THE PERPETUAL CURATE. of a heap to see the clergyman a-standing at | ceiving the drift of the examination. He But a young creature like that ought not to have been out so late," said Miss Dora, trying to harden herself into severity. "I wonder very much that you like to walk up Grange Lane in the dark. I should think it very unpleasant, for my part; and I am sure I would not allow it, Mr. Elsworthy," she said firmly," if such a girl belonged to me." "But please, I wasn't walking up Grange Lane," said Rosa, with some haste. "I was at Mrs. Hadwin's, where Mr. Wentworth lives. I am sure I did not want to trouble him," said the little beauty, recovering her "but he innatural spirit as she went on, sisted on walking with me; it was all his own doing. I am sure I didn't want him; and here Rosa broke off abruptly, with a consciousness in her heart that she was being lectured. She rushed to her defensive weapons by natural instinct, and grew crimson over all her pretty little face, and flashed lightning out of her eyes, which at the same time were not disinclined to tears. All this Miss Dora made note of with a sinking heart. "Do you mean to say that you went to Mrs. Hadwin's to see Mr. Wentworth?" asked that unlucky inquisitor, with a world of horror in her face. "It ain't easy to go into a house in Grange Lane without meeting of some one in the garden," said Mr. Elsworthy; "not as I mean to say it was the right thing for Rosa to be going them errands after dark. My orders is against that, as she knows; and what's the good of keeping two boys if things isn't to be done at the right time? Mr. Wentworth himself was a-reproving of me for sending out Rosa, as it might be the last time he was here; for she's one of them as sits in the chancel and helps in the singing, and he feels an interest in her, natural," said the apologetic clerk. Miss Dora gave him a troubled look, but took no further notice of his speech. She thought with an instinctive contempt for the masculine spectator, that it was impossible he could know anything about it, and pursued her own wiser way. "It is very wrong of you-a girl in your position," said Miss Dora, as severely as she could in her soft old voice," to be seen walking about with a gentleman, even when he is your clergyman, and, of course, has nothYoung men don't think ing else in his head. anything of it," said the rash but timid. preacher; "of course it was only to take care of you, and keep you out of harm's way. But then you ought to think what a trouble it was to Mr. Wentworth, taking him away from his studies-and it is not nice for a "I went with the papers," said Rosa, young girl like you." Miss Dora paused to and I-I met him in the garden. I am take breath, not feeling quite sure in her own sure it wasn't my fault," said the girl, burst- mind whether this was the right thing to say. Nobody has any Perhaps it would have been better to have ing into petulant tears. It was Mr. Wentworth disbelieved the fact altogether, and declared occasion to scold me. as would come;" and Rosa sobbed, and it impossible. She was much troubled about lighted up gleams of defiance behind her it, as she stood looking into the flushed, teartears. Miss Dora sat looking at her with a ful face, with all that light of defiance behind very troubled, pale face. She thought all the tears and felt instinctively that little her fears were true, and matters worse than Rosa, still only a pretty, obstinate, vain, unshe imagined; and being quite unused to pri- educated little girl, was more than a match vate inquisitions, of course she took all pos- for herself, with all her dearly-won experiThe little thing was bristling with a sible steps to create the scandal for which she ences. hundred natural weapons and defences, had come to look. against which Miss Dora's weak assault had no chance. 66 "Did you ever meet him in the garden before?" asked Miss Dora, painfully, in a low voice. During this conversation Mr. Elsworthy had been looking on, perplexed, not per "If it was a trouble, he need not have come," said Rosa, more and more convineed 66 that Mr. Wentworth must certainly have said Miss Dora, "you will take care of that meant something. "I am sure I did not want him. He insisted on coming, though I begged him not. I don't know why I should be spoke to like this," cried the little coquette, with tears, "for I never was one as looked at a gentleman; it's them," with a sob, "as comes after me." "Rosa," said Mr. Elsworthy, much alarmed, “your aunt is sure to be looking out for you, and I don't want you here, not now; nor I don't want you again for errands, and don't you forget. If it hadn't have been that Mr. Wentworth thought you a silly little thing, and had a kind feeling for my missis and me, you don't think he'd have took that charge of you?