405 The situation altogether speculated, and whom the curate had gone | the fiftieth time. shares with; but, in the meantime, no real was very tempting to Miss Leonora; she information could be obtained about this could not make up her mind to go away and The butcher's boy, leave such a very pretty quarrel in progress; mysterious stranger. whose senses were quickened by mingled ad- and there can be no doubt that it would have miration and envy, heard him whistling all been highly gratifying to her vanity as an day long, sometimes hidden among the trees evangelical woman to have had her nephew in the garden, sometimes from the open win- brought to task for missionary work carried dow of the green room, where, indeed, Lady on in another man's parish, even though that Western's page was ready to take his oath work was not conducted entirely on her own he had once seen the audacious unknown principles. She lingered, accordingly, with leaning out in the twilight, smoking a pipe. a great hankering after Wharfside, to which But no trap of conversation, however inge- Mr. Wentworth steadily declined to afford She went to the afternoon nious-and many traps were laid for Mr. her any access. Wentworth-ever elicited from the Perpet- service sometimes, it is true, but only to be ual curate any acknowledgment of the other afflicted in her soul by the sight of Miss lodger's existence. The young Anglican Wodehouse and Lucy in their gray cloaks, opened his fine eyes a little wider than usual not to speak of the rubric to which the cuwhen he was asked sympathetically whether rate was so faithful. It was a trying experiso many people in the house did not interfere ence to his evangelical aunt; but at the same with his quiet. "Mrs. Hadwin's talk is very time it was "a great work; " and she could gentle," said the curate; she never disturbs not give up the hope of being able one time or other to appropriate the credit of it, and win him over to her own "views." If that consummation could but be attained, everything would become simple; and Miss Leonora was a true Wentworth, and wanted to see her nephew in Skelmersdale: so it may easily be understood that, under present circumstances, there were great attractions for her in Carlingford. me. And the mistress of the house was equally obtuse, and would not comprehend any allusion. The little household came to be very much talked of in Carlingford in consequence; and to meet that shabby figure in the evening when one chanced to be out for a walk, made one's company sought after in the best circles of society; though the fact is, that people began to be remiss in calling upon Mrs. Hadwin, and a great many only left their cards as soon at it became evident that she did not mean to give any explanation. To have the curate to stay with her was possible, without infringing upon her position; but matters became very different when she showed herself willing to take "any one" even when in equivocal apparel and patched boots. It was, accordingly, with a beating heart that Miss Dora, feeling a little as she might have been supposed to feel thirty years before, had she ever stolen forth from the well-protected enclosure of Skelmersdale Park to see a lover, put on her bonnet in the early twilight, and escaping with difficulty the lively observations of her maid, went tremulously down Grange Lane to her nephew's house. But then She had never yet visited Frank, and this visit was unquestionably clandestine. the news with which her heart was beating were important enough to justify the step she was taking—at least so she whispered to herself; though whether dear Frank would be pleased, or whether he would still think it Probably the curate had his own troubles during this period of his history. He was noticed to be a little quick and short in his temper for some time after Easter. For one thing, his aunts did not go away; they stayed in the Blue Boar, and sent for him to dinner, till the curate's impatience grew almost beyond bearing. It was a discipline upon which" my fault," poor Miss Dora could not make he had not calculated, and which exceeded the bounds of endurance, especially as Miss Leonora questioned him incessantly about his "work," and still dangled before him, like an unattainable sweetmeat before a child, the comforts and advantages of Skelmersdale, where poor old Mr. Shirley had rallied for up her mind. Nothing happened in the quiet road, where there were scarcely any passengers, and the poor lady arrived with a trembling sense of escape from unknown perils at Mrs. Hadwin's garden door. For Miss Dora was of opinion, like some few other ladies, that to walk alone down the quietest of streets tions into the tranquil spring twilight, very glad of the charmed quiet, and happy somehow to find themselves alone together. That had happened but seldom of late; and a certain expectation of something that might happen hovered over the heads of Lucy and the curate. It did not matter that he dared not say to her what was in his heart. Mr. Wentworth was only a young man after all, and the thrill of a possible revelation was upon him in that half-hour upon which he was entering with so profound a sense of was to lay herself open to unheard-of dangers. She put out her trembling hand to ring the bell, thinking her perils over - for of course Frank would walk home with her- - when the door suddenly opened, and a terrible apparition, quite unconscious of anybody standing there, marched straight out upon Miss Dora, who gave a little