he was comforted in his mind by the convic- | over, and himself on his way back again to tion that it was his duty to call at Mr. Wode- call at Mr. Wodehouse's. For to tell the house's as he came back. The evening truth, by this time he had almost exhausted brightened up and looked less dismal. The illness of the respected father of the house did not oppress the young man. He thought not of a sick-room, but of the low chair in one corner, beside the work-table where Lucy had always basketfuls of sewing in hand. He could fancy he saw the work drop on her knee, and the blue eyes raised. It was a pretty picture that he framed for himself as he looked out with a half smile into the blue twilight, through the open door of Elsworthy's shop. And it was clearly his duty to call. He grew almost jocular in the exhilaration of his spirits.

"The Miss Wentworths don't approve of memorial windows, Elsworthy," he said: "and, indeed, if you think it necessary to cut off one of the chief people in Carlingford by way of supplying St. Roque's with a little painted glass

No, sir-no, no, sir; you're too hard upon me-there wasn't no such meaning in my mind; but I don't make no question the ladies were pleased with the church," said Elsworthy, with the satisfaction of a man who had helped to produce an entirely triumphant effect. "I don't pretend to be a judge myself of what you call 'igh art, Mr. Wentworth; but, if I might venture an opinion, the altar was beautiful; and we won't say nothing about the service, considering, sirif you wont be offended at putting them together, as one is so far inferior-that both you and me

Skelmersdale, and, feeling in himself not much different now from what he was when his hopes were still green, had begun to look upon life itself with a less troubled eye, and to believe in other chances which might make Lucy's society practicable once more. It was in this altered state of mind that he presented himself before his aunts. He was less selfconscious, less watchful, more ready to amuse them, if that might happen to be possible, and in reality much more able to cope with Miss Leonora than when he had been more anxious about her opinion. He had not been two minutes in the room before all the three ladies perceived this revolution, and each in her own mind attempted to account for it. They were experienced women in their way, and found out a variety of reasons; but as none of them were young, and as people will forget how youth feels, not one of them divined the fact that there was no reason, but that this improvement of spirits arose solely from the fact that the Perpetual Curate had been for two whole days miserable about Skelmersdale, and had exhausted all his powers of misery-and that now youth had turned the tables and he was still to see Lucy to-night.

CHAPTER VII.

“Your rector is angry at some of your proceedings," said Miss Leonora. "I did not think that a man of your views would have cared for missionary work. I should have supposed that you would think that vulgar, and Low-Church, and Evangelical. Indeed I thought I heard you say you didn't believe in preaching, Frank?-neither do I, when a man preaches the Tracts for the Times. I was surprised to hear what you were doing at the place they call Wharfside."

Mr. Wentworth laughed and moved off his chair. We were not appreciated in this instance," he said, with an odd comic look, and then went off into a burst of laughter, which Mr. Elsworthy saw no particular occasion for. Then he took up his glove, which he had taken off to write the note, and, nodding a kindly good-night to little Rosa, who stood gazing after him with all her eyes, went away to the Blue Boar. The idea, however, of his own joint performance with Mr. Elsworthy not only tickled the curate, but gave him a half-ashamed sense of the aspect in which he might himself appear to the eyes of matter-of- Exactly so," said Miss Leonora, grimly; fact people who differed with him. The joke" but, at the same time, as there seems no had a slight sting, which brought his laugh- great likelihood of your leaving Carlingford, ter to an end. He went up through the don't you think it would be wise to cultivate lighted street to the inn, wishing the dinner friendly relations with the rector?" said the

"First let me correct you in two little inaccuracies," said Mr. Wentworth, blandly, as he peeled his orange. "The Rector of Carlingford is not my rector, and I don't preach the Tracts for the Times. Let us always be particular, my dear aunt, as to points of fact."

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iron-gray inexorable aunt, looking full in his eyes as she spoke. So significant and plain a statement took for an instant the color out of the curate's cheeks-he pared his orange very carefully while he regained his composure, and it was at least half a minute before he found himself at leisure to reply. Miss Dora of course seized upon the opportunity, and, by way of softening matters, interposed in her unlucky person to make peace.

