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worth had penetrated the brain of the rector, worth and I could not help meeting each and was not without its results. He told other; that is all about it; but people must her next morning, in his curt way, that he always have something to talk about in Carthought it would be best to wait a little lingford. I hope you don't think I and before taking any steps in the Wharfside Rosa Elsworthy could go together," she business. "If all I hear is true, we may went on, turning round to him with a have to proceed in a different way against the unhappy young man," said Mr. Morgan, solemnly; and he took care to ascertain that Mr. Leeson had an invitation somewhere else to dinner, which was doing the duty of a tender husband, as everybody will allow.

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CHAPTER XIII.

"I WANT to know what all this means about young Wentworth," said Mr. Wodehouse. He's gone off, it appears, in a hurry, nobody knows where. Well, so they say. To his brother's, is it? I couldn't know that; but look here-that's not all, nor nearly all-they say he meets that little Rosa at Elsworthy's every night, and walks home with her, and all that sort of thing. I tell you I don't know-that's what people say. You ought to understand all the rights of it, you two girls. I confess I thought it was Lucy he was after, for my part-and a very bad match, too, and one I should have never given my consent to. And then there is another fine talk about some fellow he's got at his house. What's the matter, Molly? she looks as if she were going to faint."

"Oh, no," said Miss Wodehouse, faintly; "and I don't believe a word about Rosa Elsworthy," she said, with sudden impetuosity, a minute after. "I am sure Mr. Wentworth could vindicate himself whenever he likes. I daresay the one story is just as true as the other; but then," said the gentle elder sister, turning with anxious looks towards Lucy, "he is proud, as is natural; and I shouldn't think he would enter into explanations if he thought people did not trust him without them,"

smile. "I don't think that would be much of a compliment;" and saying this, Lucy went to get her work out of its usual corner, and sat down opposite to her father, with a wonderfully composed face. She was so composed, indeed, that any interested beholder might have been justified in thinking that the work suffered in consequence, for it seemed to take nearly all Lucy's strength and leisure to keep up that look.

"Oh!" said Mr. Wodehouse, "that's how it was? Then I wonder why that confounded puppy came here so constantly? I don't like that sort of behaviour. Don't you go into the district any more and meet him— that's all I've got to say."

"Because of Rosa Elsworthy?" said Lucy, with a little smile, which did not flicker naturally, but was apt to get fixed at the corners of her pretty mouth. "That would never do, papa. Mr. Wentworth's private concerns are nothing to us; but, you know, there is a great work going on in the district, and that can't be interfered with," said the young Sister of Mercy, looking up at him with a decision which Mr. Wodehouse was aware he could make no stand against. And when she stopped speaking, Lucy did a little work, which was for the district, too. All this time she was admitting to herself that she had been much startled by this news about Rosa Elsworthy,-much startled. To be sure, it was not like Mr. Wentworth, and very likely it would impair his influence; and it was natural that any friend taking an interest in him and the district, should be taken a little aback by such news. Accordingly, Lucy sat a little more upright than usual, and was conscious that when she smiled, as she had just done, the smile did not glide off again in a natural way, but settled down into the lines of her face with a kind of spasmodic tenacity. She could do a great deal in the way of self-control, but she could not quite command the refractory muscles. Mr. Wodehouse, who was not "It never was on, papa," said Lucy, in particularly penetrating, could not quite her clearest voice. "I have been a great deal make her out; he saw there was something a in the district, you know, and Mr. Went-little different from her ordinary look about

"That is all stuff," said Mr. Wodehouse; "why should people trust him? I don't understand trusting a man in all sorts of equivocal circumstances, because he's got dark eyes, etc., and a handsome face-which seems your code of morality; but I thought he was after Lucy--that was my belief-and I want to know if it's all off."

was.

THE PERPETUAL CURATE.

"And about this man who is staying at Mrs. Hadwin's?" said the perplexed churchwarden; "does any one know who the fellow is? I don't understand how Wentworth has got into all this hot water in a moment. Here's the rector in a state of fury,—and his aunts, and now here's this little bit of scandal to crown all ;-and who is this fellow in his house?"

to say.

Mr. Wodehouse was his favorite child, but he had not insight | with her bright eyes. enough to enable him to comprehend what it entirely discomfited, and did not know what "I wonder if you know what you mean yourselves, you women," he muttered; and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, and a hasty "settle it as you please," the churchwarden's boots creaked hastily out of the the room, and out of the house. After this a dead silence fell upon drawing-room and its two occupants. They did not burst forth into mutual comment upon this last piece of Carlingford news, as they would have done under any other circumstances; on the contrary, they bent over their several occupations with quite an unusual devotion, not exchanging so much as a look. Lucy, over her needlework, was the steadiest of the two; she was still at the same point in her thoughts, owning to herself that she was startled, and indeed shocked, by what she had heard-that it was a great pity for Mr. Wentworth; perhaps that it was not quite what might have been expected of him,--and then she checked herself, and went back again to her original acknowledgment. To tell the truth, though she assured herself that she had nothing to do with it, a strange sense of having just passed through an unexpected illness, lay underneath Lucy's composare. It was none of her business, to be sure, but she could not help feeling as if she had just had a fever, or some other sudden unlooked-for attack, and that nobody knew of it, and that she must get well as she best could, without any help from without.