scream, and staggered backwards, thinking the worst horrors she had dreamed of were about to be realized. They were so close together that the terrified lady took in every detail of his appearance. She saw the patched boots and that shabby happiness. And then it was an accidental coat which Sarah the housemaid felt that she meeting, and if anything did happen, they rather demeaned herself by brushing. It could not blame themselves as if they had looked too small for him, as coats will do sought this opportunity of being together. when they get shabby; and, to complete the The circumstances were such that they might alarming appearance of the man, he had no call it providential, if anything, came of it. hat, but only a little travelling-cap surmount-But just as the two had made their first step ing the redundancy of hair, mustache, and out of the church, where the organ was still beard, which were enough of themselves to murmuring low in the darkness, and where strike any nervous woman with terror. "Oh, the music of the last amen, in which he had I beg your pardon," cried poor Miss Dora, recognized Lucy's voice, had not quite died hysterically; "I wanted to see Mr. Went- from the curate's ears, to meet Miss Dora, worth ;" and she stood, trembling and pant-pale and fluttered, full of news and distress, ing for breath, holding by the wall, not quite with no other thought in her mind but to sure that this apparition could be appeased appropriate her dear Frank, and take his arm by any amount of apologies. It was a great and gain his ear! It was very hard upon comfort to her when the monster took off its the Perpetual Curate. As for Lucy, she, of cap, and when she perceived, by the undula- course, did not say anything, but merely artions of the beard, something like a smile ranged her veil and greeted Miss Wentworth upon its hidden lips. "I believe Mr. Went- sweetly. Lucy walked on the other side of worth is at church," said the new lodger: the curate, saying little as Miss Dora's cager "may I have the pleasure of seeing you safely shower of questions and remarks ran on. across to St. Roque's?" At which speech Perhaps she had a little insight into Mr. Miss Dora trembled more and more, and said Wentworth's feelings, and no doubt it was faintly, "No thank you " for who could rather tantalizing. When they came to Mrs. tell what the man's intentions might be? Hadwin's door, the young Anglican made a The result was, however, that he only took spasmodic effort, which in his heart he felt off his cap again, and went off like any other to be unprincipled, and which, had it been human creature in the other direction, and successful, would have totally taken away that slowly. With tremulous steps Miss the accidental and unpremeditated character Dora pursued her way to her nephew's pretty of this walk with Lucy, which he could not church. She could not have described, as find it in his heart to relinquish. He proshe herself said, what a relief it was to her, posed that his aunt should go in and rest after all this, to take Frank's arm, as she while he saw Miss Wodehouse safely home met him at the door of St. Roque's. He was - he was sure she was tired, he said eagerly. coming out, and the young lady with the gray "No, my dear, not at all," said Miss Dora; cloak had been one of the congregation; and," It is such a pleasant evening, and I know to tell the truth, Miss Dora was an unwelcome Miss Wodehouse's is not very far off. I addition just then to the party. Lucy's com- should like the walk, and, besides, it is too ing had been accidental, and it was very sweet late, you know, to see Mrs. Hadwin, and I to Mr. Wentworth to be able to conclude that should not like to go in without calling on he was obliged to walk home with her. They her; and besides were both coming out from their evening devo Mr. Wentworth in his aggravation gave a momentary sudden glance at Lucy when she | er's hands at the moment, almost without had no expectation of it. That glance of dis- being aware that it was any personal feeling appointment of disgust-of love and long- which made their agreement of sentiment so ing, was no more intentional than their meet- sweet. As for Miss Dora, she went on leaning; could he help it, if it revealed that ing on her nephew's arm, totally unconscious heart which was in such a state of commotion of the suppressed rapture and elevation in and impatience? Anyhow, the look gave which the two were moving at the other side. Lucy sufficient occupation to keep her very "That is very true. I am sure your Aunt quiet on the other side while Miss Dora Leonora would approve of that, dear,” said maundered on. Miss Dora, with a little answering pressure "I met the strangest man coming out when on her nephew's arm-" but still I have a I was going to ring your bell. You will feeling that a clergyman should always take think it very foolish, Frank, but he fright- care to be respectable. Not that he should ened me," she said. "A man with a terri- neglect the wicked," continued the poor ble beard, and a-a shabby man, my dear. aunt, apologetically, "for a poor sinner turnWho could it be? Not a person to be seen ing from the evil of his ways is the—the most coming out of a house where a clergyman interesting-sight in the world, even to the lives. He could not be any friend of yours?" | angels, you know; but to live with them in "The other lodger, I suppose, ," said the the same house, my dear-I am sure it is curate, briefly. "When are you going what I never could advise, nor