"But, my dear boy, I said I was sure you did not mean it,' ," said Miss Dora; "I told Mr. Morgan I felt convinced it could be explained. Nobody knows you so well as I do. You were always so high-spirited from a child, and never would give in; but I know very well you never could mean it, Frank."

"Mean it?" said the curate with sparkling eyes; "what do you take me for Aunt Dora? Do you know what it is we are talking of? The question is, whether a whole lot of people, fathers and children, shall be left to live like beasts, without reverence for God or man, or shall be brought within the pale of the Church, and taught their duty? And you think I don't mean it? I mean it as much as my brother Charley meant it at the Redan," said young Wentworth, with a glow of suppressed enthusiasm, and that natural pride in Charley (who got the Cross for Valor) which was common to all the Wentworths. But when he saw his Aunt Leonora looking at him, the Perpetual Curate stood to his arms again. "I have still to learn that the rector has anything to do with it," said the young Evangelist of Wharfside.

"It is in his parish, and he thinks he has," said Miss Leonora. "I wish you could see your duty more clearly, Frank. You seem to me, you know, to have a kind of zeal, but not according to knowledge. If you were carrying the real Gospel to the poor people, I shouldn't be disposed to blame you; for the limits of a parish are but poor things to pause for when souls are perishing; but to break the law for the sake of diffusing the rubric and propagating Tractarianism

much on his mind; and think of ourselves, and all that we have planned so often. Only think what you have talked of over and over; how nice it would be when he was old enough to take the rectory, and marry Julia Trench—”

"Aunt Dora," said the curate, rising from the table, "I shall have to go away if you make such appeals on my behalf. And besides, it is only right to tell you that, whatever my circumstances were, I never could nor would marry Julia Trench. It is cruel and unjust to bring in her name. Don't let us hear any more of this, if you have any regard for me."

"Quite so, Frank," said Miss Wentworth ; "that is exactly what I was thinking." Miss Cecilia was not in the habit of making demonstrations, but she put out her delicate old hand to point her nephew to his seat again, and gave a soft pressure to his as she touched it. Old Miss Wentworth was a kind of dumb lovely idol to her nephews; she rarely said anything to them, but they worshipped her all the same for her beauty and those sweet languid tendernesses which she showed them once in ten years or so. The Perpetual Curate was much touched by this manifestation. He kissed his old aunt's beautiful hand as reverently as if it had been a saint's. "I knew you would understand me," he said, looking gratefully at her lovely old face; which exclamation, however, was a simple utterance of gratitude, and would not have borne investigation. When he had resumed his seat and orange, Miss Leonora cleared her throat for a grand address.

"Frank might as well tell us he would not have Skelmersdale," she said. Julia Trench has quite other prospects, I am glad to say, though Dora does talk like a fool on this subject as well as on many others. Mr. Shirley is not dead yet, and I don't think he means to die, for my part; and Julia would never leave her uncle. Besides, I don't think any inducement in the world would make her disguise herself like a Sister of Mercy. I -"hope she knows better. And it is a pity that Frank should learn to think of Skelmersdale as if it were a family living," continued Miss Leonora. "For my part, I think people detached from immediate ties as we are, are under all the greater responsibility. But as you are likely to stay in Carlingford, Frank, perhaps we could help you with the rector," she concluded blandly, as she ate her biscuit.