"It must be somebody he has taken in out of charity," said Miss Wodehouse, with tears in her eyes; "I am sure it is somebody whom he has opened his doors to out of Christian charity and the goodness of his heart. I don't understand how you can all desert him at the first word. All the years he has been here, you know there never was a whisper against him; and is it in reason to think he would go so far wrong all in a moment?" cried the faithful advocate of the Perpetual Curate. Her words were addressed to Mr. Wodehouse, but her eyes sought Lucy, who was sitting very upright doing her work, without any leisure to look round. Lucy had quite enough to occupy her within herself at that emergency, and the tearful appeal of her elder sister had no effect upon her. As for Mr. Wodehouse, he was more and more puzzled how to interpret these tears in his daughter's eyes.

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"I don't make it out at all," said the perplexed father, getting up to leave the room. "I hope you weren't in love with him, Molley? you ought to have too much sense for that. A pretty mess he'll find when he comes home; but he must get out of it the best way he can, for I can't help him, at least. I don't mean to have him asked here any more-you understand, Lucy," he said, turning round at the door, with an emphatic creek of his boots. But Lucy had no mind to be seduced into any such confession of weakness.

It was quite half-an-hour before Miss Wodehouse got up from the knitting which she had spoiled utterly, trying to take up the dropped stitches with her trembling fingers, and dropping others by every effort she made. The poor lady went wistfully about the room, wandering from corner to corner, as if in search of something; at last she "Dear, I am took courage to speak, when she found herself behind her young sister. sure it is not true," said Miss Wodehouse, "You are always having everybody in Car- suddenly, with a little sob; and then she lingford to dinner," said the young house- came close to Lucy's chair, and put her keeper, "and all the clergymen, even that hand timidly upon her sister's shoulder, Mr. Leeson; and I don't see why you should "Think how many good things you two except Mr. Wentworth, papa; he has done have done together, dear; and is it likely nothing wicked, so far as we know. I dare-you are to be parted like this?" said the insay he won't want to bring Rosa Elsworthy judicious comforter. It felt rather like anwith him; and why shouldn't he be asked other attack of fever to Lucy, as unexpected here?" said Lucy, looking full in his face as the last.

"Don't speak so, please," said the poor "It is about girl, with a momentary shiver. Mr. Wentworth you mean?" she went on after a little without turning her head. "I -am sorry, of course. I am afraid it will do him-harm," and then she made a pause and stumbled over her sewing with fingers which felt feeble and powerless to the very tips-all on account of this fever she had had. "But I don't know any reason why you and I should discuss it, Mary," she said, getting up in her turn, not quite sure whether she could stand at this early period of her conva"We are both lescence, but resolved to try. Mr. Wentworth's friends-and we need not say any harm of him. I have to get something out of the store-room for to-night."

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was only conscious of a terrible difference
somehow in everything about her-in the air
which choked her breathing, and the light
which blinded her eyes. When she came to
herself a little, she said over and over, half-
aloud, that everything was just the same as
it had always been, and that to her at least
nothing had happened; but that declaration,
though made with vehemence, did not alter
matters. The world altogether had sustained
The light that was in it was dark-
a change.
ened, and the heart stilled. All at once, in-
stead of a sweet, spontaneous career, provid-
ing for its own wants day by day, life came
to look like something which required such
an amount of courage and patience and en-
durance as Lucy had not at hand to support
her in the way; and her heart failed her at
the moment when she found this out.

Notwithstanding, the people who dined at Mr. Wodehouse's that night thought it a very agreeable little party, and more than one re

But, Lucy," said the tender, trembling sister, who did not know how to be wise and silent, I trust him, and you don't. O my dear, it will break my heart. I know some part of it is not true. I know one thing in which he is quite quite innocent. Opeated the remark, so familiar to most persons Lucy, my darling, if you distrust him it will be returning evil for good!" cried poor Miss Wodehouse, with tears. As for Lucy she did not quite know what her sister said. She only felt that it was cruel to stop her, and look at her, and talk to her, and there woke up in her mind a fierce, sudden spark of resistance to the intolerable.