Leonora away ?" either; and Mrs. Hadwin ought to know better, and have him away. Don't you know who he is, Frank? I could not be content without finding out, if it was me. "O my dear boy, we are not going away; I came to tell you. But, Frank, you don't mean to say that such a man as that lodges in Mrs. Hadwin's house? I don't think it is safe for you-I don't think it is respectable. People might think he was a friend of yours. I wonder if Miss Wodehouse has ever seen him-a great man with a beard? To be sure, a man might have a beard and yet be respectable; but I am sure, if Miss Wodehouse saw him, she would agree with me in thinking- Frank, my dear boy, what is the matter? Have I said anything wrong?" "I have nothing to do with him," said the curate, hurriedly; "it is a subject I don't want to discuss. Never mind him. What do you mean by saying you are not going away?" 66 My dear, Leonora has been thinking it all over," said Miss Dora, "and we are so anxious about you. Leonora is very fond of you, though she does not show it; and you know the Meritons have just come home from India, and have not a house to go to. So you Nothing that I know of," said the cu- see we thought, as you are not quite so comrate, who had given her hand a little angry fortable as we could wish to see you, Frank pressure to stop the stream of utterance--and perhaps we might be of some use-and only that I am not interested in the other lodger. Tell me about your going away." 66 "But I must appeal to Miss Wodehouse: it is for your own sake, my dear Frank," said Aunt Dora-" a clergyman should be so careful. I don't know what your Aunt Leonora would say. Don't you think to see a man like that coming out of Mr. Wentworth's house is not as it should be? I assure you he frightened me." Mr. Shirley is better again, and no immediate settlement has to be made about Skelmersdale;—and on the whole, if Leonora and you were to see more of each other-O my dear boy, don't be so hasty; it was all her own doing-it was not my fault." "Fault! I am sorry to be the occasion of so many arrangements," said Mr. Wentworth, with his stiff manner; "but, of course, if you like to stay in Carlingford I shall be "I don't think I have seen him," said very happy-though there is not much preachLucy. But shouldn't a clergyman's house ing here that will suit my Aunt Leonora: as be like the church, open to good and bad?- for Mr. Shirley, I hope he'll live forever. I for it is to the wicked and the miserable you was at No. 10 to-day," continued the curate, are sent," said the Sister of Mercy, lowering turning his head to the other side, and changher voice and glancing up at the Perpetual ing his tone in a manner marvellous to Miss Curate. They could have clasped each oth- Dora. "I don't think she can live much longer. You have done a great deal to smooth cried poor Miss Dora, whose opinions were her way in this last stage. Poor soul! she thinks she has been a great sinner," said the young man, with a kind of wondering pity. He had a great deal to vex him in his own person, and he knew of some skeletons very near at hand, but somehow at that moment it was hard to think of the extremities of mortal trouble, of death and anguish-those dark deeps of life by which Lucy and he sometimes stood together in their youth and happiness. A marvelling remorseful pity came to his heart. He could not believe in misery, with Lucy walking softly in the spring twilight by his side. "But, Frank, you are not taking any notice of what I say," said Miss Dora, with something like a suppressed sob. "I don't doubt your sick people are very important, but I thought you would take some interest. I came down to tell you, all the way by myself." "My sister would like to call on you, Miss Wentworth," said Lucy, interposing. "Gentlemen never understand what one says. Perhaps we could be of some use to you if you are going to settle in Carlingford. I think she has been a great deal better since she confessed," continued the charitable sister, looking up to the curate, and like him, dropping her voice. "The absolution was such a comfort. Now she seems to feel as if she could die. And she has so little to live for!" said Lucy, with a sigh of sympathetic feeling, remorseful too. Somehow it seemed cruel to feel so young, so hopeful, so capable of happiness, with such desolation close at hand. "Not even duty," said the curate; " and to think that the Church should hesitate to remove the last barriers out of the way! I would not be a priest if I were debarred from the power of delivering such a poor soul." not quite in accordance with her feelings. Mr. Wentworth did not say anything to soothe her, but with his unoccupied hand he made an involuntary movement towards Lucy's cloak, and plucked at it to bring her nearer, as the bearded stranger loomed dimly past, looking at the group. Lucy felt the touch, and wondered and looked up at him in the darkness. She could not comprehend the curate's face. "Are you afraid of him?" she said, with a slight smile; "if it is only his beard I am not alarmed; and here is papa coming to meet me. I thought you would have come for me sooner, papa. Has anything happened?" said Lucy taking Mr. Wodehouse's arm, who had suddenly appeared from underneath the lamp, still unlighted, at Dr. Marjoribanks's door. She clung to her father with unusual eagerness, willing enough to escape from the darkness and the curate's side, and all the tremulous sensations of the hour. "What could happen?" said Mr. Wodehouse, who still looked "limp" from his recent illness, though I hear there's doubtful people about; so they tell me but you ought to know best, Wentworth. Who is that fellow in the beard that went by on the other side? Not little Lake the drawingmaster. Fancied I had seen the build of the man before-eh?