"O Leonora, how can you be so harsh and cruel?" cried Miss Dora; " only think what you are doing. I don't say anything about disappointing Frank, and perhaps injuring his prospects for life; for to be sure he is a true Wentworth, and wont acknowledge that; but think of my poor dear brother, with so many sons as he has to provide for, and so

The curate, who was also a Wentworth, had | alarmed quaver. "Rebel! O Frank, dear, quite recovered himself ere this speech was do you think we could? To be sure, we are over, and proved himself equal to the occasion. co-heiresses, and have just as good a right as "If the rector objects to what I am doing, she has; and for your sake, my dear boy," I dare say he will tell me of it," said Mr. said the troubled woman, "O Frank, I wish Wentworth, with indescribable suavity. "I you would tell me what to do? I never had the consent of the two former rectors to should dare to contradict Leonora with no my mission in their parish, and I don't mean one to stand by me; and then, if anything to give up such a work without a cause. But happened, you would all think I had been to I am equally obliged to you, my dear aunt, blame," said poor Aunt Dora, clinging to his and I hope Mr. Shirley will live forever. How arm. She made him walk back and back long are you going to stay in Carlingford? again through the long passage, which was Some of the people would like to call on you, if you remain longer. There are some great friends of mine here; and as I have every prospect of being perpetually the curate, as you kindly observe, perhaps it might be good for me if I was seen to have such unexceptionable relationships—"

"Satire is lost upon me," said Miss Leonora, "and we are going to-morrow. Here comes the coffee. I did not think it had been so late. We shall leave by an early train, and you can come and see us off, if you have

time.

sacred to the chief suite of apartments at the Blue Boar. "We have it all to ourselves, and nobody can see us here; and O my dear dear boy, if you would only tell me what I ought to do?" she repeated, with wistful looks c appeal. Mr. Wentworth was too good-hearted to show the impatience with which he was struggling. He satisfied her as well as he could, and said good-night half a dozen times. When he made his escape at last, and emerged into the clear blue air of the spring night, the Perpetual Curate had no such sense of disappointment and fail"I shall certainly find time," said the ure in his mind as the three ladies supnephew, with equal politeness; "and now posed. Miss Leonora's distinct intimation you will permit me to say good-night, for I that Skelmersdale had passed out of the rehave a-one of my sick people to visit. Igion of probabilities, had indeed tingled heard he was ill only as I came here, and had not time to call,” added the curate, with unnecessary explanatoriness, and took leave of his Aunt Cecilia, who softly put something into his hand as she bade him good-night. Miss Dora, for her part, went with him to the door, and lingered leaning on his arm, down the long passage, all unaware, poor lady, that his heart was beating with impatience to get away, and that the disappointment for which she wanted to console him had at the present moment not the slightest real hold upon his perverse heart. "O my dear boy, I hope you don't think it's my fault," said Miss Dora, with tears. "It must have come to this, dear, sooner or later; you see, poor Leonora has such a sense of responsibility; but it is very hard upon us, Frank, who love you so much, that she should always take her own way."

"Then why don't you rebel?" said the curate, who, in the thought of seeing Lucy, was exhilarated, and dared to jest even upon the awful power of his aunt. "You are two against one; why don't you take it into your own hands and rebel?"

through him at the moment it was uttered; but just now he was going to see Lucy, anticipating with impatience the moment of coming into her presence, and nothing in the world could have dismayed him utterly. He went down the road very rapidly, glad to find that it was still so early, that the shopkeepers in George Street were but just putting up their shutters, and that there was still time for an hour's talk in that bright drawingroom. Little Rosa was standing at the door of Elsworthy's shop, looking out into the dark street, as he passed; and he said, "A lovely night, Rosa," as he went by. But the night was nothing particular in itself, only lovely to Mr. Wentworth, as embellished with Lucy shining over it, like a distant star. Perhaps he had never in his life felt so glad that he was going to see her, so eager for her presence, as that night which was the beginning of the time when it would be no longer lawful for him to indulge in her society. He heaved a big sigh as that thought occurred to him, but it did not diminish the flush of conscious happiness; and in this mood he went down Grange Lane, with light resounding

Miss Dora repeated the words with an steps, to Mr. Wodehouse's door.

something to excite his curiosity or surprise.
Miss Wodehouse grasped the arm of the Per-
petual Curate, and held him with an energy
which was almost violence. "Hush, hush,
hush," she said, with her voice almost at
his ear.
The excitement of this mild woman,
the perfectly inexplicable mystery of the
meeting, overwhelmed young Wentworth.
He could think of nothing less than that she
had lost her senses, and in his turn took her
hands and held her fast.