-and I wont have my clergyman as has always been good to me and mine, made a talk of. You'll excuse me, ma'am," he said, in an under tone, as Rosa reluctantly went away-not to her aunt, however, but again to her parcel at the other end of the shop-" she aint used to being talked to. She's but a child, and don't know no better and after all," said Rosa's uncle, with a little pride," she is a tender-hearted little thing-she don't know no better, ma'am; she's led away by a kind word-for nobody can say but she's wonderful pretty, as is very plain to see." "Is she?" said Miss Dora, following the little culprit to the back counter with disenchanted eyes. "Then you had better take all the better care of her, Mr. Elsworthy," she said, with again a little asperity. The fact was, that Miss Dora had behaved very injudiciously, and was partly aware of it; and then this prettiness of little Rosa's, even though it shone at the present moment before her, was not so plain to her old-maidenly eyes. She did not make out why everybody was so sure of it, nor what it mattered; and very probably, if she could have had her own way, would have liked to give the little insignificant thing a good shake, and asked her how she dared to attract the eye of the Perpetual Curate. As she could not do this, however, Miss Dora gathered up her wool, and refused to permit Mr. Elsworthy to send it home for her. "I can carry it quite well myself," said the indignant little woman. "I am sure you must have a great deal too much for your boys to do, or you would not send your niece about with the things. But if you will take my advice, Mr. Elsworthy," poor little thing: she will be getting ridiculous notions into her head;" and Aunt Dora went out of the shop with great solemnity, quite unaware that she had done more to put ridiculous notions into Rosa's head than could have got there by means of a dozen darkling walks by the side of the majestic curate, who never paid her any compliments. Miss Dora went away more than ever convinced in her mind that Frank had forgotten himself and his position, and everything that was fit and seemly. She jumped to a hundred horrible conclusions as she went sadly across Grange Lane with her scarlet wool in her hand. What Leonora would say to such an irremediable folly? and how the squire would receive his son after such a méssalliance?" He might change his views," said Miss Dora to herself, "but he could not change his wife;" and it was poor comfort to call Rosa a designing little wretch, and to reflect that Frank at first could not have meant anything. The poor lady had a bad headache, and was in a terribly depressed condition all day. When she saw from the window of her summer-house the pretty figure of Lucy Wodehouse in her gray cloak pass by, she sank into tears and melancholy reflections. But then Lucy Wodehouse's views were highly objectionable, and she bethought herself of Julia Trench, who had long ago been selected by the sisters as the clergyman's wife of Skelmersdale. Miss Dora shook her head over the blanket she was knitting for Louisa's baby, thinking of clergymen's wives in general, and the way in which marriages came about. Who had the ordering of these inexplicable accidents? It was surely not Providence, but some tricky imp or other who loved confusion; and then Miss Dora paused with compunction, and hoped she would be forgiven for entertaining, even for one passing moment, such a wicked, wicked thought. CHAPTER XII. ON the afternoon of the same day Mr. Morgan went home late, and frightened his wife out of her propriety by the excitement and trouble in his face. He could do nothing but groan as he sat down in the drawingroom, where she had just been gathering her work together, and putting stray matters in order, before she went up-stairs to make her THE PERPETUAL CURATE. "We self tidy for dinner. The rector paid no at- good qualities," said the rectors wife. iously what was the matter. The good man was too much flushed and heated and put out, to be able at first to answer her questions. Very bad, very bad," he said, when he had recovered sufficient composure "far worse than I feared. My dear, I am afraid the beginning of my work in Carlingford will be forever associated with pain to us both. I am discouraged and distressed beyand measure by what I have heard to-day." "Dear William, tell me what it is?" said the rector's wife. "I have never known an insubordinate man who was a perfect moral character," said the rector. "It is very discouraging altogether; and you thought he was engaged to Wodehouse's pretty daughter, didn't you? I hope not-I sincerely hope not. That would make things doubly bad; but, to be sure, when a man is faithless to his most sacred engagements, there is very little dependence to be placed on him in other respects." "But you have not told me what it is?" and said the rector's wife, with some anxiety; "I feared it was a bad business from the she spoke the more hastily as she saw the first," said the disturbed rector. I confess I shadow of a curate-Mr. Morgan's own cufeared, when I saw a young man so regard rate, who must inevitably be invited to stop less of lawful authority, that his moral prin- to dinner-crossing the lawn as she spoke. "There is Mr. Leeson," ciples must be defective, but I was not pre-She got up and went a little nearer the winpared for what I have heard to-day. My dow to make sure. dear, I am sorry to grieve you with such a she said, with some vexation. "I must run story; but as you are sure to hear it, per-up-stairs and get ready for dinner. Tell me haps it is better that you should have the what is it!" facts from me." Upon which the rector, with some circum"It must be about Mr. Wentworth," said locution, described the appalling occurrence Mrs. Morgan. She was sorry; for though of the previous night,-how Mr. Wentworth she had given in to her husband's vehemence, had walked home with little Rosa Elsworthy she herself in her own person had been pre-from