood at the door and she went out. Just then the Miss Hemmings were going up Grange Lane from a little tea-party with their favourite maid, and all their eyes about them. They looked very full in Mr AVentworth's face, and said How d'ye do 1 as they passed the door ; and when they had passed it, they looked at each other with eyes which spoke volumes. Mr AVentworth shut the door violently with irre- pressible vexation and annoyance when he en- countered that glauce. He made no farewells, nor did he think of taking care of Rosa on the way home as he had. done before. He was in- tensely annoyed and vexed, he could not tell how ; and this was how it happened that the last time she was seen in Carlingford, Rosa Els- worthy was left standing by herself in the dark at Mr AVentworth's door. CHAPTER XXV. The Curate got up very early uext morning. He had his sermon to write, and it was Satur- day, and all the events of the week had natu- rally enough unsettled his mind, and indisposed him for sermon-writino;. When the events of life come fast upon a man, it is seldom that he finds much pleasure in abstract literary compo- sition, and the style of the Curate of St Roque's was not of that hortatory and impassioned char- acter which sometimes gives as much relief to the speaker as excitement to the audience. So he got up in the early sweetness of the summer morning, when nobody but himself was astir in the house, with the sense of entering upon a task, and taking up work which was far from agreeable to him. When he came into the little room which he used as a study, and threw the window open, and breathed the delicious air of !»4 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFOIID : the morning, which was all thrilling and trein- bling with the songs of birds, Mr Went worth's thoughts were far from being concentrated upon any one subject. He sat down at his writing- table and arranged his pens and paper, and wrote down the text he had selected ; and when he had done so much, and could feel that he had made a beginning, he leaned back in his chair, and poised the idle pen on his finger, and aban- doned himself to his thoughts. He had so much to think about. There was Wodehouse under the same roof, with whom he had felt himself constrained to remonstrate very sharply on the previous night. There was Jack, so near, and certainly come to Carlingford on no good errand. There was Gerald, in his great perplexity and distress, and the household at home in their anxiety; and last, but worst of all, his fancy would go fluttering about the doors of the sick- chamber in Grange Lane, longing and wonder- ing. He asked himself what it could be which had raised that impalpable wall between Lucy and himself — that barrier too strong to be over- thrown, too ethereal to be complained of ; and wondered over and over again what her thoughts were towards him — whether she thought of him at all, whether she was offended, or simply in- THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 95 different 1 — a question which any one else who had observed Lucy as closely could have solved without any difficulty, but which, to the modest and true love of the Perpetual Curate, was at present the grand doubt of all the doubts in the universe. With this matter to settle, and with the consciousness that it was still only five o'clock, and that he was at least one hour be- forehand with the world, it is easy to under- stand why Mr Wentworth mused and loitered over his work, and how, when it was nearly six o'clock, and Sarah and the cook were beginning to stir from their sleep, there still remained only the text written upon the sermon -paper, which was so nicely arranged before him on the table. " When the wicked man turneth away from the evil of his ways and doeth that which is lawful and right." — This was the text ; but sitting at the open window, looking out into the garden, where the birds, exempt, as they seemed to think, for once from the vulgar scrutiny of man, were singing at the pitch of all their voices as they prepared for breakfast ; and where the sweet air of the morning breathed into his mind a freshness and hopefulness which youth can never resist, and seduced his thoughts away from all the harder problems of his life to dwell 96 CHB0NTCLE8 OF CAEIJNGFOED : upon the sweeter trouble of that doubt about Lucy, — was not the best means of getting on with his work. He sat thus leaning back — sometimes dipping his pen in the ink, and hover- ing over the paper for two or three seconds at a time, sometimes reading over the words, and making a faint effort to recall his own attention to them ; for, on the whole, perhaps, it is not of much use getting up very early in the morning when the chief consequence of it is, that a man feels he has an hour to spare, and a little time to play before he begins. Mr Wentworth was still lingering in this peaceful pause, when he heard, in the stillness, hasty steps coming down Grange Lane. No doubt it was some workmen going to their work, and he felt it must be nearly six o'clock, and dipped his pen once more in the ink ; but, the next moment, paused again to listen, feeling in his heart a strange conviction that the steps would stop at his door, and that something was going to happen. Pie was sure of it, and yet somehow the sound tingled upon his heart when he heard the bell ring, waking up echoes in the silent house. Cook and Sarah had not yet given any signs of coming down-stairs, and no- body stirred even at the sound of the bell. Mr THE PERPETUAL CUEATE. 97 Wentworth put down his pen altogether, and listened with an anxiety which he could scarcely account for — knowing, as he said to himself, that it must be the milk, or the baker, or some- body. But neither the milk nor the baker would have dared to knock, and shake, and kick the door as the new arrivals were doing. Mr Wentworth sat still as long as he could, then he added to the din they were making outside by an indignant ring of his own bell ; and, finally getting anxious, as was natural, and bethinking himself of his father's attack and Mr Wode- house's illness, the Curate took the matter into his own hands, and hastened down-stairs to open the door. Mrs Hadwin called to him as he passed her room, thinking it was Sarah, and begging for goodness gracious sake to know directly what was the matter ; and he felt him- self growing agitated as he drew back the com- plicated bolts, and turned the key in the door, which was elaborately defended, as was natural. When he hurried out into the garden, the songs of the birds and the morning air seemed to have changed their character. He thought he was o o about to be summoned to the deathbed of one or other of the old men upon whom their sons had brought such misery. He was but little VOL. II. G 98 CHRONICLES OB CAELINGFOED : acquainted with the fastenings of the garden door, and fumbled a little over them in his anxiety. "Wait a moment and you shall be admitted," he called out to those outside, who still continued to knock ; and he fancied, even in the haste and confusion of the moment, that his voice caused some little commotion among them. Mr Wentworth opened the door, looking anxiously out for some boy with a telegram, or other such mournful messenger ; but to liis utter amazement was nearly knocked down by the sudden plunge of Elsworthy, who entered with a spring like that of a wild animal, and whose face looked white and haggard as he rushed in. He came against the Curate so roughly as to drive him a step or two farther into the garden, and naturally aroused somewhat sharply the temper of the young man, who had already be- gun to regard him with disagreeable sensations as a kind of spy against himself. " What in the world do you want at such an early hour in the morning 1 " cried Mr Went- worth — " and what do you mean by making such a noise % Is Mr Wodehouse worse ? or w T hat has happened 1 " for, to tell the truth, he was a little relieved to find that the two people outside both belonged to Carlingford, and that THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 99 nowhere was there any visible apparition of a telegraph boy. " Don't trifle with me, Mr Wentworth," said Elsworthy. " I'm a poor man ; but a worm as is trodden upon turns. I want my child, sir ! — give me my child. I'll find her out if it was at the end of the world. I've only brought down my neighbour with me as I can trust," he continued hoarsely — " to save both your charac- ters. I don't want to make no talk ; if you do what is right by Rosa, neither me nor him will ever say a word. I want Rosa, Mr Wentworth. Where's Rosa \ If I had known as it was for this you wanted her home ! But I'll take my oath not to make no talk," cried the clerk, with passion and earnestness, which confounded Mr "Wentworth — " if you'll promise to do what's right by her, and let me take her home." " Elsworthy, are you mad % " cried the Curate — " is he out of his senses % Has anything happened to Rosa % For heaven's sake, Hayles, don't stand there like a man of wood, but tell me if the man's crazy, or what he means." " I'll come in, sir, if you've no objection, and shut the door, not to make a talk," said Els- worthy's companion, Peter Hayles, the druggist. " If it can be managed without any gossip, it 11 100 CHEONICLES OF CABLING FORD : be best for all parties," said this worthy, shut- ting the door softly after him. " The thing is, where's Rosa, Mr Wentworth ? I can't think as you've got her here." " She's all the same as my own child ! " cried Elsworthy, who was greatly excited. " I've had her and loved her since she was a baby. I don't mean to say as I'd put myself forward to hurt her prospects if she was married in a superior line o' life ; but them as harms Rosa has me to reckon with," he said, with a kind of fury which sat strangely on the man. " Mr Wentworth, where's the child 1 God forgive you both, you've given me a night o' weeping ; but if you'll do what's right by Rosa, and send her home in the mean time " " Be silent, sir ! " cried the Curate. " I know nothing in the world about Rosa. How dare you venture to come on such an errand to me \ I don't understand how it is," said the young man, growing red and angry, " that you try s< persistently to connect this child with me. have never had anything to do with her, and will not submit to any such impertinent sus- picion. Leave my house, sir, immediately, anc don't insult me by making such inquiries here." Mr Wentworth was very angry in the first THE PEEPETUAL CUB ATE. 101 flush of his wrath. He did not think what misery was involved in the question which had been addressed to him, nor did he see for the moment the terrible calamity to Rosa which was suggested by this search for her. He thought only of himself, as was natural, at the first shock — of the injurious and insulting suspicion with which he seemed to be pursued, and of the annoyance which she and her friends were causing him. " What do you mean by rousing a whole household at this hour in the morn- ing'?" cried Mr "Went worth, as he saw with vexation, Sarah, very startled and sleepy, come stealing round by the kitchen door. "You don't look as if you had wanted any rousing," said Elsworthy, who was too much in earnest to own the Curate's authority. " She was seen at vour door the last thing last night, and you're in your clothes, as bright as day, and a-waiting for us afore six o'clock in the morning. Do you think as I've shut my eyes because it's my clergyman ? " cried the injured man, passionately. " I want my little girl — my little Rosa — as is flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone. If Mr Wentworth didn't know no- thing about it, as he says," cried Elsworthy, with sudden insight, " he has a feelin' heart, and 102 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFOED : he'd be grieved about the child ; but lie ain't grieved, nor concerned, nor nothing in the world but angry; and will you tell me there ain't no- thing to be drawn from that 1 But it's far from my intention to raise a talk," said the clerk, drawing closer and touching the arm of the Perpetual Curate ; " let her come back, and if you're a man of your word, and behave hon- ourable by her, there shan't be nothing said in Carlingford. I'll . stand up for you, sir, against the world." Mr Wentworth shook off his assailant's hand with a mingled sense of exasperation and sym- pathy. "I tell you, upon my honour, I know nothing about her," he said. "But it is true enough I have been thinking only of myself," he continued, addressing the other. " How about the girl 1 When was she lost 1 and can't you think of any place she can have gone to 1 Els- worthy, hear reason," cried the Curate, anxi- ously. " I assure you on my word, that I have never seen her since I closed this garden gate upon her last night." "And I would ask you, sir, what had Rosa to do at your garden gate ? " cried the clerk of St Roque's. " He ain't denying it, Ilayles ; you can see as he ain't a-denying of it. What was it THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 103 as she came here for but you % Mr Wentworth, I've always had a great respect for you," said Elsworthy. " I've respected you as my clergy- man, sir, as well as for other things ; but you're a young man, and human nature is frail. I say again as you needn't have no fear for me. I ain't one as likes to make a talk, and no more is Hayles. Give up the girl, and give me your promise, and there ain't a man living as will be the wiser ; Mr AVentworth " " Hold your tongue, sir ! " cried the Curate, furious with indignation and resentment. "Leave this place instantly ! If you don't want me to pitch you into the middle of the road, hold your tongue and go away. The man is mad ! " said Mr Went worth, turning towards the spectator, Hayles, and pausing to take breath. But it was evident that this third person was by no means on the Curate's side. "I don't know, sir, I'm sure," said Hayles, with a blank countenance. "It appears to me, sir, as it's an awkward business for all parties. Here's the girl gone, and no one knows where. When a girl don't come back to her own 'ome all night, things looks serious, sir ; and it has been said as the last place she was seen was at your door." 104 CHBONICLES OF CAKLIXGFORD : " Who says so \ " cried Mr WentwortL " Well — it was — a party, sir — a highly re- spectable party — as I have good reason to be- lieve," said Hayles, " being a constant customer — one as there's every confidence to be put in. It's better not to name no names, being at this period of the affair." And at that moment, unluckily for Mr Went- worth, there suddenly floated across his mind the clearest recollection of the Miss Hemrnings, and the look they gave him in passing. He felt a hot flush rush over his face as he recalled it. They, then, were his accusers in the first place ; and for the first time he began to realise how the tide of accusation would surge through Carlinofford, and how circumstances would be patched together, and very plausible evidence concocted out of the few facts which were capable of an inference totally opposed to the truth. The blood rushed to his face in an over- powering glow, and then he felt the warm tide going back upon his heart, and realised the position in which he stood for the first time in its true light. "And if you'll let me say it, sir," said the judicious Hayles, " though a man may be in a bit of a passion, and speak more strong than is THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 105 called for, it ain't unnatural in the circum- stances ; things may be better than they ap- pear," said the druggist, mildly; "I don't say nothing against that ; it may be as you've took her away, sir (if so be as you have took her away), for to give her a bit of education, or such- like, before making her your wife ; but folks in general ain't expected to know that ; and when a young girl is kep' out of her 'ome for a whole night, it ain't wonderful if her friends take fright. It's a sad thing for Rosa whoever's taken her away, and wherever she is." Now, Mr Wentworth, notwithstanding the indignant state of mind which he was in, was emphatically of the tolerant temper which is so curiously characteristic of his generation. He could not be unreasonable even in his own cause ; he was not partisan enough, even in his own be- half, to forget that there was another side to the question, nor to see how hard and how sad was that other side. He was moved in spite of him- self to grieve over Rosa Elsworthy's great mis- fortune. " Poor little deluded child," he said sadly ; " I acknowledge it is very dreadful for her and for her friends. I can excuse a man who is mad with grief and wretchedness and anxiety, and 106 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFORD : doesn't know what he is saying. As for any man in Lis senses imagining," said the Curate