-a stranger? Well it's a mistake, perhaps. Can't be sure of anything now-a-days; memory failing. Well that's what the doctor says. Come in and rest and see Molly: as for me I'm not good for much, but you won't get better company than the girls, or else that's what folks tell me. Who did you say that fellow was? said the churchwarden, leaning across his daughter to see Mr. Wentworth's face. "I don't know anything about him," said the Curate of St. Roque's. "O Frank," said Miss Dora, with a long breath of fright and horror, "what are you And curiously enough silence fell upon the saying? O my dear, don't say it over again, little party, nobody could tell how ;-for two I don't want to hear it! I hope when we are minutes, which looked like twenty, no one dying we shall all feel what great great sinners spoke. Then Lucy roused herself apparently we are," said the poor lady, who, between with a little effort. "We seem to talk of vexation and mortification, was ready to cry, nothing but the man with the beard to-night," and not think that one is better than she said. "Mary knows everything that another. O my dear, there is that man again! Do y O you think it is safe to meet him in such a lonely road? If he comes across and speaks to me any more I shall faint," goes on in Carlingford-she will tell us about him; and if Miss Wentworth thinks it too late to come in, we will say good-night," she continued, with a little decision of tone, "Well, by Mr. Wodehouse," said the cu care." which was not incomprehensible to the Perpetual Curate. Perhaps she was a little pro-rate. "I may as well tell you; if you mean voked and troubled in her own person. To to keep up this concealment you must take say so much in looks and so little in words, was a mode of procedure which puzzled Lucy. “By Jove!” said the stranger, and then It frétted her, because it looked unworthy of he whistled a few bars of the air which her hero. She withdrew within the green Mr. Wentworth's arrival had interrupted. door, holding her father's arm fast, and talk-"What is a fellow to do?" he said after that ing to him, while Mr. Wentworth strained interjection. "I sometimes think I had bethis ears after the voice, which he thought ter risk it all—eh! don't you think so? I he could have singled out from a thousand can't shut myself up forever here." voices. Perhaps Lucy talked to drown her thoughts; and the curate went away dumb and abstracted, with his aunt leaning on his arm on the other side of the wall. He could not be interested, as Miss Dora expected him to be, in the Miss Wentworths' plans. He conducted her to the Blue Boar languidly, with an evident indifference to the fact that his Aunt Leonora was about to become a permanent resident in Carlingford He said "good-night "kindly to little Rosa Elsworthy, looking out with bright eyes into the darkness at the door of her uncle's shop; but he said little to Miss Dora, who could not tell what to make of him, and swallowed her tears as quietly as possible under her veil. When he had deposited his aunt safely at the inn, the Perpetual Curate hastened down Grange Lane at a great pace. The first sound he heard on entering Mrs. Hadwin's garden was the clear notes of the stranger's whistle among the trees; and with an impatient exclamation Mr. Wentworth sought his fellow-lodger, who was smoking as usual, pacing up and down a shaded walk, where, even in daylight, he was pretty well concealed from observation. The curate looked as if he had a little discontent and repugnance to get over before he could address the anonymous individual who whistled so cheerily under the trees. When he did speak it was an embarrassed and not very intelligible call. "That must be as you think best," said the Perpetual Curate, in whom there appeared no movement of sympathy; and he said no more, though the doubtful individual by his side lifted an undecided look to his face, and once more murmured in perplexed tones a troubled exclamation: "A man must have a little amusement somehow," the stranger said, with an aggrieved voice; and then abruptly left his unsociable companion, and went off to his room, where he summoned Sarah to bring lights, and tried to talk to her a little in utter dearth of society. Mr. Wentworth stayed behind, pacing up and down the darkening walk. The curate's thoughts were far from satisfactory. There was not much comfort anywhere, let him look where he pleased. When a man has no spot in all his horizon on which his eye can rest with comfort, there is something more discouraging in the prospect than a positive calamity. He could not take refuge even in the imagination of his love, for it was clear enough that already a sentiment of surprise had risen in Lucy's mind, and her tranquillity was shaken. And perhaps he had done rashly to plunge into other people's troubles-he upon whom a curious committee of aunts were now to sit en permanence. He went in to write his sermon far from being so assured of things in general as that discourse was when it was written, though it was a little relief to his mind to fall "I say—are you there? I want to speak to back upon an authority somewhere, and to reyou, " said Mr. Wentworth. fer, in terms which were perhaps too absolute |