his own house to hers, as had, of course, possessed in favor of the Perpetual Curate; but she was also sensible of a feeling of relief to know the misfortune concerned Mr. Wentworth, and was not specially connected with themselves. been seen by various people. The tale had “Yes, it's about Mr. Wentworth," said the rector. He wiped his face, which was red with haste and exhaustion, and shook his head. He was sincerely shocked and grieved, to do him justice; but underneath there was also a certain satisfaction in the thought that he had foreseen it, and that his suspicions "My dear, I am very glad he were verified. had not become intimate in our house," said Mr. Morgan ; "that would have complicated matters sadly. I rejoice that your womanly "Was that all!" said the sensible woman. instincts prevented that inconvenience ;" and as the rector began to recover himself, he" I think it very likely it might be explained. looked more severe than ever. "Yes," said Mrs. Morgan, with hesitation; for the truth was, that her womanly instincts had pronounced rather distinctly in favor of "I hope he has the Curate of St. Roque's. not done anything very wrong, William. I should be very sorry; for I think he has very I suppose Mr. Leeson must have stopped to look at my ferns; he is very tiresome with his botany. That was all! Dear, I think it might be explained. I can't fancy Mr. Wentworth is a man to commit himself in that way-if that is all!" said Mrs. Morgan; "but I must run up-stairs to change my dress." “That was not all," said the rector, follow- | uncharitableness, and her own insufficient ing her to the door. "It is said that this time to dress, and the disagreeable heightensort of thing has been habitual, my dear. ing of her complexion, the rector's wife felt He takes the Evening Mail, you know, all to in rather an unchristian frame of mind. She himself, instead of having the Times, like did not look well, and she did not feel better. other people, and she carries it down to his She was terribly civil to the curate when she house; and I hear of meetings in the garden, went down-stairs and snubbed him in the and a great deal that is very objectionable," most unqualified way when he, too, began said Mr. Morgan speaking very fast in order to speak about Mr. Wentworth. "It does to deliver himself before the advent of Mr. not seem to me to be at all a likely story," she Leeson." I am afraid it is a very bad busi- said, courageously, and took away Mr. Leeness. I don't know what to do about it. I son's breath. suppose I must ask Leeson to stay to dinner? It is absurd of him to come at six o'clock." "Meetings in the garden?" said Mrs. Morgan, aghast. "I don't feel as if I could believe it. There is that tiresome man at last. Do as you like, dear, about asking him to stay; but I must make my escape," and the rector's wife hastened up-stairs, divided between vexation about Mr. Leeson and regret at the news she had just heard. She put on her dress rather hastily, and was conscious of a little ill-temper, for which she was angry with herself; and the haste of her toilette, and the excitement under which she labored, aggravated unbecomingly that redness of which Mrs. Morgan was so painfully sensible. She was not at all pleased with her own appearance as she looked in the glass. Perhaps that sense of looking not so well as usual brought back to her mind a troublesome and painful idea, which recurred to her not unfrequently when she was in any trouble. The real rector to whom she was married was so different from the ideal one who courted her; could it be possible, if they had married in their youth instead of now, that her husband would have been less open to the ill-natured suggestions of the gossips in Carlingford, and less jealous of the interferences of his young neighbor? It was hard to think that all the self-denial and patience of the past had done more. harm than good; but though she was conscious of his defects, she was very loyal to him, and resolute to stand by him whatever he might do or say; though Mrs. Morgan's "womanly instincts," which the rector had quoted, were all on Mr. Wentworth's side, and convinced her of his innocence to start with. On the whole she was annoyed and uncomfortable; what with Mr. Leeson's intrusion (which had occurred three or four times before, and which Mrs. Morgan felt it her duty to check) and the rector's "But I hear a very unfavorable general account," said the rector, who was almost equally surprised. "I hear he has been playing fast and loose with that very pretty person, Miss Wodehouse, and that her friends begin to be indignant. It is said that he has not been nearly so much there lately, but, on the contrary, always going to Elsworthy's, and has partly educated this little thing. My dear, one false step leads to another. I am not so incredulous as you are. Perhaps I have studied human nature a little more closely, and I know that error is always fruitful;-that is my experience," said Mr. Morgan. His wife did not say anything in answer to this deliverance, but she lay in wait for the curate, as was natural, and had her revenge upon him as soon as his ill fate prompted him to back the rector out. "I am afraid Mr. Wentworth had always too much confidence in himself," said the unlucky individual who was destined to be scapegoat on this occasion; " and as you very justly observe, one wrong act