again, with a flush of sudden colour, "that I could possibly be concerned in anything so base, that is simply absurd. When Elsworthy returns to reason, and acknowledges the folly of what he has said, I will do anything in the world to help him. It is unnecessary for you to wait," said Mr Wentworth, turning to Sarah, who had stolen up behind, and caught some of the conversation, and who was staring with round eyes of wonder, partly guessing, partly inquiring, what had hap- pened — " these people want me ; go in-doors and never mind." " La, sir! Missis is a-ringing all the bells down to know what 'as 'appened," said Sarah, holding her ground. This was how it was to be — the name of the Curate of St Roque's was to be linked to that of Rosa Elsworthy, let the truth be what it might, in the mouths of every maid and every mistress in Carlingford. He was seized with a sudden apprehension of this aspect of the matter, and it was not wonderful if Mr Wentworth drew his breath hard and set his teeth, as he ordered the woman away, in a tone which could not be dis- obeyed. THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 107 " I don't want to make no talk," said Els- worthy, who during this time had made many efforts to speak ; " I've said it before, and I say it again — it's Mr Wentworth's fault if there's any talk. She was seen here last night," he went on rapidly, " and afore six o'clock this blessed morning, you, as are never known to be stirring- early, meets us at the door, all shaved and dressed ; and it ain't very difficult to see, to them as watches the clergyman's countenance," said Elsworthy, turning from one to another, " as everything isn't as straight as it ought to be; but I ain't going to make no talk, Mr Went- worth," he went on, drawing closer, and speak- ing with conciliatory softness ; " me and her aunt, sir, loves her dearly, but we're not the folks to stand in her way, if a gentleman was to take a fancy to Rosa. If you'll give me your word to make her your wife honourable, and tell me where she is, tortures wouldn't draw no com- plaints from me. One moment, sir; it ain't only that she's pretty, but she's good as well — she won't do you no discredit, Mr Wentworth. Put her to school, or what you please, sir," said Rosa's uncle ; " me and my wife will never inter- fere, so be as you make her your wife honour- able ; but I ain't a worm to be trampled on," 108 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFORD : cried Els worthy, as the Curate, finding him ap- proach very closely, thrust him away with vehe- ment indignation ; " I ain't a slave to be pushed about. Them as brings Rosa to shame shall come to shame by me ; I'll ruin the man as ruins that child. You may turn me out," he cried, as the Curate laid his powerful hand upon his shoulder, and forced him towards the door, "but I'll come back, and I'll bring all Carlingford. There shan't be a soul in the town as doesn't know. Oh, you young viper, as I thought was a pious clergyman ! you may turn me out, but you ain't got rid of me. My child — where's my child 1 ?" cried the infuriated clerk, as he found himself ejected into the road outside, and the door suddenly closed upon him. He turned round to beat upon it in blind fury, and kept calling upon Rosa, and wasting his threats and arguments upon the calm air outside. Some of the maid-servants in the other houses came out, broom in hand, to the green doors, to see what was the matter, but they were not near enough to hear distinctly, and no early wayfarers had as yet invaded the morning quiet of Grange Lane. Mr "Went worth, white with excitement, and terribly calm and self-possessed, turned to the THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 109 amazed and trembling druggist, who still stood inside. " Look here, Hayles," said the Curate ; "I have never seen Eosa Els worthy since I closed this door upon her last night. What had brought her here I don't know — at least she came with no intention of seeing me — and I reproved her sharply for being out so late. This is all I know about the affair, and all I intend to say to any one. If that idiot outside intends to make a disturbance, he must do it ; I shall take no fur- ther trouble to clear myself of such an insane accusation. I think it right to say as much to you, because you seem to have your senses about you," said the Curate, pausing, out of breath. He was perfectly calm, but it was impossible to ignore the effect of such a scene upon ordinary flesh and blood. His heart was beating loudly, and his breath came short and quick. He turned away and walked up to the house-door, and then came back again. " You understand me, I suppose \ " he said ; " and if Elsworthy is not mad, you had better suggest to him not to lose his only chance of recovering Rosa by this vain bluster to me, who know nothing about her. I shan't be idle in the mean time," said Mr Went- worth. All this time Elsworthy was beating against the door, and shouting his threats into 110 CHRONICLES OF CAELINGFOED. the quiet of the morning; and Mrs Had win had thrown up her window, and stood there visibly in her nightcap, trying to find out what the noise was about, and trembling for the respec- tability of her house — all which the Curate apprehended with that extraordinary swiftness and breadth of perception which comes to men at the eventful moments of life. " I'll do my best, sir," said Hayles, who felt that his honour was appealed to ; " but it's an awkward business for all parties, that's what it is;" and the druggist backed out in a state of great bewilderment, having a little struggle at the door with Els worthy to prevent his re-en- trance. " There ain't nothing to be got out of him" said Mr Hayles, as he succeeded at last in leading his friend away. Such was the conclu- sion of Mr Wentworth's morning studies, and the sermon which was to have been half written before breakfast upon that eventful Saturday. He went back to the house, as was natural, with very different thoughts in his mind. CHAPTER XXVI. The first thing Mr Wentworth did was to hasten up-stairs to Wodehouse's room. Sarah had gone before him, and was by this time talking to her mistress, who had left the window, and stood, still in her nightcap, at the door of her own chamber. " It's something about Eosa Els- worthy, ma'am," said Sarah ; " she's gone off with some one, which nothing else was to be expected ; and her uncle's been a-raving and a-raging at Mr Wentworth, which proves as a gentleman should never take no notice of them shop-girls. I always heard as she was a bad lot," "Oh, Mr Wentworth — if you would excuse my nightcap," said Mrs Hadwin — " I am so shaken and all of a tremble with that noise ; I couldn't help thinking it must be a murder at the least," said the little old lady ; " but I never could be- 112 CHE0NK3LES OF CAKL1NGF0RD : lieve that there was anything between you and Sarah, you may go away ; I should like to talk to Mr Wentworth by himself," said Mrs Hadwin, suddenly remembering that Mr Went- worth's character must not be discussed in the presence of even her favourite maid. " Presently," said the unhappy Curate, with mingled impatience and resignation ; and, after a hasty knock at the door, he went into Wode- house's room, which was opposite, so full of a furious anxiety to question him that he had burst into speech before he perceived that the room was empty. " Answer me this instant," he had cried, " where is Eosa Elsw r orthy \ " and then he paused, utterly taken aback. It had not occurred to him that the culprit would be gone. He had parted with him late on the pre- vious night, leaving him, according to appear- ances, in a state of sulky half-penitence ; and now the first impulse of his consternation was to look in all the corners for the fugitive. The room had evidently been occupied that night ; part of the Curate's own wardrobe, which he had bestowed upon his guest, lay about on the chairs, and on a little table were his tools and the bits of wood with which he did his carving. The window was open, letting in the fresh air, THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 113 and altogether the apartment looked so exactly- like what it might have done had the occupant gone out for a virtuous morning walk, that Mr Wentworth stopped short in blank amazement. It was a relief to him to hear the curious Sarah still rustling in the passage outside. He came out upon her so hastily that Sarah was startled. Perhaps she had been so far excited out of her usual propriety as to think of the keyhole as a medium of information. "Where is Wode Mr Smith"?" cried the Curate ; " he is not in his room — he does not generally get up so early. AVhere is he % Did he go out last night % " " Not as I knows of, sir," said Sarah, who grew a little pale, and gave a second glance at the open door. " Isn't the gentleman in his room ? He do take a walk in the morning, now and again," and Sarah cast an alarmed look behind to see if her mistress was still within hearing ; but Mrs Hadwin, intent upon ques- tioning Mr Wentworth himself, had fortunately retired to put on her cap, and closed her door. " Where is he V said the Curate, firmly. "Oh, please, sir, I don't know," said Sarah, who was very near crying. " He's gone out for a walk, that's all. Oh, Mr Wentworth, don't VOL. II. H 114 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFOKD : look at me so dreadful, and I'll tell you hall," cried the frightened girl, "haU — as true as if I was on my oath. He 'as a taking way -with him/' said poor Sarah, to whom the sulky and shabby rascal was radiant still with the fascin- ating though faded glory of "a gentleman" — " and he ain't one as has been used to regular hours ; and seeing as he was a friend of yours, I knew as hall was safe, Mr Went worth ; and oh, sir, if you'll. not tell missis, as might be angry. I didn't mean no harm ; and knowing as he was a friend of yours, I let him have the key of the little door." Here Sarah put her apron to her eyes ; she did not cry much into it, or wet it with her tears — but under its cover she peeped at Mr Wentworth, and, encouraged by his looks, which did not seem to promise any immediate catas- trophe, went on with her explanation. " He's been and took a walk often in the morning," said Sarah, with little gasps which interrupted her voice, " and come in as steady as steady, and nothing happened. He's gone for a walk now, poor gentleman. Them as goes out first thing in the morning, can't mean no harm, Mr Wentworth. If it was at night, it would be different," said the apologetic Sarah. THE PEEPETUAL CURATE. 115 " He'll be in afore we've clone our breakfast in the kitchen ; that's his hour, for I always brings him a cup of coffee. If you hadn't been up not till your hour, sir, you'd never have known nothing about it;" and here even Mrs Had win's housemaid looked sharply in the Curate's face. " I never knew you so early, sir, not since I've been here," said Sarah ; and though she was a partisan of Mr Wentworth, it occurred even to Sarah that perhaps, after all, Elsworthy might be right. " If he comes in let me know immediately," said the Curate ; and he went to his study and shut himself in, to think it all over with a sense of being baited and baffled on every side. As for Sarah, she went off in great excitement to discuss the whole business with the cook, toss- ing her head as she went. " Rosa Elsworthy, indeed !" said Sarah to herself, thinking her own claims to admiration quite as well worth considering — and Mr \Ventworth had already lost one humble follower in Grange Lane. The Curate sat down at his table as before, and gazed with a kind of exasperation at the paper and the text out of which his sermon was to have come. " When the wicked man turneth away from the evil of his ways " — he began to 116 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFOED : wonder bitterly whether that ever happened, or if it was any good trying to bring it about. If it were really the case that Wodehouse, whom he had been labouring to save from the conse- quences of one crime, had, at the very crisis of his fate, perpetrated another of the basest kind, what was the good of wasting strength in behalf of a wretch so abandoned 1 Why should such a man be permitted to live to bring shame and misery on everybody connected with him % and why, when noxious vermin of every other de- scription were hunted down and exterminated, should the vile human creature be spared to suck the blood of his friends 1 Mr Wentworth grew sanguinary in his thoughts as he leaned back in his chair, and tried to return to the train of reflection which Elsworthy's arrival had banished. That was totally impossible, but an- other train of ideas came fast enough to fill up the vacant space. The Curate saw himself hemmed in en every side without any way of escape. If he could not extract any informa- tion from Wodehouse, or if Wodehouse denied any knowledge of Rosa, w T hat could he do to clear himself from an imputation so terrible 1 and if, on the other hand, Wodehouse did not come back, and so pleaded guilty, how could he THE PERPETUAL CUE.VTE. 117 pursue and put the law upon the track of the man whom he had just been labouring to save from justice, and over whose head a crimiual prosecution was impending \ Mr "Wentworth saw nothing but misery, let him turn where he would — nothing but disgrace, misapprehension, unjust blame. He divined, with the instinct of a man in deadly peril, that Elsworthy, who was a mean enough man in common circumstances, had been inspired by the supposed injury he had sustained into a relentless demon ; and he saw distinctly how strong the chain of evidence was against him, and how little he could do to clear himself. As his miseries grew upon him, he got up, as was natural, and began to walk about the room to walk down his impatience, if he could, and acquire sufficient composure to enable him to wait for the time when AVode- house might be expected to arrive. Mr Went- worth had forgotten at the moment that Mrs Hadvvin's room was next to his study, and that, as she stood putting on her cap, his footsteps vibrated along the flooring, which thrilled under her feet almost as much as under his own. Mrs Hadwin, as she stood before her glass smooth- ing her thin little braids of white hair, and putting on her cap, could not but wonder to 118 CHRONICLES OF CABLINGFORD : herself what could make Mr AYent worth walk about the room in such an agitated way. It was not by any means the custom of the Per- petual Curate, who, up to the time of his aunts' arrival in Carlingford, had known no special disturbances in his individual career. And then the old lady thought of that report about little Rosa Elsworthy, which she had never believed, and grew troubled, as old ladies are not unapt to do under such circumstances, with all that lively faith in the seductions of " an artful girl," and all that contemptuous pity for a " poor young man," which seems to come natural to a woman. All the old ladies in Carlingford, male and female, were but too likely to entertain the same sentiments, which at least, if they did nothing else, showed a wonderful faith in the power of love and folly common to human nature. It did not occur to Mrs Hadwin any more than it did to Miss Dora, that Mr AYent- worth's good sense and pride, and superior cul- tivation, were sufficient defences against little Rosa's dimpled cheeks and bright eyes; and with some few exceptions, such was likely to be the opinion of the little world of Carlingford. Mrs Hadwin grew more and more anxious about the business as she felt the boards thrill THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 119 under her feet, and heard the impatient move- ments in the next room ; and as soon as she had settled her cap to her satisfaction, she left her own chamber and went to knock, as was to be expected, at Mr Wentworth's door. It was just at this moment that Mr Went- worth saw Wodehouse's shabby figure entering at the garden gate ; he turned round suddenly without hearing Mrs Had win's knock, and all but ran over the old lady in his haste and eagerness — " Pardon me ; I am in a great hurry," cried the Curate, darting past her. Just at the moment when she expected her curiosity to be satisfied, it was rather hard upon Mrs Had- win to be dismissed so summarily. She went down-stairs in a state of great dignity, with her lace mittens on, and her hands crossed be- fore her. She felt she had more and more rea- son for doubting human nature in general, and for believing that the Curate of St Roque's in particular could not bear any close examination into his conduct. Mrs Hadwin sat down to her breakfast accordingly with a sense of pitying- virtue which was sweet to her spirit, notwith- standing that she was, as she would have frankly acknowledged, very fond of Mr Wentworth ; she said, "Poor young