But Mr. Wentworth started with a very out, and round the garden, as if he had heard strange sensation when the door was stealthily, noiselessly opened to him before he could ring. He could not see who it was that called him in in the darkness; but he felt that he had been watched for, and that the door was thrown open very hurriedly to prevent him from making his usual summons at the bell. Such an incident was incomprehensible. He went into the dark garden like a man in a dream, with a horrible vision of Archimage and the false Una somehow stealing upon his mind, he could not tell how. It was quite dark inside, for the moon was late of rising that night, and the faint stars threw no effectual lustre down upon the trees. He had to grope before him to know where he was going, asking in a troubled voice," Who is there? What is the matter?" and falling into more and more profound bewilderment and uneasiness.

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Hush, hush, oh, hush!-O Mr. Wentworth, it is I—I want to speak to you," said an agitated voice beside him. "Come this way-this way; I don't want any one to hear us. It was Miss Wodehouse who thus pitifully addressed the amazed curate. She laid a tremulous hand on his arm, and drew him deeper into the shadows-into that walk where the limes and tall lilac-bushes grew so thickly. Here she came to a pause, and the sound of the terrified panting breath in the silence alarmed him more and more.

"Is Mr. Wodehouse ill? What has happened?" said the astonished young man. The windows of the house were gleaming hospitably over the dark garden, without any appearance of gloom- the drawing-room windows especially, which he knew so well, brightly lighted, one of them open, and the sound of the piano and Lucy's voice stealing out like a celestial reality into the darkness. By the time he had become fully sensible of all these particulars his agitated companion had found her breath.

"Mr. Wentworth, don't think me mad," said Miss Wodehouse; "I have come out to, speak to you, for I am in great distress. I don't know what to do unless you will help me. Oh, no, don't look at the house-nobody knows in the house; I would die rather than have them know. Hush, hush! don't make any noise. Is that some one looking out at the door?"

And just then the door was opened, and Mr. Wodehouse's sole male servant looked

“What is the matter? I cannot tell you how anxious, how distressed I am. What has happened?" said the young man, under his breath.

me.

"My father has some suspicion," she answered, after a pause—“ he came home early to-day looking ill. You heard of it Mr. Wentworth - it was your note that decided Oh, heaven help us! it is so hard to know what to do. I have never been used to act for myself, and I feel as helpless as a baby. The only comfort I have was that it happened on Easter Sunday," said the poor gentlewoman, incoherently; "and oh! if it should prove a rising from the dead! If you saw me, Mr. Wentworth, you would see I look ten years older; and I can't tell how it is, but I think my father has suspicions :-he looked so ill-oh, so ill-when he came home to-night. Hush! hark! did you hear anything? I daren't tell Lucy; not that I couldn't trust her, but it is cruel, when a young creature is happy, to let her know such miseries. O Mr. Wentworth, I dare say I am not telling you what it is, after all. I don't know what I am saying-wait till I can think. It was on Easter Sunday, after we came home from Wharfside; you remember we all came home together, and both Lucy and you were so quiet. I could not understand how it was you were so quiet, but I was not thinking of any trouble-and then all at once there he was.

"Who?" said the curate, forgetting caution in his bewilderment.

Once more the door opened, and John appeared on the steps, this time with a lantern and the watchdog, a great brown mastiff, by his side, evidently with the intention of searching the garden for the owners of those furtive · voices. Mr. Wentworth drew the arm of his trembling companion within his own. "I don't know what you want of me, but whatever it is, trust to me like-like a brother,"

"We are all right," said Mr. Wodehouse -"a trifle of a headache or so-nothing to make a talk about; but Molly has forsaken us, and we were just about getting bored with each other, Lucy and I; a third person was all we wanted to make us happy-eh? Well, I thought you looked at the door very have sworn you were listening and looking often-perhaps I was mistaken-but I could for somebody. No wonder either-I don't think so. I should have done just the same at your age."