leads to another. He has thrown himself among the bargemen on such an equal footing that I dare say he has got to like that kind of society. I shouldn't be surprised to find that Rosa Elsworthy suited him better than a lady with refined tastes." "Mr. Wentworth is a gentleman," said the rector's wife, with emphasis, coming down upon the unhappy Leeson in full battle array. "I don't think he would go into the poorest house, if it were even a bargeman's, without the same respect to the privacy of the family as is customary among-persons of our own class, Mr. Leeson. I can't tell how wrong or how foolish he may have been of course, but that he couldn't behave to anybody in a disrespectful manner, or show himself intrusive, or forget the usages of good society," said Mrs. Morgan, who was look ing all the time at the unfortunate curate, | her composure. Perhaps she was disappointed "I am perfectly convinced." that she had not been able to convey her bosom at all events, Mrs. Morgan recovered herself immediately, and flashed forth with all the lively freshness of a temper in its first youth. It was this speech which made Mr. Morgan real meaning to her husband's matter-of-fact "speak seriously," as he called it, later the same night, to his wife, about her manner to poor Leeson, who was totally extinguished, as was to be expected. Mrs. Morgan busied herself among her flowers all the evening, "He deserved a great deal more than I said and could not be caught to be admonished to him," said the rector's wife. "It might until it was time for prayers: so that it was be an advantage to take the furniture, as it in the sacred retirement of her own cham- was all new, though it is a perpetual vexaber that the remonstrance was delivered at tion to me, and worries me out of my life; last. The rector said that he was very sorry but there was no need to take the curate, to find that she still gave way to temper in that I can see. What right has he to come a manner that was unbecoming in a clergy-day after day at your dinner-hour? he knows man's wife; he was surprised, after all her we dine at six as well as we do ourselves; experience, and the way in which they had and I do believe he knows what we have for both been schooled to patience, to find she dinner," exclaimed the incensed mistress of had still to learn that lesson: upon which the house; "for he always makes his apMrs. Morgan, who had been thinking much pearance when we have anything he likes. on the subject, broke forth upon her husband I hope I know my duty, and can put up with in a manner totally unprecedented, and which what cannot be mended," continued Mrs. took the amazed rector altogether by sur- Morgan, with a sigh, and a mental reference prise. to the carpet in the drawing-room; "but there are some things really that would disturb the temper of an angel. I don't know anybody that could endure the sight of a man always coming unasked to dinner; and he to speak of Mr. Wentworth, who, if he were the greatest sinner in the world, is always a gentleman!" Mrs. Morgan broke off with a sparkle in her eye, which showed that she had neither exhausted the subject, nor was ashamed of herself; and the rector wisely retired from the controversy. He went to bed, and slept, good man, and dreamt that Sir Charles Grandison had come to be his curate in place of Mr. Leeson; and when he woke, concluded quietly that Mrs. Morgan had experienced a little attack on the nerves," as he explained afterwards to Dr. Marjoribanks. Her compunctions, her longings after the lost life which they might have lived together, her wistful womanish sense of the impoverished existence, deprived of so many experiences, on which they had entered in the dry maturity of their middle age, remained forever a mystery to her faithful husband. He was very fond of her, and had a high respect for her character; but if she had spoken Sanscrit, he could not have had less understanding of the meaning her words intended to convey. "O William, if we had only forestalled the lesson, and been less prudent!" she cried in a womanish way, which struck the rector dumb with astonishment; "if we hadn't been afraid to marry ten years ago, but gone into life when we were young, and fought through it like so many people, don't you think it would have been better for us? Neither you nor I would have minded what gossips said, or listened to a pack of stories when we were five-and-twenty. I think I was better then than I am now," said the rector's wife. Though she filled that elevated position, she was only a woman, subject to outbreaks of sudden passion, and liable to tears like the rest. Mr. Morgan looked very blank at her as she sat there crying, sobbing with the force of a sentiment which was probably untranslatable to the surprised, middle-aged man. He thought it must be her nerves which were in fault somehow, and, though much startled, did not inquire farther into it, having a secret feeling in his heart that the less that was said the better on that subject. So he did what his good angel suggested to him, kissed his wife, and said he was well aware what heavy calls he had made upon her patience, and soothed her the best way that occurred to him. "But you were very hard upon poor Leeson, my dear," said the rector, with his puzzled look, when she had regained Notwithstanding, a vague idea that his wife was disposed to side with Mr. Went |