man," to herself, and 120 CHB0NICLE8 OF CAIIUXGFORD : shook her head over him as she poured out her solitary cup of tea. She had never been a beauty herself, nor had she exercised any over- whelming influence that she could remember over any one in the days of her distant youth : but being a true woman, Mrs Hadwin believed in Rosa Elsworthy, and pitied, not without a certain half-conscious female disdain, the weak- ness of the inevitable victim. He did not dare to stop to explain to her what it meant. He rushed out of her way as soon as he saw she meant to question him. That designing girl had got him entirely under her sway, the poor young man ! Meanwhile the Curate, without a single thought for his landlady, made a rush to Wode- house's room. He did not wait for any answer to his knock, but went in, not as a matter of policy, but because his eagerness carried him on in spite of himself. To Mr "Wentworth's great amazement Wodehouse was undressing, intend- ing, apparently, to return to bed. The shabby fugitive, looking broad and brawny in his shirt- sleeves, turned round when he heard the voice with an angry exclamation. His face grew black as he saw the Curate at the door. " What the deuce have you to do in my room at this THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 121 hour 1 " he growled into his beard. " Is a man never to have a little peace \ " and with that threw down his coat, which he still had in his hand, and faced round towards the intruder with sullen looks. It was his nature to stand always on the defensive, and he had got so much accustomed to being regarded as a cul- prit, that he naturally took up the part, whether there might be just occasion or not. " Where have you been % " exclaimed the Cur- ate ; " answer me truly — I can't submit to any evasion. I know it all, Wodehouse. Where is she % where have you hid her ? If you do not give her up, I must give you up to justice. Do you hear me % where is Rosa Elsworthy 1 This is a matter that touches my honour, and I must know the truth." Mr Went worth was so full of the subject that it did not occur to him how much time he was giving his antagonist to prepare his answer. Though AVodehouse was not clever, he had the instinct of a baited animal driven to bay; and resistance and denial came natural to a man who had been accused and condemned all his life. " Rosa Elsworthy \ " said the vagabond, " what have I to do with Rosa Elsworthy 1 A pretty 122 CHBONICLES OF CAELIXGFOED : man I should be to run away with a girl ; all that I have in the world is a shilling or two, and, by Jove, it's an expensive business, that is. You should ask your brother," he continued, giving a furtive glance at the Curate — "it's more in his way, by Jove, than mine." Mr Wentworth was recalled to himself by this reply. " Where is she 1 " he said, sternly, — "no trifling. I did not ask if you had taken her away. I ask, where is she 1 " He had shut the door behind him, and stood in the middle of the room, facing Wodehouse, and overawing him by his superior stature, force, and virtue. Before the Curate's look the eyes of the other fell ; but he had fallen by chance on a reason- able defence enough, and so long as he held by that felt himself tolerably safe. "I don't know anything about her," he re- peated ; " how should I know anything about her % I ain't a fool, by Jove, whatever I may be : a man may talk to a pretty girl without any harm. I mayn't be as good as a parson, but, by Jove, I ain't a fool," he muttered through his beard. He had begun to speak with a kind of sulky self-confidence; but his voice sank lower as he proceeded. Jack Wentworth's ele- gant levity was a terrible failure in the hands THE PERPETUAL CITRATE. 123 of the coarser rascal. He fell back by degrees upon the only natural quality which enabled him to offer any resistance. " By Jove, I ain't an idiot," he repeated with dull obstinacy, and upon that statement made a stand in his dogged, argumentative way. " Would you like it better if I said you were a villain ? " asked the exasperated Curate. " I don't want to discuss your character with you. Where is Eosa Elsworthy 1 She is scarcely more than a child," said Mr Wentworth, "and a fool, if you like. But where is she 1 I warn you that unless you tell me you shall have no more assistance from me." "And I tell you that I don't know," said Wodehouse ; and the two men stood facing each other, one glowing with youthful indignation, the other enveloped in a cloud of sullen resist- ance. Just then there came a soft knock at the door, and Sarah peeped in with a coquettish air, which at no other time in her existence had been visible in the sedate demeanour of Mrs Hadwin's favourite handmaid. The stranger lodger was " a gentleman," notwithstanding his shabbiness, and he was a very civil-spoken gen- tleman, without a bit of pride ; and Sarah was still a woman, though she was plain and a 124 CHBONICLES OF CAKLLSGFORD : housemaid. " Please, sir, I've brought you your coffee," said Sarah, and she carried in her tray, which contained all the materials for a plentiful breakfast. When she saw Mr Wentworth stand- ins iu the room, and Wodehouse in his shirt- sleeves, Sarah said, " La ! " and set down her tray hastily and vanished ; but the episode, short as it was, had not been without its use to the culprit who was standing on his de- fence. " I'm not staying here on my own account," said Wodehouse, — " it's no pleasure to me to be here. I'm staying for your brother's sake and — other people's ; it's no pleasure to me, by Jove ! I'd go to-morrow if I had my way — but I ain't a fool," continued the sulky defendant : " it's of no use asking me such questions. By Jove, I've other things to think of than girls ; and you know pretty well how much money I've , got," he continued, taking out an old purse and emptying out the few shillings it contained into his hand. When he had thrown them about, out and in, for nearly a minute, he turned once more upon the Curate. " I'd like to have a little more pocket-money before I ran away with any one," said Wodehouse, and tossed the shillings back contemptuously. As for Mr Wentworth, THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 125 his reasonableness once more came greatly in his way. He began to ask himself whether this penniless vagabond, who seemed to have no dash or daring in his character, could have been the man to carry little Rosa away; and, per- plexed by this idea, Mr Wentworth put himself unawares into the position of his opponent, and in that character made an appeal to his ima- ginary generosity and truth. " Wodehouse," he said seriously, " look here. I am likely to be much annoyed about this, and perhaps injured. I entreat you to tell me, if you know, where the girl is ? I've been at some little trouble for you; be frank with me for once," said the Curate of St Roque's. Nothing in existence could have prevented himself from responding to such an appeal, and he made it with a kind of absurd confidence that there must be some kindred depths even in the meaner nature with which he had to deal, which would have been to Jack Wentworth, bad he seen it, a source of inextinguishable laughter. Even Wodehouse was taken by surprise. He did not understand Mr Wentworth, but a certain vague idea that the Curate was addressing him as if he still were " a o-entleman as he used to be " — though it did not alter his resolution in any 12G CHRONICLES OF CAEUNGFOED : way — brought a vague flush of shame to his unaccustomed cheek. " I ain't a fool," he repeated rather hastily, and turned away not to meet the Curate's eyes. " I've got no money — how should / know any- thing about her 1 If I had, do you think I should have been here 1 " he continued, with a sidelong look of inquiry : then he paused and put on his coat, and in that garb felt himself more of a match for his opponent. " I'll tell you one thing you'll thank me for," he said, — " the old man is dying, they think. They'll be sending for you presently. That's more import- ant than a talk about a girl. I've been talked to till I'm sick," said Wodehouse, with a little burst of irrepressible nature, " but things may change before you all know where you are." AYlien he had said so much, the fear in his heart awoke again, and he cast another look of in- quiry and anxiety at the Curate's face. But Mr Wentworth was disgusted, and had no more to say. " Every thing changes — except the heart of the churij which can never be made bountiful," said the indignant young priest. It was not a fit sentiment, perhaps, for a preacher who had just written that text about the wicked man THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 127 turning from the evil of his ways. Mr Went- worth went away in a glow of indignation and excitement, and left his guest to Sarah's bounti- ful provision of hot coffee and new-laid eggs, to which Wodehouse addressed himself with a per- fectly good appetite, notwithstanding all the events of the morning, and all the mystery of the night. CHAPTER XXVII. Mr Went worth retired to his own quarters with enough to think about for one morning. He could not make up his mind about Wode- house — whether he was guilty or not guilty. It seemed incredible that, penniless as he was, he could have succeeded in carrying off a girl so well known in Carlingford as Kosa Elsworthy; and, if he had taken her away, how did it hap- pen that he himself had come back again 1 The Curate saw clearly enough that his only chance for exculpating himself in the sight of the mul- titude was by bringing home the guilt to some- body else ; and in proportion to the utter scorn with which he had treated Elsworthy's insinua- tions at first, was his serious apprehension now of the danger which surrounded him. He di- vined all that slander would make of it with the quickened intelligence of a man whose en- THE PERPETUAL CUE ATE. 129 tire life, and reputation dearer than life, were at stake. If it could not be cleared up — if even any investigation which he might be able to de- mand was not perfectly successful — Mr AVent- worth was quite well aware that the character of a clergyman was almost as susceptible as that of a woman, and that the vague stigma might haunt and overshadow him all his life. The thought was overwhelming at this moment, when his first hopes of finding a speedy solution of the mystery had come to nothing. If he had but lived a century earlier, the chances are that no doubt of Wodehouse's guilt would have en- tered his mind ; but Mr Wentworth was a man of the present age — reasonable to a fault, and apt to consider other people as much as possible from their own point of view. He did not see, looking at all the circumstances, how Wode- house could be guilty; and the Curate would not permit the strong instinctive certainty that he was guilty, to move his own mind from what he imagined to be its better judgment. He was thinking it over very gloomily when his break- fast was brought to him and his letters, feeling that he could be sure of nobody in such an emergency, and dreading more the doubt of his friends than the clamour of the general world. VOL. II. I 130 CHEONICLBS OF CAELINGFOM) : He could bear (be imagined) to be hooted at in the streets, if it ever came to that ; but to see the faces of those who loved him troubled with a torturing doubt of his truth was a terrible thought to the Perpetual Curate. And Lucyl But here the young man got up indignant, and threw off his fears. He doubted her regard with a doubt which threw darkness over the whole uui verse ; but that she should be able for a moment to doubt his entire devotion to her, seemed a blindness incredible. No ; let who would believe ill of him in this respect, to Lucy such an accusation must look as monstrous as it was untrue. She, at least, knew otherwise ; and, taking this false comfort to his heart, Mr Wentworth took up his letters, and presently was deep in the anxieties of his brother Gerald, who wrote to him as to a man at leisure, and without any overwhelming perplexities of his own. It requires a very high amount of unself- ishness in the person thus addressed to prevent a degree of irritation which is much opposed to sympathy ; and Mr Wentworth, though he was very impartial and reasonable, was not, being still young and meaning to be happy, unselfish to any inhuman degree. He put down Gerald's letter, after he had read through half of it, with THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 131 an exclamation of impatience which he could not restrain, and then poured out his coffee, which had got cold in the mean time, and gulped it down with a sense of half-comforting disgust — for there are moments when the mortification of the flesh is a relief to the spirit ; and then it occurred to him to remember Wodehouse's tray. which was a kind of love-offering to the shabby vagabond, and the perfect good order in which he had his breakfast ; and Mr Wentworth laughed at himself with a whimsical perception of all that was absurd in his own position which did him good, and broke the spell of his solitary musings. When he took up Gerald's letter again, he read it through. A man more sympa- thetic, open-hearted, and unselfish than Gerald Wentworth did not exist in the world, as his brother well knew ; but nevertheless, Gerald's mind was so entirely preoccupied that he passed over the Curate's cares with the lightest refer- ence imaginable. " I hope you found all right when you got back, and nothing seriously amiss with Jack," the elder brother wrote, and then went on to his own affairs. All rio;ht ! nothing seriously amiss ! To a man who felt himself standing on the edge of possible ruin, such ex- pressions seemed strange indeed. 132 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFOED : The Rector of Wentworth, however, had enough in his mind to excuse him for a mo- mentary forgetfulness of others. Things had taken a different turn with him since his brother left. He had been so busy with his change of faith and sentiment, that the practical possibili- ties of the step which he contemplated had not disturbed Gerald. He had taken it calmly for granted that he could do what he wanted to do. But a new light Jiad burst upon him in that respect, and changed the character of his thoughts. Notwithstanding the conviction into which he had reasoned himself, that peace was to be found in Rome and nowhere else, the Rec- tor of Wentworth had not contemplated the idea of becoming simply a Catholic layman. He was nothing if not a priest, he had said, passionately. He could have made a martyr of himself — have suffered tortures and deaths with the steadiest endurance ; but he could not face the idea of taking all meaning and significance out of his life, by giving up the profession which he felt to be laid upon him by orders indelible, beyond the power of circumstances to revoke. Such was the new complication to which Gerald had come. He was terribly staggered in his pre- vious resolution by this new doubt, and he THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 133 wrote to pour his difficulties into the ear of his brother. It had been Frank's question which first aw T oke in his mind a doubt as to the practicability of the step he contemplated ; and one of Louisa's relations, appealed to by her in her next access of terror, had brought this aspect of the matter still more distinctly before *" the Eector of Wentwortk. Gerald had been studying Canon law, but his English intelligence did not make very much of it ; and the bare idea of a dispensation making that right which in itself was wrong, touched the high- minded gentleman to the quick, and brought him to a sudden standstill. He who was no- thing if not a priest, stood sorrowfully looking at his contemplated martyrdom — like Brother Domenico of St Mark's sighing on the edge of the fiery ordeal into which the Church herself would not let him plunge. If it was so, he no longer knew what to do. He would have wrapped the vestment of the new priesthood about him, though it was a garment of fire ; but to stand aside in irksome leisure was a harder trial, at which he trembled. This was the new complication in which Gerald asked his brother's sympathy and counsel. It was a long letter, curiously introspective, and full of self-argu- 1 34 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFORD : ment ; and it was hard work, with a mind so occupied as was that of the Perpetual Curate, to give it due attention. He put it away when he had done with his cold breakfast, and deferred the consideration of the subject, with a kind of vague hope that the family firmament might possibly brighten in that quarter at least ; but the far-off and indistinct interest with which he viewed, across his own gloomy surroundings, this matter which had engrossed him so completely a few days before, was wonderful to see. And then he paused to