he said, with a sigh. "But now compose | invalid, almost turning his back upon Lucy yourself; we must go into the house: it will in his bewilderment. It was indeed with a not do for you to be found here." He led great effort that Mr. Wentworth mastered himself and was able to listen to what his her up the gravel-walk into the light of the lantern, which the vigilant guardian of the companion said. house was flashing among the bushes as he set out upon his rounds. John fell back amazed but respectful when he saw his mistress and the familiar visitor. 66 Beg your pardon, ma'am, but I knew there was voices, and I didn't know as any of the family was in the garden," said the man, discomfited. It was all Mr. Wentworth could do to hold up the trembling figure by his side. As John retreated, she gathered a little fortitude. Perhaps it was easier for her to tell her hur- "Indeed, papa, you are quite mistaken," ried tremulous story, as he guided her back said Lucy. "I suppose that means that I to the house, than it would have been in uncannot amuse you by myself, though I have interrupted leisure and quiet. The family Wentworth will be more fortunate." been trying all the evening. Perhaps Mr. And, tragedy fell in broken sentences from her lips, either for shame of being supposed to look as the curate bent down his astonished ear to for him, or in a little innocent pique, she listen. He was totally unprepared for the moved away from where she was sitting, and secret which only her helplessness and weak-rang for tea, and left the two gentlemen to ness and anxiety to serve her father could talk to each other. That is to say, Mr. have drawn from Miss Wodehouse's lips; Wodehouse talked, and the Perpetual Curate and it had to be told so hurriedly that Mr. sat looking vaguely at the fair figure which Wentworth scarcely knew what it was, ex-flitted about the room, and wondering if he cept a terrible unsuspected shadow overhang- were awake, or the world still in its usual ing the powerful house, until he had time to place. After a while Miss Wodehouse came think it all over. There was no such time at in, very tremulous and pale, and dropped this moment. His trembling companion left into the first chair she could find, and prehim as soon as they reached the house, to tended to occupy herself over her knitting. compose herself," as she said. When he She had a headache, Lucy said; and Mr. saw her face in the light of the hall lamp it Wentworth sat watching while the younger was ghastly, and quivering with agitation, sister tended the elder, bringing her tea, looking not ten years, as she said, but a hun-kissing her, persuading her to go and lie dred years older than when, in the sweet pre- down, taking all kinds of affectionate trouble cision of her Sunday dress and looks, old Miss to cheer the pale woman, who looked over Wodehouse had bidden him good-by at the Lucy's fair head with eyes full of meaning to green door. He went up to the drawing- the bewildered visitor, who was the only one room, notwithstanding, with as calm a coun- there who understood what her trouble meant. tenance as he himself could collect, to pay When he got up to go away, she wrung his the visit which, in this few minutes, had so hand with a pitiful gaze which went to his entirely changed its character. Mr. Went- heart. "Let me know!" she said in a whisworth felt as if he were in a dream when he per; and, not satisfied still, went to the door walked into the familiar room, and saw every- with him, and lingered upon the stair, folthing as he had pictured it to himself half an lowing slowly. "O Mr. Wentworth! be hour ago. Lucy, who had left the piano, sure you let me know," she repeated, again was seated in her low chair again, not work-looking wistfully after him as he disappeared ing, but talking to Mr. Wodehouse, who lay into the dark garden, going out. The stars on the sofa, looking a trifle less rosy than were still shining, the spring dews lying usual, like a man who had had a fright, or been startled by some possible shadow of a ghost. To walk into the room, into the bright household glow, and smile and shake hands with them, feeling all the time that he knew more about them than they themselves did, was the strangest sensation to the young He asked how Mr. Wodehouse did, with a voice which, to himself, sounded hollow and unnatural, and sat down beside the

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man.

sweet upon the plants and turf. It was a lovelier night now than when Mr. Wentworth had said so to little Rosa Elsworthy an hour ago; but mists were rising from the earth, and clouds creeping over the sky, to the startled imagination of the Perpetual Curate. He had found out by practical experiment, almost for the first time, that there were more things in earth and heaven than are dreamt of in the philosophy of youth.