in society in Carlingford-that Wodehouse's
parties were the pleasantest going, though he
himself was hum-drum enough. Two or three
of the people present had heard the gossip
about Mr. Wentworth, and discussed it, as
was natural, taking different views of the
subject; and poor Miss Wodehouse took up
his defence so warmly and with such tearful
vehemence, that there were smiles to be seen
on several faces. As for Lucy, she made only
a very simple remark on the subject. She
said: "Mr. Wentworth is a great friend of
ours, and I think I would rather not hear
any gossip about him." Of course there
were one or two keen observers who put a
subtle meaning to this, and knew what was
signified by her looks and her ways all the
evening; but, most likely, they were alto-
gether mistaken in their suppositions, for no-
body could possibly watch her so closely as
did Miss Wodehouse, who knew no more
than the man in the moon, at the close of the
evening, whether her young sister was very
wretched or totally indifferent. The truth
was certainly not to be discovered, for that
night at least, in Lucy's looks.

"Why do you hold me? I may have been ill, but I can stand well enough by myself," cried Lucy, to her sister's utter bewilderment. "That is, I—I mean, I have other things to attend to," she cried, breaking into a few hot tears of mortification over this self-betrayal; and so went away in a strange glow and tremble of sudden passion, such as had never been seen before in that quiet house. She went direct to the store-room, as she had said, and got out what was wanted; and only after that was done permitted herself to go up to her room, and turn the key in her door. Though she was a Sister of Mercy, and much beloved in Prickett's Lane, she was still but one of Eve's poor, petulant women-children, and had it in her to fly at an intruder on her suffering, like any other wounded creature. But she did not make any wild demonstration of her pain, even when shut up thus in her THE next afternoon there were signs of a fortress. She sat down on the sofa, in a kind of dull heaviness, looking into vacancy. She considerable commotion in Mr. Elsworthy's was not positively thinking of Mr. Went- shop. Rosa had disappeared altogether, and worth, or of any one thing in particular. She Mrs. Elsworthy, with an ominous redness on

CHAPTER XIV.

her cheeks, had taken the place generally held and to hear Miss Leonora, you might have by that more agreeable little figure. All the supposed that all the powers of heaven must symptoms of having been engaged in an affray fail and be discomfited before this potent infrom which she had retired not altogether strument of evil, and that, after all, Bibles victorious were in Mrs. Elsworthy's face, and and missionaries were much less effective than the errand-boys vanished from her neighbor- the stoppage of the license, upon which all hood with inconceivable rapidity, and found her agents were bent. At all events, such out little parcels to deliver which would have an object of interest had swept out from her eluded their most anxious search in other cir- thoughts the vague figure of her nephew, cumstances. Mr. Elsworthy himself occupied Frank, and Aunt Dora's mysterious anxieties his usual place in the foreground, without the on his account. When the three ladies apusual marks of universal content and satisfac-proached Elsworthy's, the first thing that altion with all his surroundings which generally tracted their attention was Rosa, the little distinguished him. An indescribable appear- Rosa who had been banished from the shop, ance of having been recently snubbed hung and whom Mrs. Elsworthy believed to be exabout the excellent man, and his glances piating her sins in a back room, in tears and towards the back shop, and the glances di- darkness; instead of which the little girl rected from the back shop to him, told with was looking out of her favorite window, and sufficient significance the quarter from which amusing herself much with all that was going his humiliation had proceeded. It had done on in Grange Lane. Though she was fluthim good, as such painful discipline generally does; for he was clearing out some drawers in which sundry quires of paper had broken loose and run into confusion, with the air of a man who ought to have done it weeks ago. As for the partner of his bosom, she was standing in the obscure distance behind the counter knitting a blue stocking, which was evidently intended for no foot but his. There was a chair close by, but Mrs. Elsworthy disdained to sit down. She stood with her knitting, in conscious power, now and then suffering a confession of her faith to escape her. "There's nothing as don't go contrary in this world," said the discontented wife, “when a man's a fool." It was hard upon Mr. Elsworthy that his ears were sharp, and that he knew exactly what this agreeable murmur was. But he was wise in his generation, and made no reply.

Things were in this condition when, of all persons in Carlingford, it occurred to Miss Leonora Wentworth to enter Mr. Elsworthy's shop. Not that she was alone, or bent upon any errand of inquiry; for Miss Leonora seldom moved about unattended by her sisters, whom she felt it her duty to take out for exercise; and, wonderfully enough, she had not found out yet what was the source of Miss Dora's mysteries and depression, having been still occupied meantime by her own "great work" in her London district, and the affair of the gin-palace, which was still undecided. She had been talking a great deal about this gin-palace for the last twenty-four hours;