think what he was to do. To go out and face the slander which al- ready must have crept forth on its way — to see Els worthy and ascertain whether he had come to his senses, and try if anything could be done for Rosa's discovery — to exert himself somehow, in short, and get rid of the feverish activity which he felt consuming him — that was what he longed to do. But, on the other hand, it was Satur- day, and Mr Went worth was conscious that it would be more dignified, and in better taste altogether, if he went on writing his sermon and took no notice of this occurrence, with which, in reality, he had nothing to do. It was difficult, but no doubt it was best ; and he tried it accord- ingly — putting down a great many sentences THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 135 which had to be scratched out again, and spoil- ing altogether the appearance of his sermon- paper. When a message came from Mr Wode- house's about eleven o'clock, bringing the news that he was much worse and not expected to live, and begging Mr AVentworth's immediate presence, the Curate was as nearly glad as it was possible for a man to be under the circumstances. He had "a feeling heart," as even Elsworthy allowed, but in such a moment of excitement any kind of great and terrible event seemed to come natural. He hastened out into the fresh morn- ing sunshine, which still seemed thrilling with life and joy, and went up Grange Lane with a certain sense of curiosity, wondering whether everybody was already aware of what had hap- pened. A long way off a figure which much resembled that of the Rector was visible crossing- over to Dr Marjoribanks's door ; and it occurred to the Curate that Mr Morgan was crossing to avoid him, which brought a smile of anger and involuntary dislike to his face, and nerved him for any other encounter. The green door at Mr Wodehouse's — a homely sign of the trouble in the house — had been left unlatched, and was swing- ing ajar with the wind when the Curate came up ; and as he went in (closing it carefully after him, 136 CHBONICLES OF CABUNGFOBD : for that forlorn little touch of carelessness went to his heart), he encountered in the garden I »]• Marjoribanks and Dr Rider, who were coming out together with very grave looks. They did not stop for much conversation, only pausing to tell him that the case was hopeless, and that the patient could not possibly live beyond a day or two at most ; but even in the few words that were spoken Mr Went worth perceived, or thought he perceived, that something had occurred to lessen him in the esteem of the shrewd old Scotch doctor, who contemplated him and his prayer-book with critical eyes. " T confess, after all, that there are cases in which written prayers are a kind of security," Dr Marjoribanks said in an irrelevant manner to Dr Rider when Mr Wentworth had passed them — an observation at which, in ordinary cases, the Curate would have smiled ; but to-day the colour rose to his face, and he understood that Dr Marjoribanks did not think him qualified to carry comfort or instruc- tion to a sick-bed. Perhaps the old doctor had no such idea in his mind — perhaps it was simply a relic of his national Presbyterianism, to which the old Scotchman kept up a kind of visionary allegiance. But whether he meant it or not, Mr ■Wentworth understood it as a reproach to him- THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 137 self, and went on with a bitter feeling of morti- fication to the sick-room. He had o;one with his whole heart into his priestly office, and had been noted for his ministrations to the sick and poor ; but now his feelings were much too personal for the atmosphere into which he was just about to enter. He stopped at the door to tell John that he would take a stroll round the garden before he came in, as he had a headache, and went on through the walks which were sacred to Lucy, not thinking of her, but wondering bitterly whe- ther anybody would stand by him, or whether an utterly baseless slander would outweigh all the five years of his life which he had spent among the people of Carlingford. Meanwhile John stood at the door and watched him, and of course thought it was very " queer." " It ain't as if he'd a-been sitting up all night, like our young ladies," said John to himself, and uncon- sciously noted the circumstance down in his memory against the Curate. When Mr Wentworth entered the sick-room, he found all very silent and still in that dark- ened chamber. Lucy was seated by the bed- side, wrapped in a loose dressing-gown, and looking as if she had not slept for several nights; while Miss Wodehouse, who, notwith- 138 CHBONICLES OF CARLIXOFOK1) : standing all her anxiety to be of use, was far more helpless than Lucy, stood on the side next the door, with her eyes fixed on her sister, watching with pathetic unserviceableness for the moment when she could be of some use. As for the patient himself, he lay in a kind of stupor, from which he scarcely ever could be roused, and showed no tokens at the moment of hearing or seeing anybody. The scene was doubly sad, but it was without the excitement which so often breathes in the atmosphere of death. There was no eager listening for the last word, no last outbreaks of tenderness. The daughters were both hushed into utter silence ; and Lucy, who was more reasonable than her sister, had even given up those wistful beseech- ing looks at the patient, with which Miss Wode- house still regarded him, as if perhaps he might be thus persuaded to speak. The nurse whom Dr Marjoribanks had sent to assist them was visible through an open door, sleeping very comfortably in the adjoining room. Mr Went- worth came into the silent chamber with all his anxieties throbbing in his heart, bringing life at its very height of agitation and tumult into the presence of death. He went forward to the bed, and tried for an instant to call up any THE PERrETUAL CURATE. 139 spark of intelligence that might yet exist within the mind of the dying man ; but Mr Wode- house was beyond the voice of any priest. The Curate said the prayers for the dying at the bedside, suddenly filled with a great pity for the man who was thus taking leave unawares of all this mournful-splendid world. Though the young man knew many an ordinary sentiment about the vanity of life, and had given utter- ance to that effect freely in the way of his duty, he was still too fresh in his heart to con- ceive actually that any one could leave the world without poignant regrets ; and when his prayer was finished, he stood looking at the patient with inexpressible compassion. Mr AVodehouse had scarcely reached old age ; he was well-off, and only a week ago seemed to have so much to enjoy ; now, here he lay stupe- fied, on the edge of the grave, unable to respond even by a look to the love that surrounded him. Once more there rose in the heart of the young priest a natural impulse of resentment and in- dignation ; and when he thought of the cause of this change, he remembered Wodehouse's threat, and roused himself from his contempla- tion of the dying to think of the probable fate of those who must live. 140 ciikoxici.es of carlingford : "Has he made his will?" said Mr AVent- worth, suddenly. He forgot that it was Lucy who was standing by him ; and it was only when he caught a glance of reproach and horror from her eyes that he recollected how abrupt his question was. " Pardon me," he said ; " you think me heartless to speak of it at such a time; but tell me, if you know : Miss AVodehouse, has he made his will % " " Oh, Mr AYentwo.rth, I don't know anything about business," said the elder sister. " He said he would ; but we have had other things to think of — more important things," said poor Miss Wodehouse, wringing her hands, and look- ing at Mr AVentworth with eyes full of warning and meaning, beseeching him not to betray her secret. She came nearer to the side of the bed on which Lucy and the Curate were standing, and plucked at his sleeve in her anxiety. " We have had very different things to think of. Oh, Mr Went worth, what does it matter?" said the poor lady, interposing her anxious looks, which sug- gested every kind of misfortune, between the two. "It matters everything in the world," said Mr AVentworth. "Pardon me if I wound you — I must speak ; if it is possible to rouse him, an effort must be made. Send for Mr AVaters. THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 141 He must not be allowed to go out of the world and leave your interests in the hands of " " Oh, hush, Mr Wentworth, hush ! — oh, hush, hush ! Don't say any more," cried Miss Wode- house, grasping his arm in her terror. Lucy rose from where she had been sitting at the bedside. She had grown paler than before, and looked almost stern in her youthful gravity. " I will not permit my father to be disturbed," she said. " I don't know what you mean, or what you are talking of ; but he is not to be disturbed. Do you think I will let him be vexed in his last hours about money or any- body's interest 1 " she said, turning upon the Curate a momentary glance of scorn. Then she sat down again, with a pang of disappointment added to her grief. She could not keep her heart so much apart from him, as not to expect a little comfort from his presence. And there had been comfort in his prayers and his looks ; but to hear him speak of wills and worldly affairs by her father's deathbed, as any other man might have done, went to Lucy's heart. She sat down again, putting her hand softly upon the edge of the pillow, to guard the peace of those last moments which were ebbing away so rapidly. What if all the comfort in the 142 CHRONICLES OF CABLINGFOBD : world hung upon it \ Could she let her kind father be troubled in his end for anything so miserable ? Lucy turned her indignant eyes upon the others with silent resolution. It was she who was his protector now. " But it must be done," said Mr Wentworth. "You will understand me hereafter. Miss AYodehou.se, you must send for Mr Waters, and in the mean time I will do what I can to rouse him. It is no such cruelty as you think," said the Curate, with humility ; " it is not for money or interest only — it concerns all the comfort of your life." This he said to Lucy, who sat defending her father. She, for her part, looked up at him with eyes that broke his heart. At that mo- ment of all others, the unfortunate Curate per- ceived, by a sudden flash of insight, that nothing less than love could look at him with such force of disappointment and reproach and wounded feeling. He replied to the look by a gesture of mingled entreaty and despair. " What can I do % " he cried — " you have no one else to care for you. I cannot even explain to you all that is at stake. I must act as I ought, even though you hate me for it. Let us send for Mr Waters ; — if there is a will " THE PEKPETUAL CURATE. 143 Mr Went worth had raised his voice a little in the excitement of the moment, and the word caught the dull ear of the dying man. The Curate saw instantly that there was comprehen- sion in the flicker of the eyelash and the tremu- lous movement of the hand upon the bed. It was a new and unaccustomed part which he had now to play; he went hurriedly to the other side and leaned over the pillow to make out the stammering words which be^an to be audible. Lucy had risen up also and stood looking at her father still with her look of defence. As the feeble lips babbled forth unin- telligible words, Lucy's pale face grew sterner and sterner. As for Miss Wodehouse, she stood behind, crying and trembling. " Oh, Mr Went- worth, do you think it is returning life — do you think he is better % " she cried, looking wistfully at the Curate ; and between the two young people, who were leaning with looks and feel- ings so different over his bed, the patient lay struggling with those terrible bonds of weak- ness, labouring to find expression for something which wrought him into a fever of excitement. While Mr Wentworth bent his ear closer and closer, trying to make some sense of the inar- ticulate torrent of sound, Lucy, inspired by 144 CHKONICLES OF CAELDTGFOBD : grief and horror and indignation, leaned over her father on the other side, doing everything possible to calm him. " Oh, papa, don't say any more — don't say any more ; we understand you," she cried, and put her soft hands upon his flushed forehead, and her cheek to his. " No more, no more ! " cried the girl in the dulled ear which could not hear. " AVe will do everything you wish — we understand all," said Lucy. Mr Wentworth withdrew vanquished in that strange struggle — he stood looking on while she caressed and calmed and subdued into silence the dying passion which he would have given anything in the world to stimulate into clearer utterance. She had baffled his efforts, made him helpless to serve her, perhaps injured herself cruelly; but all the more the Curate loved her for it, as she expanded over her dying father, with the white sleeves hano-ino; loose about her arms like the © © white wings of an angel, as he thought. Gradu- ally the agony of utterance got subdued, and then Lucy resumed her position by the bed. " He shall not be disturbed," she said again, through lips that were parched with emotion ; and so sat watchful over him, a guardian immovable, ready to defy all the world in defence of his peace. THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 145 Mr "Went worth turned away with his heart full. He would have liked to go and kiss her hand or her sleeve or anything belonging to her ; and yet he was impatient beyond expres- sion, and felt that she had baffled aud van- quished him. Miss Wodehouse stood behind, still looking on with a half perception of what had happened ; but the mind of the elder sister was occupied with vain hopes and fears, such as inexperienced people are subject to in the pre- sence of death. " He heard what you said," said Miss "Wode- house ; " don't } T ou think that was a good sign ? Oh, Mr Wentworth, sometimes I think he looks a little better," said the poor lady, looking wist- fully into the Curate's face. Mr Wentworth could only shake his head as he hurried away. " I must go and consult Mr "Waters," he said as he passed her. " I shall come back pre- sently;" and then Miss "Wodehouse followed him to the door, to beg him not to speak to Mr Waters of anything particular — "For papa has no confidence in him," she said, anxiously. The Curate was nearly driven to his wits' end as he hastened out. He forgot the clouds that sur- rounded him in his anxiety about this sad household ; for it seemed but too evident that VOL. II. k 140 CHRONICLE3 OF CARLINGFORD. Mr Wodehouse had made no special provision for his daughters ; and to think of Lucy under the power of her unknown brother, made Mr Wentworth's blood boil. The shutters were all put up that afternoon in the prettiest house in Grange Lane. The event took Carlingford altogether by surprise ; but other events just then were moving the town into the wildest excitement ; for nothing could be heard, far or near, of poor little Eosa Elsworthy, and everybody was aware that the last time she was seen in Carlingford she was standing by herself in the dark, at Mr "Went- worth's garden-door. CHAPTER XXVIII. Mrs Morgan was in the garden watering her favourite ferns when her husband returned home to dinner on the day of Mr Wodehouse's death. The Hector was late, and she had al- ready chauged her dress, and was removing the withered leaves from her prettiest plant of maidenhair, and thinking, with some concern, of the fish, when she heard his step on the gravel ; for the cook at the Rectory was rather hasty in her temper, and was apt to be provoking to her mistress next mornino- when the Rector chose to o be late. It was a very hot day, and Mr Morgan was Hushed and uncomfortable. To see his wife looking so cool and tranquil in her muslin dress rather aggravated him than otherwise, for she did not betray her anxiety about the trout, but welcomed him with a smile, as she felt it her duty to do, even when he was late for dinner. 148 CHRONICLES OF CAKI.INtiFORD : The Eector looked as if all the anxieties of the world were on his shoulders, as he came hur- riedly along the gravel ; and Mrs Morgan's curiosity was sufficiently excited by his looks to have overcome any consideration but that of the trout, which, however, was too serious to be trifled with ; so, instead of asking questions, she thought it wiser simply to remind her hus- band that it was past six o'clock. " Dinner is waiting," she said, in her composed way ; and the Rector went up-stairs to wash his hands, half disposed to be angry with his wife. He found her already seated at the head of the table when he came down after his rapid ablutions ; and though he was not particularly quick of percep- tion, Mr Morgan perceived, by the looks of the servant as well as the mistress, that he was generally disapproved of throughout the house- hold for being half an hour too late. As for Thomas, he was at no pains to conceal his senti- ments, but conducted himself with distant polite- ness towards his master, expressing the feelings of the household with all the greater freedom that he had been in possession of the Rectory since Mr Bury's time, and felt himself more se- cure in his tenure than any incumbent, as was natural to a man who had already outlived THE PEEPETUAL CURATE. 149 two of these temporary tenants. Mr Morgan was disposed to be conciliatory when he saw the strength of the opposite side. " I am a little late to-day," said the politic Eector. "Mr Leeson was with me, and I did not want to bring him home to dinner. It was only on Wednesday he dined with us, and I know you don't care for chance guests." " I think it shows a great want of sense in Mr Leeson to think of such a thing," said Mrs Morgan, responding by a little flush of anger to the unlucky Curate's name. " He might under- stand that people like to be by themselves now and then. I am surprised that you give in to him so much as you do, William. Good-nature must stop somewhere, and I think it is always best to draw a line." "I wish it were possible for everybody to draw a line," said the Rector, mysteriously, with a sigh. " I have heard something that has grieved me very much to-day. I will tell you about it afterwards." When he had said this, Mr Morgan addressed himself sadly to his din- ner, sighing over it, as if that had something to do with his distress. "Perhaps, ma'am," suggested Thomas, who was scarcely on speaking terms with bis master, 150 ciironici.es of cabukgfoed: "the Rector mayn't have heard as Mr Wode- house lias been took very bad again, and ain't expected to see out the night % " " I am very sorry," said the Rector. " Poor ladies ! it will come very hard upon them. My dear, I think you should call and ask if you can do anything. Troubles never come singly, it is said. I am very sorry for that poor young crea- ture; though, perhaps, things have not gone so far as one imagined." The Rector sighed again, and looked as though his secret, whatever it- might be, was almost too much for him. The con- sequence, of course, was, that Thomas prolonged his services to the last possibility, by way of hearing what had happened ; as for Mrs Mor- gan, she sat on thorns, though her sense of pro- priety was too great to permit her to hurry over the dinner. The pudding, though it was the Rector's favourite pudding, prepared from a receipt only known at All-Souls, in which the late respected Head of that learned community had concentrated all his genius, was eaten in uneasy silence, broken only by the most trans- parent attempts on both sides to make a little conversation. Thomas hovered sternly over his master and mistress all the time, exacting with inexorable severity every usage of the table. He THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 151 would not let them off the very smallest detail, but insisted on handing round the peaches, not- withstanding Mrs Morgan's protest. " They are the first out of the new orchard-house," said the Rector's wife. "I want your opinion of them. That will do, Thomas ; we have got everything now, I think." Mrs Morgan was a little anxious about the peaches, having made a great many changes on her own responsibility in the gar- dening department : but the Rector took the downy fruit as if it had been a turnip, and not- withstanding her interest in the long -delayed news, his wife could not but find it very provok- ing that he took so little notice of her exertions. " Roberts stood out against the new flue as long as he could," said Mrs Morgan. " Mr Proc- tor took no interest in the garden, and every- thing had gone to ruin ; though I must say it was very odd that anybody from your college, William, should be careless about such a vital matter," said the Rector's wife, with a little asperity. " I suppose there must be something in the air of Carlingford which makes people indifferent." Naturally, it was very provoking, after all the trouble she had taken, to see her husband slicing that juicy pulp as if it had been any ordinary market fruit. 152 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXOFORD : " I beg your pardon, my dear," said Mr Morgan ; " I was thinking of this story about Mr Wentworth. One is always making new discoveries of the corruption of human nature, lie has behaved very badly to me ; but it is very sad to see a young man sacrifice all his prospects for the indulgence of his passions ; though that is a very secular way of looking at the subject," said the Rector, shaking his head mournfully. " If it is bad in a worldly point of view, what is it in a spiritual ? and in this age, too, when it is so important to keep up the character of the clergy !" Mr Morgan sighed again more heavily than ever as he poured out the single glass of port, in which his wife joined him after dinner. " Such an occurrence throws a stigma upon the whole Church, as Mr Leeson very justly remarked." " I thought Mr Leeson must have something to do with it," said the Rector's wife. " What has Mr Wentworth been doing 1 When you keep a Low-Church Curate, you never can tell what he may say. If he had known of the All- Souls pudding he would have come to dinner, and Ave should have had it at first-hand," said Mrs Morgan, severely. She put away her peach in her resentment, and went to a side-table for THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 153 her work, which she always kept handy for emergencies. Like her husband, Mrs Morgan had acquired some little "ways" in the long ten years of their engagement, one of which was a confirmed habit of needlework at all kinds of unnecessary moments, which much disturbed the Rector when he had anything particular to say. " My dear, I am very sorry to see you so much the victim of prejudice," said Mr Morgan. " I had hoped that all our long experiences " and here the Rector stopped short, troubled to see the rising colour in his wife's face. " I don't mean to blame you, my dear," said the perplexed man; "I know you were always very patient;" and he paused, not knowing what more to say, comforting himself with the thought that women were incomprehensible creatures, as so many men have done before. " I am not patient," said the Rector's wife ; " it never was my nature. I can't help think- ing sometimes that our long experiences have done us more harm than good ; but I hope nothing will ever make me put up with a Curate who tells tales about other people, and flatters one's self, and comes to dinner without being asked. Perhaps Mr Wentworth is very 1D4 CHBONICLES OF CABIIN6FOBD : sinful, but at least be is a gentleman/' said Mrs Morgan ; and she bent her head over her work, and drove her needle so fast thro u oh the muslin she was at work upon, that it glimmered and sparkled like summer lightning before the spec- tator s dazzled eyes. " I am sorry you are so prejudiced," said the Rector. " It is a very unbecoming spirit, my dear, though I am grieved to say so much to you. Mr Leeson is a very good young man, and he has nothing to do with this terrible o story about Mr Wentworth. I don't wish to shock your feelings — but there are a great many things in the world that one can't explain to ladies. He has got himself into a most dis- tressing position, and a public inquiry will be necessary. One can't help seeing the hand of Providence in it," said the Rector, playing re- flectively with the peach on his plate. It was at this moment that Thomas appeared at the door to announce Mr Leeson, who had come to talk over the topic of the day with the Rector — being comfortably obtuse in his perceptions, and quite disposed to ignore Mrs Morgan's general demeanour towards himself. " I am sure she has a bad temper," he would say to his confidants in the parish ; " you can THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 155 see it by the redness in her face : but I never take any notice when she says rude things to me/' The redness was alarming in Mrs Mor- gan's face as the unlucky man became visible at the door. She said audibly, " I knew we should be interrupted !" and got up from her chair. " As Mr Leeson is here, you will not want me, William," she added, in her precises t tones. " If anything has happened since you came in, he will be able to tell you about it ; and perhaps I had better send you your coffee here, for I have a great many things to do." jlr Morgan gave a little groan in his spirit as his wife went away. To do him justice, he had a great deal of confidence in her, and was un- consciously guided by her judgment in many matters. Talking it over with Mr Leeson was a totally different thing ; for whatever might be said in his defence, there could not be any doubt that the Curate professed Low- Church principles, and had been known to drink tea with Mr Beecher, the new minister of Salem Chapel. "Not that I object to Mr Beecher because he is a Dissenter," Mr Morgan said, " but because, my dear, you know, it is a totally different class of society." When the Rector was left alone to discuss parish matters 156 CHRONICLES OF CABIINGFOBD : with this doubtful subordinate, instead of going into the subject with his wife, the good man felt a pang of disappointment ; for though he professed to be reluctant to shock her, he had been longing all the time to enter into the story, which was certainly the most exciting which had occurred in Carlingford since the beginning of his incumbency. Mrs Morgan, for her part, went np-stairs to the drawing-room with so much indignation about this personal grievance that she almost forgot her curiosity. Mr Lee- son hung like a cloud over all the advantages of Carlingford ; he put out that new flue in the greenhouse, upon which she was rather disposed to pique herself, and withered her ferns, which everybody allowed to be the finest collection within a ten miles' circuit. This sense of disgust increased upon her as she went into the draw- ing-room, where her eye naturally caught that carpet which had been the first cross of her married life. When she had laid down her work, she began to plan how the offensive bouquets might be covered with a pinafore of linen, which looked verv cool and nice in sum- mer-time. And then the Hector's wife reflected that in winter a floor covered with white looked chilly, and that a woollen drugget of an appro- THE PEEPETUAL CUE ATE. 157 priate small pattern would be better on the whole ; but no such thing was to be had with- out going to London for it, which brought her mind back again to Mr Leeson and all the disadvantages of Carlingford. These subjects occupied Mrs Morgan to the exclusion of ex- ternal matters, as was natural ; and when she heard the gentlemen stir down-stairs, as if with ideas of joining her in the drawing-room, the Rector's wife suddenly recollected that she had promised some tea to a poor woman in Grove Street, and that she could not do better this beautiful evening than take it in her own per- son. She was very active in her district at all times, and had proved herself an admirable clergy woman ; but perhaps it would not have occurred to her to go out upon a charitable errand that particular evening had it not been for the presence of Mr Leeson down-stairs. It was such a very lovely night, that Mrs Morgan was tempted to go farther than she intended. She called on two or three of her favourites in Grove Street, and was almost as friendly with them as Lucy Wodehouse was with the people in Prickett's Lane ; but being neither pretty and young, like Lucy, nor yet a mother with a nursery, qualified to talk about the 158 CHEONICLES OF CAULIXOFOED : measles, her reception was not quite as enthusi- astic as it might have been. Somehow it would appear as though our poor neighbours loved most the ministrations of youth, which is superior to all ranks in the matter of possibility and expectation, and inferior to all ranks in the matter of experience ; and so holds a kind of balance and poise of nature between the small and the great. Mrs Morgan was vaguely sensible of her disadvantages in this respect as well as in others. She never could help imagining what she might have been had she married ten years before at the natural period. "And even then not a girl," she said to herself in her sensible way, as she carried this habitual thread of thought with her along the street, past the little front gardens, where there were so many mothers with their children. On the other side of the way the genteel houses frowned darkly with their staircase windows upon the humility of Grove Street ; and Mrs Morgan began to think within herself of the Miss Hemmings and other spinsters, and how they got along upon this path of life, which, after all, is never very lightsome to behold, except in the future or the past. It was dead present with the Rector's wife just then, and many specula- THE PEEPETUAL CUEATE. 159 tions were in her mind, as was natural. " Not that I could not have lived unmarried," she con- tinued within herself, with a woman's pride; "but things looked so different at five-and-twenty ! " and in her heart she grudged the cares she had lost, and sighed over this wasting of her years. It was just then that the youngest Miss Hemmings saw Mrs Morgan, and crossed over to speak to her. Miss Hemmings had left five- and-thirty behind a long time ago, and thought the Rector's wife a happy woman in the bloom of youth. When she had discovered conclusively that Mrs Morgan would not go in to have a cup of tea, Miss Hemmings volunteered to walk with her to the corner ; and it is not necessary to say that she immediately plunged into the topic which at that moment engaged all minds in Carlingford. " If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I should not have believed it," said Miss Hemmings. " I should have thought it a got-up story ; not that I ever could have thought it impossible, as you say — for, alas ! I know well that without grace every wickedness is more than possible — but I saw them with my own eyes, my dear Mrs Morgan ; she standing outside, the bold little thing, and he at the door — as if it was right for a clergyman to open the door 160 CHRONICLES OF CARLENGFOBD : like a man-servant — and from that moment to this she has not been seen by any living creature in Carlingford : who can tell what may have been done with her % " cried the horrified eyewitness. " She has never been seen from that hour ! " "But that was only twenty-four hours ago," said Mrs Morgan ; " she may have gone off to visit some of her friends." " Ah, my dear Mrs Morgan, twenty-four hours is a long time for a. girl to disappear out of her own home," said Miss Hemmings ; " and all her friends have been sent to, and no word can be heard of her. I am afraid it will go very hard with Mr Wentw r orth ; and I am sure it looks like a judgment upon him for all his candlesticks and flowers and things," she continued, out of breath with the impetuosity of her tale. " Do you think, then, that God makes people sin in order to punish them % " said Mrs Morgan, with some fire, which shocked Miss Hemmings, who did not quite know how to reply. " I do so wish you would come in for a few minutes and taste our tea ; my sister Sophia was just making it when I came out. We get it from our brother in Assam, and we think a great deal of it," said Miss Hemmings ; " it can't possibly be adulterated, you know, for it comes THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 161 direct from his plantation. If you can't come in just now, I will send you some to the Rectory, and you shall tell us how you like it. AVe are quite proud of our tea. My brother has a large plantation, and he hopes " "Thank you," said Mrs Morgan, "but the Rector will be waiting for me, and I must go. It must be very nice to have your tea direct from the plantation ; and I hope you will change your mind about Mr Wentworth," she continued, without much regard for punctuation, as she shook hands at the corner. Mrs Morgan went down the narrow street which led to Grange Lane, after this interview, with some commotion in her mind. She took Mr Wentworth's part instinctively, without asking any proofs of his innocence. The sun was just setting, and St Roque's stood out dark and picturesque against all the glory of the western sky as the Rector's wife went past. She could not help thinkiug of him, in his youth and the opening of his career, with a kind of wistful interest. If he had married Lucy Wodehouse, and confined himself to his own district (but then he had no district), Mrs Morgan would have contemplated the two, not, indeed, without a certain half-resentful self- vol. n. l 1G2 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFORD: reference and contrast, but with natural sym- pathy. And now, to think of this dark and ugly blot on his fair bcsnnnino; disturbed her much. When Mrs Morgan recollected that she had left her husband and his curate consulting over this matter, she grew very hot and angry, and felt humiliated by the thought. Was it her William, her hero, whom she had magnified for all these ten years, though not without occasional twinges of enlightenment, into something great, who was thus sitting upon his young brother with so little human feeling and so much middle-aged jealousy 1 ? It hurt her to think of it, thousjh not for Mr Wentworth's sake. Poor Mrs Morgan, though not at all a sentimental person, had hoarded up her ideal so much after the ordinary date, that it came all the harder upon her when everything thus merged into the light of common day. She walked very fast up Grange Lane, which was another habit of her maidenhood not quite in accord with the habit of sauntering acquired during the same period by the Fellow of All- Souls. When Mrs Morgan was opposite Mr Wodehouse's, she looked across with some interest, thinking of Lucy ; and it shocked her greatly to see the closed shutters, which told of the presence of death. Then, a little farther up, THE PEEPETUAL CUEATE. 