tered by the scolding she had received, Rosa only looked prettier than usual with her flushed cheeks; and so many things had been put into her nonsensical little head during the last two days, especially by her aunt's denunciations, that her sense of self-importance was very much heightened in consequence. She looked at the Miss Wentworths with a throb of mingled pride and alarm, wondering whether perhaps she might know more of them some day, if Mr. Wentworth was really fond of her, as people said—which thought gave Rosa a wonderful sensation of awe and delighted vanity. Meanwhile, the three Miss Wentworths looked at her with very diverse feelings. "I must speak to these people about that little girl, if nobody else has sense enough to do it," said Miss Leonora; "she is evidently going wrong as fast as she can, the little fool: " and the iron-gray sister went into Mr. Elsworthy's in this perfectly composed and habitual frame of mind, with her head full of the application which was to be made to the licensing magistrates to-day, in the parish of St. Michael, and totally unaware that anybody belonging to herself could ever be connected with the incautious little coquette at the window. Miss Dora's feelings were very different. It was much against her will that she was going at all into this obnoxious shop, and the eyes which she hastily uplifted to the window and withdrew again with lively disgust and dislike, were both angry and tearful: "Little forward, shameless thing," Miss Dora said to herself, with a little toss of her

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head. As for Miss Wentworth, it was not know nothing about it; I've got too much to do minding my own business. Them as has nothing to think of but stand in the shop and twiddle their thumbs, ought to look to that; but, ma'am, if you'll believe me, it ain't no fault of mine. It ain't my will to throw her in any young gentleman's way; not to say a clergyman as we're bound to respect. Whatever you does, ladies,—and I shouldn't wonder at your taking away your custom, nor nothing else as was a punishment-don't blame me ! "

her custom to say anything-but she, too, looked up, and saw the pretty face at the window, and secretly concluded that it might all be quite true, and that she had known a young man make a fool of himself before now for such another. So they all went in, unwitting that they came at the end of a domestic hurricane, and that the waters were still in a state of disturbance. Miss Wentworth took the only chair, as was natural, and sat down sweetly to wait for Leonora, and Miss Dora lingered behind while her sister made her purchases. Miss Leonora wanted some books

"But you forget, Mrs. Elsworthy, that we have nothing to do with it,-nothing at all; my nephew knows very well what he is

"And I came here," she said with engag-about," said Miss Dora, in injudicious haste. ing candor, "because I see no other shop "Mr. Wentworth is not at all likely to forin this part of the town except Master's, get himself," continued that poor lady, getwhich, of course, I would not enter. It is ting confused as her sister turned round and easy enough to do without books, but I can't stared at her. "Of course it was all out of afford to compromise my principles, Mr. Els- kindness;-I-I know Frank did not mean worthy; to which Mr. Elsworthy had re-anything," cried the unfortunate aunt. Leoplied, "No, ma'am, of course not-such a nora's look, as she turned round and fixed thing ain't to be expected; " with one eye her eyes upon her, took away what little upon his customer, and one upon his bellig- breath Miss Dora had. erent wife.

"And, by the by, if you will permit me to speak about what does not concern me," said Miss Leonora cheerfully, "I think you should look after that little girl of yours more carefully;-recollect I don't mean any offen ce; but she's very pretty, you know, and very young and vain, as a matter of course. I saw her the other evening going down Grange Lane, a great deal too late for such a creature to be out; and though I don't doubt, you are very particular where she goes

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It was at this conjuncture that Mrs. Elsworthy, who could not keep silence any longer, broke in ardently, with all her knitting needles in front of her, disposed like a kind of porcupine mail

"Mr. Wentworth?" asked Miss Leonora ; "I should be glad to know if anybody would inform me what Mr. Wentworth can possibly have to do with it? I daresay you misunderstood me; I said you were to look after that little girl-your niece, or whatever she is; I did not say anything about Mr. Wentworth," said the strong-minded sister, looking round upon them all. For the moment she forgot all about the license, and turned upon Mr. Elsworthy with an emphasis which almost drove that troubled citizen to his knees.

"That was how I understood it," said the clerk of St. Roque's humbly; there wasn't nothing said about Mr. Wentworth-nor there couldn't be as I know of, but what was in his favor, for there ain't many young "I'm well known in Carlingford - better men like our clergymen left in the Church. known than most," said Mrs. Elsworthy It ain't because I'm speaking to respected with a sub; "such a thing as not being par- ladies as is his relations; folks may talk," ticular was never named to me. I strive said Mr. Elsworthy with a slight faltering, and I toil from morning to night, as all" but I never see his equal; and as for an things should be respectable and kep' in act of kindness to an orphan child good order; but what's the good? Here's my heart broken, that's all; and Elsworthy standing gaping like a gaby as he is. There ain't nothing as don't go contrairy, when folks is tied to a set of fools," cried the indignant matron. "As for pretty, I don't

"The orphan child is neither here nor there," said his angry wife, who had taken up her post by his side; "a dozen fathers and mothers couldn't have done better by her than we've done; and to go and lay out her snares for them as is so far above her, if

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