1G3 she could see Elsworthy in front of his shop, which was already closed, talking vehemently to a little group round the door. The Rector's wife crossed the street, to avoid coming in con- tact with this excited party; and, as she went swiftly along under the garden-walls, came direct, without perceiving it, upon Mr Went- worth, who was going the opposite way. They were both absorbed in their own thoughts, the Perpetual Curate only perceiving Mrs Morgan in time to take off his hat to her as he passed ; and, to tell the truth, having no desire for any further intercourse. Mrs Morgan, however, was of a different mind. She stopped instantly, as soon as she perceived him. " Mr Went worth, it is getting late — will you walk with me as far as the Rectory 1 " she said, to the Curate's great astonishment. He could not help looking at her with curiosity as he turned to accompany her. Mrs Morgan was still wearing her wedding things, which were not now in their first fresh- ness — not to say that the redness, of which she was so painfully sensible, was rather out of ac- cordance with the orange blossoms. Then she was rather flurried and disturbed in her mind ; and, on the whole, Mr Wentworth ungratefully concluded the Rector's wife to be looking her 164 CHBONICLES OF CABIINGFOBO : plainest, as he turned with very languid interest to see her safely home. "A great many things seem to be happening just now," said Mrs Morgan, with a good deal of embarrassment ; " I suppose the people in Car- 1 in -ford are grateful to anybody who gives them something to talk about." " I don't know about the gratitude," said the Perpetual Curate ; " it is a sentiment I don't believe in." " You ought to believe in everything as long as you are young," said Mrs Morgan. " I want very much to speak to you, Mr Wentworth ; but then I don't know how you will receive what I am going to say." " I can't tell until I know what it is," said the Curate, shutting himself up. He had an ex- pressive face generally, and Mrs Morgan saw the shutters put up and the jealous blinds drawn over the young man's countenance as clearly as if they had been tangible articles. He did not look at her, but kept swinging his cane in his hand, and regarding the pavement with down- cast eyes ; and if the Hector's wife had formed any expectations of finding in the Perpetual Curate an ingenuous young heart, open to sympathy and criticism, she now discovered her mistake. THE PEEPETUAL CURATE. 165 " If I run the risk, perhaps you will forgive me," said Mrs Morgan. " I have just been hear- ing a dreadful story about you ; and I don't be- lieve it in the least, Mr Wentworth," she con- tinued, with a little effusion ; for though she was very sensible, she was only a woman, and did not realise the possibility of having her sympathy rejected, and her favourable judgment received with indifference. "I am much flattered by your good opinion. What was the dreadful story?" asked Mr Went- worth, looking at her with careless eyes. They were just opposite Els worthy's shop, and could almost hear what he was saying, as he stood in the midst of his little group of listeners, talking loud and vehemently. The Perpetual Curate looked calmly at him across the road, and turned again to Mrs Morgan, repeating his question, " What was the dreadful story 1 — one gets used to romances," he said, with a composure too ela- borate to be real ; but Mrs Morgan did not think of that. " If you don't care about it, I need not say anything," said the Rector's wife, who could not help feeling affronted. " But I am so sorry that Mr Morgan and you don't get on," she continued, after a little pause. " I have no right to speak; L66 CHB0NICLE8 OF CASLDTGFOBD : but I take an interest in everything that belongs to the parish. If you would put a little con- fidence in my husband, things might go on better ; but, in the mean time, I thought I might say to you, on my own account, that I had heard this scandal, and that I don't believe in it. If you do not understand my motive, I can't help it," said the Eector's wife, who was now equally ready for friendship or for battle. " Thanks ; I understand what you mean," said Mr Wentworth, who had come to himself. "But will you tell me what it is you don't believe in'?" he asked, with a smile which Mrs Morgan did not quite comprehend. " I will tell you," she said, with a little quiet exasperation. " I don't think you would risk your prospects, and get yourself into trouble, and damage your entire life, for the sake of any girl, however pretty she might be. Men don't do such things for women nowadays, even when it is a worthy object," said the disappointed op- timist. "And I believe you are a great deal more sensible, Mr Wentworth." There was just that tone of mingled approval and contempt in this speech which a woman knows how to deli- ver herself of without any appearance of feeling; THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 167 and which no young man, however blase, can hear with composure. " Perhaps not," he said, with a little heat and a rising colour. " I am glad you think me so sensible." And then there ensued a pause, upon the issue of which depended the question of peace or war between these two. Mr Went- worth's good angel, perhaps, dropped softly through the dusky air that moment, and jogged his perverse charge with the tip of a celestial wing. "And yet there might be women in the world for whom " said the Curate ; and stopped again. " I daresay you are not anxious to know my sentiments on the subject," he con- tinued, with a little laugh. " I am sorry you think so badly — I mean so well of me." " I don't think badly of you," said Mrs Mor- gan, hastily. " Thank you for walking with me ; and whatever happens, remember that I for one don't believe a word of it," she said, holding out her hand. After this little declaration of friend- ship, the Rector's wife returned to the Rectory, where her husband was waiting for her, more than ever prepared to stand up for Mr Went- worth. She went back to the drawing-room, forgetting all about the carpet, and poured out the tea with satisfaction, and made herself very 168 CHRONICLES OF CABLINGFOBD. agreeable to Mr Finial, the architect, who had come to talk over the restorations. In that moment of stimulation she forgot all her expe- rience of her husband's puzzled looks, of the half-comprehension with which he looked at her, and the depths of stubborn determination which were far beyond the reach of her hastier and more generous spirit, and so went on with more satisfaction and gaiety than she had felt possible for a long time, beating her drums and blowing her trumpets, to the encounter in which her female forces were so confident of victory. CHAPTER XXIX. Mr Wentworth went upon his way, after he had parted from Mrs Morgan, with a moment's gratitude ; but he had not gone half-a-dozen steps before that amiable sentiment yielded to a sense of soreness and vexation. He had al- most acknowledged that he was conscious of the slander against which he had made up his mind to present a blank front of unconsciousness and passive resistance, and he was angry with him- self for his susceptibility to this unexpected voice of kindness. He was going home, but he did not care for going home. Poor Mrs Had- win's anxious looks of suspicion had added to the distaste with which he thought of encounter- ing again the sullen shabby rascal to whom he had given shelter. It was Saturday night, and he had still his sermon to prepare for the next day ; but the young man was in a state of dis- 170 CHEO OF CABIINGFOED: gust with all the circumstances of his lot, and could not make up his mind to go in and ad- dress himself to his work as he ought to have doue. Such a sense of injustice and cruelty as possessed him was not likely to promote com- position, especially as the pulpit addresses of the Curate of St Eoque's were not of a declama- tory kind. To think that so many years' work could be neutralised in a day by a sudden breath of scandal, made him not humble or patient, but fierce and resentful. He had been in Wharfside that afternoon, and felt convinced that even the dying woman at No. 1 Prickett's Lane had heard of Rosa Elsworthy ; and he saw, or imagined he saw, many a distrustful inquiring glance thrown at him by people to whom he had been a kind of secondary Provi- dence. Naturally the mere thought of the fail- ing allegiance of the "district" went to Mr "Wentworth's heart. When he turned round suddenly from listening to a long account of one poor family's distresses, and saw Tom Bur- rows, the gigantic bargeman, whose six children the Curate had baptised in a lump, and whose baby had been held at the font by Lucy Wode- house herself, looking at him wistfully with rude affection, and something that looked very much THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 171 like pity, it is impossible to describe the bitter- ness that welled up in the mind of the Per- petual Curate. Instead of leaving Wharfside comforted as he usually did, he came away "wounded and angry, feeling to its full extent the fickleness of popular sympathy. And when he came into Grange Lane and saw the shutters closed, and Mr Wodehouse's green door shut fast, as if never more to open, all sources of consolation seemed to be shut against him. Even the habit he had of going into Elsworthy's to get his newspaper, and to hear what talk might be current in Carlingford, contributed to the sense of utter discomfort and wretched- ness which overwhelmed him. Men in other positions have generally to consult the opinion of their equals only ; but all sorts of small peo- ple can plant thorns in the path of a priest who has given himself with fervour to the duties of his office. True enough, such clouds blow by, and sometimes leave behind a sky clearer than before ; but that result is doubtful, and Mr Went worth was not of the temper to comfort himself with philosophy. He felt ingratitude keenly, as men do at eight -and -twenty, even when they have made up their minds that gra- titude is a delusion ; and still more keenly, 1 , 2 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD '. with deep resentment and indignation, he felt the horrible doubt which had diffused itself around him, and seemed to be looking at him out of everybody's eyes. In such a state of mind one bethinks one's self of one's relations — those friends not always congenial, but whom one looks to instinctively, when one is young, in the crises of life. He knocked at his aunts' door almost without knowing it, as he went down Grange Lane, after leaving Mrs Morgan, with vague sentences of his sermon floating in his mind through all the imbroglio of other thoughts. Even aunt Dora's foolish affection might have been a little comfort at the moment, and he could not but be a little curious to know whether they had heard Elsworthy's story, and what the patronesses of Skelmersdale thought of the matter. Somehow, just then, in the midst of his distresses, a vision of Skelmersdale burst upon the Perpetual Curate like a glimpse of a better world. If he could but escape there out of all this sickening misconception and ingrati- tude — if he could but take Lucy into his pro- tecting arms, and carry her away far from the clouds that were gathering over her path as well as his own. The thought found vent in an impatient long-drawn sigh, and was then THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 173 expelled contemptuously from the young man's bosom. If a hundred Skelmersdales were in Lis power, here, where his honour had been at- tacked, it was necessary to remain, in the face of all obstacles, till it was cleared. The Miss Wentworths had just come up to the drawing-room after dinuer when their ne- phew entered. As for Miss Dora, she had seated herself by the window, which was opeu, aDd, with her light little curls fluttering upon her cheek, was watching a tiny puff of smoke by the side of the great laurel, which indicated the spot occupied at this moment by Jack and his cigar. " Dear fellow, he does enjoy the quiet," she said, with a suppressed little sniff of emo- tion. " To think we should be in such misery about poor dear Frank, and have Jack, about whom we have all been so unbelieving, sent to us for a consolation. My poor brother will be so happy," said Miss Dora, almost crying at the thought. She was under the influence of this sentiment when the Curate entered. It was perhaps impossible for Mr Wentworth to pre- sent himself before his three aunts at the pre- sent crisis without a certain consciousness in his looks ; and it was well that it was twilight, and he could not read distinctly all that was 174 CHEONICLES OF OAELINGFOED : written in their countenances. Miss Cecilia held out her lovely old hand to him first of all. She said, " How do you do, Frank % " which was not very original, but yet counted for a good deal in the sileuce. When he came up to her, she offered him her sweet old cheek with a look of pity which touched, and yet affronted, the Perpetual Curate. lie thought it was the wisest way to accept the challenge at once. " It is very good of you, but you need not be sorry for me/' he said, as he sat down by her. And then there was a little pause — an awful pause ; for Miss Wentworth had no further ob- servations to offer, and Miss Dora, who had risen up hastily, dropped into her chair again in a disconsolate condition, when she saw that her nephew did not take any notice of her. The poor little woman sat down with miserable sen- sations, and did not find the comfort she hoped for in contemplation of the smoke of Jack's cigar. After all, it was Frank who w r as the original owner of Miss Dora's affections. When she saw him, as she thought, in a state of guilt and trouble, received with grim silence by the dreaded Leonora, the poor lady began to waver greatly, divided between a longing to return to her old allegiance, and a certain pride in the THE PERPETUAL CUE ATE. 175 new bonds which bound her to so great a sinner as Jack. She could not help feeling the distinc- tion of having such a reprobate in her hands. But the sight of Frank brought back old habits, and Miss Dora felt at her wits' end, and could not tell what to do. At length Miss Leonora's voice, which was decided contralto, broke the silence. "I am very glad to see you, Frank," said the strong- minded aunt. "From something we heard, I supposed you had gone away for a time, and we were rather anxious about your movements. There are so many things going on in the family just now, that one does not know what to think. I am glad to see you are still in Carlingford." "I never had the least intention of w>ino; away," said Mr Wentworth. " I can't imagine who could tell you so." " Nobody told us," said Miss Leonora ; " we drew that conclusion from other things we heard. Dora, give Frank the newspaper with that paragraph about Gerald. I have pro- phesied from the first which way Gerald was tending. It is very shocking of him, and I don't know what they are to do, for Louisa is an expensive little fool ; and if he leaves the Rectory, they can't have enough to live on. If 17G CHRONICLES OF CARLLXGFORD: you knew what your brother was going to do, why didn't you advise him otherwise 1 Besides, he will be wretched," said the discriminating woman. " I never approved of his ways, but I could not say anything against his sincerity. I believe his heart was in his work ; a man may be very zealous, and yet very erroneous," said Miss Leonora, like an oracle out of the shadows. " I don't know if he is erroneous or not — but I know I should like to punch this man's head," said the Curate, who had taken the paper to the window, where there was just light enough to make out the paragraph. He stood looming over Miss Dora, a great black shadow against the fading light. "All the mischief in the world comes of these villanous papers," said Mr Went- worth. " Though I did not think anybody nowadays believed in the ' Chronicle.' Gerald has not gone over to Rome, and I don't think he means to go. I daresay you have agitated yourself unnecessarily about more than one sup- posed event in the family," he continued, throw- ing the paper on the table. " I don't know any- thing very alarming that has happened as yet, except perhaps the prodigal's return," said the Perpetual Curate, with a slight touch of bitter- ness. His eye had just lighted on Jack saunter- THE PERPETUAL CUE ATE. 177 ing through the garden with his cigar • and Mr Wentworth was human, and could not entirely refrain from the expression of his sen- timents. " But, oh, Frank, my dear, you are not augry about poor Jack 1 " said Miss Dora. " He has not known what it was to be at home for years and years. A stepmother is so different from an own mother, and he never has had any opportunities ; and, oh, Frank, don't you re- member that there is joy in heaven 1 " cried the anxious aunt — " not to say that he is the eldest son. And it is such a thing for the family to see him changing his ways in such a beautiful spirit ! " said Miss Dora. The room was almost dark by this time, and she did not see that her penitent had entered while she spoke. " It is very consoling to gain your approval, aunt Dora," said Jack. "My brother Frank doesn't know me. If the Squire will make a nursery of his house, what can a man do % But a fellow can't be quite ruined as long as he has " aunts, the reprobate was about to say, with an inflection of laughter intended for Frank's ear only in his voice ; but he fortun- ately remembered in time that Miss Leonora had an acute intelligence, and was not to be VOL. II. M 178 CHEONICLES OF CARLIXGFORD : trifled with — "As long as he has female rela- tions," said Jack, in his most feeling tone. " Men never sympathise with men." He seemed to be apologising for Frank's indiffer- ence, as well as for his own sins. He had just had a very good dinner — for the Miss Went- worths' cook was the best in Carlingford — and Jack, whose digestion was perfect, was disposed to please everybody, and had, in particular, no disposition to quarrel with Frank. " Oh, my dear, you see how humble and for- giving he is," said Miss Dora, rising on tiptoe to whisper into the Curate's ear; "and always takes your part whenever you are mentioned," said the injudicious aunt. Meantime the other sisters were very silent, sitting each in the midst of her own group of shadows. Then Miss Leonora rose with a sudden rustling of all her draperies, and with her own energetic hand rans; the bell. "Now the lamp is coming," said Jack, in a tone of despair, " a bright, blank, pitiless globe like the world ; and instead of this delicious darkness, where one can see nothing distinctly, my heart will be torn asunder for the rest of the evening by the sight of suicide. Why do we ever have lights ? " said the exquisite, laying THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 179 himself down softly on a sofa. When the lamp was brought in, Jack became visible stretched out in an attitude of perfect repose and tran- quillity, with a quiet conscience written in every fold of his scrupulous apparel. As for Frank, on the contrary, he was still in morning- dress, and was biting his nails, and had a cloud upon his brow which the sudden light disclosed like a traitor before he was prepared for it. Between the two brothers such a contrast was visible that it was not surprising if Miss Dora, still waverino- in her allegiance, went back with relief to the calm countenance of her penitent, and owned to herself with trembling that the Curate looked preoccupied and guilty. Perhaps Miss Leonora came to a similar conclusion. She seated herself at her writing-table with her usual air of business, and made a pen to a hard point by the light of the candles, which were sacred to her particular use. "I heard some news this morning which pleased me very much," said Miss Leonora. " I daresay you remember Julia Trench ? You two used to be a Great deal together at one time. She is going to be married to Mr Shirley's ex- cellent curate, who is a young man of the high- est character. He did very well at the univer- 180 CHRONICLES OF CAKLIXGFORD : sity, I believe," said the patroness of Skelmers- dale ; " but I confess I don't care much for academical honours. He is an excellent clergy- man, which is a great deal more to the purpose, and I thoroughly agree with his views. So, knowing the interest we take in Julia, you may think how pleased we were," said Miss Leonora, looking full into her nephew's face. He knew what she meant as distinctly as if she had put it in words. " When is old Shirley going to die 1 " said Jack from the sofa. " It's rather hard upon Frank, keeping him out of the living so long ; and if I were you, I'd be jealous of this model curate," said the fine gentleman, with a slight civil yawn. " I don't approve of model curates upon family livings. People are apt to make comparisons," said Jack, and then he raised his head with a little energy — "Ah, there it is," said the Sybarite, "the first moth. Don't be precipitate, my dear fellow. Aunt Dora, pray sit quietly where you are, and don't disturb our operations. It is only a moth, to be sure ; but don't let us cut short the moments of a creature that has no hereafter," said Jack, solemnly. He disturbed them all by this eccentric manifesta- tion of benevolence, and flapped his handker- THE PEKPETUAL CUEATE. 181 chief round Miss Dora, upon whose white cap the unlucky moth, frightened by its benefactor's vehemence, was fluttering wildly. Jack even forgot himself so far as to swear softly in French at the frightened insect as it flew wildly off at a tangent, not to the open window, but to Miss Leonora's candles, where it came to an im- mediate end. Miss Leonora sat rather grimly looking on at all this byplay. When her elegant nephew threw himself back once more upon his sofa, she glanced from him to his brother with a comparison which perhaps was not so much to the disadvantage of the Perpetual Curate. Hut even Miss Leonora, though so sensible, had her weaknesses ; and she was very evangelical, and could put up with a great deal from the sinner who had placed himself for conversion in her hands. "We have too great a sense of our respon- sibility to treat Skelmersdale simply as a family living," she said. " Besides, Frank of course is to have Wentworth Rectory. Gerald's perver- sion is a great blow ; but still, if it is to be, Frank will be provided for at least. As for our parish " " I beg your pardon," said the Curate ; " I have not the least intention of leaving Carling- 132 OHBONICLES OF CABIINGFOBD : ford. At the present moment neither Skelmers- dale nor Wentworth would tempt me. I am in no doubt as to where my work lies, and there is enough of it to satisfy any man." He could not help thinking, as he spoke, of ungrateful Wharf- side, for which he had done so much, and the recollection brought a little flush of indignant colour to his cheek. " Oh, Frank, my dear," said Miss Dora in a whisper, stealing up to him, " if it is not true, you must not mind. Oh, my dear boy, nobody will mind it if it is not true." She put her hand timidly upon his arm as she reached up to his ear, and at the same time the poor little woman, who was trying all she could to serve two mas- ters, kept one eye upon Jack, lest her moment- ary return to his brother might have a disastrous effect upon the moral reformation which she was nursing with so much care. As for the Curate, he gave her a hasty glance, which very nearly made an end of Miss Dora. She retired to her seat with no more courage to say anything, unable to make out whether it was virtuous re- proach or angry guilt which looked at her so sternly. She felt her headache coming on as she sank again upon her chair. If she could but have stolen away to her own room, and had a THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 183 good comforting cry in the dark, it might have kept off the headache ; but then she had to be faithful to her post, and to look after the refor- mation of Jack. ' I have no doubt that a great work might be dore in Carlingford," said Miss Leonora, " if you would take my advice and organise matters pro- perly, and make due provision for the lay ele- ment. As for Sisters of Mercy, I never had any belief in them. They only get young clergymen into mischief," said the strong-minded aunt. " We ire going to have tea, Frank, if you will have fcome. Poor Mr Shirley has got matters into vtry bad order at Skelmersdale, but things will be different under the new incumbent, I hope," .'aid Miss Leonora, shooting a side-glance of keen inspection at the Curate, who bore it steadily " I hope he will conduct himself to your satis- faction " said Mr Wentworth, with a bland but somewlut grim aspect, from the window ; " but I can't vait for tea. I have still got some of my wort to do for to-morrow ; so good-night." "I'll valk with you, Frank," said his elder brother. " My dear aunts, don't look alarmed ; nothing can happen to me. There are few temp- tations in Grange Lane; and, besides, I shall 184 CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFOED : ' come back directly. 1 cannot do without my tea," said Jack, by way of consoling poor Miss Dora, who had started with consternation at the proposal. And the two brothers went out into the fresh evening air together, their aunt Dcra watching them from the window with inexpres- sible anxiety ; for perhaps it was not quite right for a clergyman to saunter out of doors in the evening with such a doubtful member of society as Jack ; and perhaps Frank, having hinself fallen into evil ways, might hinder or throiv ob- stacles in the way of his brother s re-estsblish- ment in the practice of all the virtues. Miss Dora, who had to carry them both upon her shoulders, and who got no sympathy in tae pre- sent case from her hard-hearted sisters, was fain at last to throw a shawl over her head aid steal out to that summer-house which was biilt into the garden- wall, and commanded Grange Lane from its little window. There she established herself in the darkness, an affectionite spy. There ought to have been a moon that night, and accordingly the lamps were not lighted at that end of Grange Lane, for the authorities in Carlingford bore a frugal mind. But the sky had become cloudy, and the moon shfrne only by intervals, which gave a certain character of THE PERPETUAL CUE ATE. 185 mystery and secrecy to the night. Through this uncertain light the anxious woman saw her two nephews coming and going under the win- dow, apparently in the most eager conversation. Miss Dora's anxiety grew to such a height that she opened softly a chink of the window in hopes of being able to hear as w r ell as to see, but that attempt was altogether unsuccessful. Then, w r hen they had walked about for half an hour, which looked like two hours to Miss Dora, who was rapidly taking one of her bad colds at the half-open window, they were joined by another figure which she did not think she had ever seen o before. The excitement was growing tremen- dous, and the aspect of the three conspirators more and more alarming, when the poor lady started w T ith a little scream at a noise behind her, and, turning round, saw her maid, severe as a pursuing Fate, standing at the door. " After giving me your word as you wouldn't come uo more!" said the reproachful despot who swayed Miss Dora's soul. After that she had to make the best of her way indoors, thankful not to be carried to her room and put into hot water, which was the original intention of Collins. But it would be impossible to describe the emotions of Miss Dora's mind after this glimpse into the 186 CHRONICLES OF CABLENGFOED. heart of the volcano on which her innocent feet were standing. Unless it were murder or hi oh treason, what could they have to plot about 1 or was the mysterious stranger a disguised Jesuit, and the whole business some terrible Papist con- spiracy 1 Jack, who had been so much abroad, and Gerald, who was going over to Rome, and Frank, who was in trouble of every description, got entangled together in Miss Dora's disturbed imagination. No reality could be so frightful as the fancies with which she distracted herself after that peep from the summer-house ; and it would be impossible to describe the indignation of Collins, who knew that her mistress would kill herself some day, and was aware that she, in her own person, would get little rest that nio;ht. CHAPTER XXX. "I don't know what is the exact connection between tea and reformation," said Jack Went- worth, with a wonderful yawn. " When I con- sider that this is all on account of that stupid beast Wodehouse, I feel disposed to eat him. By the way, they have got a capital cook ; I did not think such a cuisine was the sort of thing to be found in the bosom of one's family, which has meant boiled mutton up to this moment, to my uninstructed imagination. But the old ladies are in a state of excitement which, I presume, is unusual to them. It appears you have been getting into scrapes like other people, though you are a parson. As your elder brother, my dear Frank " " Look here," said the Perpetual Curate ; "you want to ask about Wodehouse. I will answer your questions, since you seem to have 188 CHRONICLES OF CAKLINGFORD : some interest in him ; but I don't speak of my private affairs to any but my intimate friends/' said Mr "Went worth, who was not in a humour to be trifled with. The elder brother shrugged his shoulders. " It is curious to remark the progress of the younger members of one's family," he said, re- flectively. "When you were a little boy, you took your drubbings dutifully ; but never mind, we've another subject in hand. I take an inter- est in Wodehouse, and so do you — I can't tell for what reason. Perhaps he is one of the inti- mate friends with whom you discuss your pri- vate affairs % but that is a matter quite apart from the subject. The thing is that he has to be taken care of — not for his own sake, as I don't need to explain to you," said Jack. " I hear the old fellow died to-day, which was the best thing he could have done, upon the whole. Perhaps you can tell me how much he had, and how he has left it 1 We may have to take different sides, and the fellow himself is a snob ; but I should like to understand exactly the state of affairs between you and me as gentlemen," said the heir of the Wentworths. Either a passing spasm of compunction passed over him as he said the w T ord, or it was the moon, which had just THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 189 flung aside the last fold of cloud and burst out upon them as they turned back facing her. " When we know how the affair stands, we can either negotiate or fight," he added, puffing a volume of smoke from his cigar. " Keally a very fine effect — that little church of yours comes well against that bit of sky. It looks like a Con- stable, or rather it would look like a Constable, thrusting up that bit of a spire into the blue, if it happened to be daylight," said Jack, making a tube of his hand, and regarding the picture with great interest. Miss Dora at her window beheld the movement with secret horror and apprehen- sion, and took it for some mysterious sign. " I know nothing about Mr Wodehouse's pro- perty," said the Curate : " I wish I knew enough law to understand it. He has left no will, I believe ; " and Mr Wentworth watched his brother's face with no small interest as he spoke. " Very like a Constable," said Jack, still with his hands to his eyes. " These clouds to the right are not a bad imitation of some effects of his. I beg your pardon, but Constable is my passion. And so old Wodehouse has left no will % What has he left 1 some daughters % Excuse my curiosity," said the elder brother, "lama man of the world, you know. If you 190 CHBON1CLES OF CAKLINGFOED : like this other girl well enough to compromise yourself on her account (which, mind you, I think a great mistake), you can't mean to go in at the same time for that pretty sister, eh % It's a sort of sport I don't attempt myself — though it may be the correct thing for a clergyman, for anything I can tell to the contrary," said the tolerant critic. Mr Wentworth had swallowed down the in- terruptions that rushed to his lips, and heard his brother out with unusual patience. After all, perhaps Jack was the only man in the world whom he could ask to advise him in such an emergency. "I take it for granted that you don't mean to insult either me or my profession," he said, gravely; "and, to tell the truth, here is one point upon which I should be glad of your help. I am convinced that it is Wodehouse who has carried away this unfortunate girl. She is a little fool, and he has imposed upon her. If you can get him to confess this, and to restore her to her friends, you will lay me under the deepest obligation," said the Perpetual Curate, with unusual energy. " I don't mind telling you that such a slander disables me, and goes to my heart." When he had once begun to speak on the subject, he could not help express- THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 191 ing himself fully ; and Jack, who had grown out of acquaintance with the nobler sentiments, woke up with a slight start through all his moral being; to recognise the thrill of subdued passion and scorn and grief which was in his brother's voice. Innocent Miss Dora, who knew no evil, had scarcely a doubt in her mind that Frank was guilty ; but Jack, who scarcely knew what goodness was, acquitted his brother instan- taneously, and required no other proof. Perhaps if he had been capable of any impression beyond an intellectual one, this little incident might, in Miss Dora's own language, have " done him good." " So you have nothing to do with it 1 " he said, with a smile. "Wodehouse ! but then the fellow hasn't a penny. I see some one skulk- ing along under the walls that looks like him. Hist ! Smith — Tom — what do they call you \ We want you here," said Jack, upon whom the moon was shining full. Where he stood in his evening coat and spotless breadth of linen, the heir of the Wentworths was ready to meet the eye of all the world. His shabby subordinate stopped short, with a kind of sullen admiration, to look at him. Wodehouse knew the nature of Jack Wentworth's pursuits a great deal better 192 CHRONICLES OF CAKLINGFORD : than his brother did, and that some of them would not bear much investigation ; but when he saw him stand triumphant in gorgeous ap- parel, fearing no man, the poor rascal, whom everybody kicked at, rose superior to his own misfortunes. He had not made much of it in his own person, but that life was not altogether a failure which had produced Jack Wentworth. He obeyed his superior's call with instinctive fidelity, proud, in spite of himself, to be living the same life and sharing the same perils. When he emerged into the moonlight, his shaggy countenance looked excited and haggard. Not- withstanding all his experiences, he was not of a constitution which could deny nature. He had inflicted every kind of torture upon his father while living, and had no remorse to speak of now that he was dead ; but, notwithstanding, the fact of the death affected him. His eyes looked wilder than usual, and his face older and more worn, and he looked round him with a kind of clandestine skulking instinct as he came out of the shadow into the lmht. This was the terrible conjunction which Miss Dora saw from her window. The anxious woman did not wait long enough, to be aware that the Curate left the other two to such con- THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 193 sultations as were inevitable between them, and went away very hastily to his own house, and to the work which still awaited him — " When the wicked man turneth away from the evil of his ways, and doeth that which is lawful and right." Mr Wentworth, when he came back to it, sat for about an hour over his text before he wrote a single syllable. His heart had been wrung that day by the sharpest pangs which can be 'inflicted upon a proud and generous spirit. lie was disposed to be bitter against all the world — against the dull eyes that would not see, the dull ears that could shut themselves against all suo-rrestions either of Gratitude or justice. It appeared to him, on the whole, that the wicked man was every way the best off in this world, besides being wooed and besought to accept the blessings of the other. And the Curate was conscious of an irrepressible inclina- tion to exterminate the human vermin, who made the earth such an iinbroelio of distress and misery ; and was sore and wounded in his heart to feel how his own toils and honest pur- poses availed him nothing, and how all the in- terest and sympathy of bystanders went to the pretender. These sentiments naturally com- plicated his thoughts, and made composition vol. n. n 194 CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFORD : difficult ; not to say that they added a thrill of human feeling warmer than usual to the short and succinct sermon. It was not an emotional sermon, in the ordinary sense of the word ; but it was so for Mr Wentworth, who carried to an extreme point the Anglican dislike for pulpit exaggeration in all forms. The Per- petual Curate was not a natural orator. He had very little of the eloquence which gave Mr Vincent so much success in the Dissenting con- nection during his short stay in Carlingford, which was a kind of popularity not much to the taste of the Churchman. But Mr Went- worth had a certain faculty of concentrating his thoughts into the tersest expression, and of uttering in a very few words, as if they did not mean anything particular, ideas which were always individual, and often of distinct origi- nality — a kind of utterance which is very dear to the English mind. As was natural, there were but a limited amount of people able to find him out ; but those who did so were rather fond of talking about the "restrained power" of the Curate of St Roque's. Next morning was a glorious summer Sun- day — one of those days of peace on which this tired old earth takes back her look of innocence, THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 195 and deludes herself with thoughts of Eden. To be sure, there were tumults enough going on over her surface — vulgar merry-makings and noises, French drums beating, all kinds of dis- cordant sounds going on here and there, by land and sea, under that tranquil impartial sun. But the air was very still in Carlingford, where you could hear the bees in the lime blossoms as you went to church in the sunshine. All that world of soft air in which the embowered houses of Grange Lane lay beatified, was breathing sweet of the limes ; but notwithstanding the radiance of the day, people were talking of other subjects as they came down under the shadow of the garden-walls to St Roque's. There was a great stream of people — greater than usual ; for Car- lingford was naturally anxious to see how Mr "Went worth would conduct himself in such an emergency. On one side of the way Mr Wode- house's hospitable house, shut up closely, and turning all its shuttered windows to the light, which shone serenely indifferent upon the blank frames, stood silent, dumbly contributing its great moral to the human holiday ; and on the other, Elsworthy's closed shop, Avith the blinds drawn over the cheerful windows above, where little Rosa once amused herself watching the 196 CHRONICLES OF CABLDTGFOBD : passengers, interposed a still more dreadful dis- cordance. The Carlingford people talked of both occurrences with composure as they went to St Eoque's. They were sorry, and shocked, and very curious ; but that wonderful moral atmosphere of human indifference and self-re- gard which surrounds every individual soul, kept their feelings quite within bounds. Most people wondered much what Mr Wentworth would say; whether he would really venture to face the Carlingford world ; whether he would take refuge in a funeral sermon for Mr Wodehouse ; or how it was possible for him to conduct himself under such circumstances. When the greater part of the congregation was seated, Miss Leonora Wentworth, all by herself, in her iron-grey silk, which rustled like a breeze along the narrow passage, although she wore no crinoline, went up to a seat immediately in front, close to Mr Wentworth's choristers, who just then came trooping in in their white sur- plices, looking like angels of unequal height, and equivocal reputation. Miss Leonora placed herself in the front row of a little group of benches arranged at the side, just where the Curate's wife would have been placed had he possessed such an appendage. She looked down THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 197 blandly upon the many lines of faces turned to- wards her, accepting their inspection with per- fect composure. Though her principles were Evangelical, Miss Leonora was still a Went- worth, and a woman. She had not shown any sympathy for her nephew on the previous night ; but she had made up her mind to stand by him, without saying anything about her deter- mination. This incident made a great impres- sion on the mind of Carlingford. Most likely it interfered with the private devotions, from which a few heads popped up abruptly as she passed ; but she was very devout and exem- plary in her own person, and set a good ex- ample, as became the clergyman's aunt. Excitement rose very high in St Roque's when Mr \Yentworth came into the reading- desk, and Els worthy, black as a cloud, became visible underneath. The clerk had not ventured to absent himself, nor to send a substitute in his place. Never, in the days when he was most devoted to Mr Went worth, had Els worthy been more determined to accompany him through every particular of the service. They had stood together in the little vestry, going through all the usual preliminaries, the Curate trying hard to talk as if nothing had happened, 19S CHRONICLES OF CARLIXGFORD : the clerk going through all his duties in total silence. Perhaps there never was a church ser- vice in Carlingford which was followed with such intense interest by all the eyes and ears of the congregation. When the sermon came, it took Mr Wentworth's admirers by surprise, though they could not at the moment make out what it was that puzzled them. Somehow the perverse manner in which for once the Curate treated that wicked man who is gener- ally made so much of in sermons, made his hearers slightly ashamed of themselves. As for Miss Leonora, though she could not approve of his sentiments, the thought occurred to her that Frank was not nearly so like his mothers family as she had supposed him to be. When the service was over, she kept her place, steadily watching all the worshippers out, who thronged out a great deal more hastily than usual to compare notes, and ask each other what they thought. " I can't fancy he looks guilty," an eager voice here and there kept saying over and over. But on the whole, after they had got over the momentary impression made by his presence and aspect, the opinion of Carlingford remained unchanged ; which was — that, not- withstanding all the evidence of his previous THE PERPETUAL CURATE. 199 life, it was quite believable that Mr "Wentworth was a seducer and a villain, and ought to be brought to condign punishment ; but that in the mean time it was very interesting to watch the progress of this startling little drama, and that he himself, instead of merely being the Curate of St Eoque's, had become a most cap- tivating enigma, and had made church-going itself half as good as a play. As for Miss Leonora, she waited for her nephew, and, when he was ready, took his arm and walked with him up Grange Lane to her own door, where they encountered Miss Went- worth and Miss Dora returning from church, and overwhelmed them with astonishment. But it was not about his own affairs that they talked. Miss Leonora did not say a word to her nephew about himself. She was talking of Gerald most of the time, and inquiring into all the particulars of the Squire's late "attack." And she would very fain have found out what Jack's motive was in coming to Carlingford : but as for Eosa Elsworthy and her concerns, the strong-minded woman ignored them com- pletely. Mr AVentworth even went with her to lunch, on her urgent invitation ; and it was from his aunt's house that he took his way to 200 CHRONICLES OF CABLTNGFOBD : Wharfside, pausing at the green door to ask after the Miss Wodehouses, who were, John said with solemnity, as well as could be expected. They were alone, and they did not feel equal to seeing anybody — even Mr Wentworth ; and the Perpetual Curate, who would have given all he had in the world for permission to soothe Lucy in her sorrow, went away sadly from the hospitable door, which was now for the first time closed to him. He could not go to Wharf- side, to " the district" through which they had so often gone together, about which they had talked, when all the little details discussed were sweet with the love which they did not name, without going deeper and deeper into that sweet shadow of Lucy which was upon his way wherever he went. He could not help missing her voice when the little choir, which was so feeble without her, sang the Magnificat, which, somehow, Mr Wentworth always associated with her imac:o. He read the same sermon to the Wharfside people which he had preached in St Koque's, and saw, with a little surprise, that it drew tears from the eyes of his more open- hearted hearers, who did not think of the pro- prieties. He could see their hands stealing up to their faces, and a great deal of persistent THE PERPETUAL CUEATE. 201 winking on the part of the stronger members of the congregation. At the close of the service Tom Burrows came up to the Curate with a downcast countenance. " Please, sir, if I've done ye injustice in my own mind, as went sore against the grain, and wouldn't have happened but for the women, I axes your pardon," said the honest bargeman, which was balm and con- solation to Mr Wentworth. There was much talk in Prickett's Lane on the subject as he went to see the sick woman in No. 10. "There ain't no doubt as he sets our duty before us clear," said one family mother ; " he don't leave the men no excuse for their goings-on. He all but named the Bargeman's Arms out plain, as it was the place all the mischief came from." " If he'd have married Miss Lucy, like other folks, at Easter," said one of the brides whom Mr Went- worth had blessed, " such wicked stories couldn't never have been made up." " A story may be made up, or it mayn't be made up," said a more experienced matron ; " but it can't be put out of the world unbeknowst no more nor a babby. 1 don't believe in stories getting up that ain't true. I don't say as he don't do his duty ; but things was different in Mr Bury's time, as was the real Rector ; and, as I was a-sayiDg, a tale's 202 chronicles of cabungfoed : like a babby — it may come when it didn't ought to come, or when it ain't wanted, but you can't do away with it, anyhow as you like to try." Mr AVentworth did not hear this dreary pre- diction as he went back again into the upper world. He was in much better spirits, on the whole. He had calmed his own mind and moved the hearts of others, which is to every man a gratification, even though nothing higher should be involved. And he had regained the moral countenance of Tom Burrows, which most of all was a comfort to him. More than ever he longed to go and tell Lucy as he passed by the green door. Tom Burrows's repentant face recalled Mr "Wentworth's mind to the fact that a great work was doing in Wharfside, which, after all, was more worth thinking of than any tantalising vision of an impossible benefice. But this very thought, so consoling in itself, reminded him of all his vexations, of the public inquiry into his conduct which was hanging over him, and of his want of power to offer to Lucy the support and protection of which she might so soon stand in need ; and having thus drawn upon his head once more his whole bur- den of troubles, Mr Wentworth went in to eat his dinner with what appetite he could. THE PEEPETUAL CUKATE. 203 The Perpetual Curate sat up late that night, as indeed was his custom. He sat late, hearing, as everybody does who sits up alone in a hushed and sleeping households hundred fantastic creaks and sounds which did not mean anything, and of which he took no notice. Once, indeed, when it was nearly midnight, he fancied he heard the garden-gate close hurriedly, but explained it to himself as people do when they prefer not to give themselves trouble. About one o'clock in the morning, however, Mr AVentworth could no longer be in any doubt that some stealthy step was passing his door and moving about the house. He was not alarmed, for Mrs Hadwin had occasional "attacks," like most people of her age ; but he put down his pen and listened. No other sound was to be heard except this stealthy step, no opening of doors, nor whisper of voices, nor commotion of any kind ; and af- ter a while Mr Wentworth's curiosity was fully awakened. When he heard it again, he opened his door suddenly, and threw a light upon the staircase and little corridor into which his room opened. The figure he saw there startled him more than if it had been a midnight robber. It was only Sarah, the housemaid, white and shivering with terror, who fell down upon her 204 I HEONICLES