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 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE 
 
 NEW RECTOR 
 
 BY 
 
 STANLEY J. WEYMAN 
 
 ACTHOn OP 'THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF' 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1891 
 
 lAll right i reserved]
 
 -^ CONTENTS 
 
 i OF 
 
 THE FIEST VOLUME 
 
 ^^^iiBAPTER PAGE 
 
 ^ I. * Le Roi est Moet ! ' 1 
 
 -^^ II. 'ViYE LE Roi!' 11 
 
 III. An awkward Meeting 25 
 
 IV. Birds tn the Wilderness . . . . 46 
 V. 'Reginald Lindo, 1850' .... 64 
 
 VI. The BoNAiiTS at Home 89 
 
 V'll. The Hammonds' Dinner-party . . .114 
 
 VIII. Two Surprises 136 
 
 IX. Town Talk ^.157 
 
 X. Out with the Sheep 179 
 
 ;a XI. The Doctor Speaks 201 
 
 XII. The Rector is Ungrateful . . . . 226 
 
 SXIII. Laura's Proviso 247 
 
 •^XIV. The Letters in the Cupboard . . . 268 
 
 i.
 
 THE NEW EECTOE 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 ' LE ROI EST MORT ! ' 
 
 The king was dead. But not at once, not 
 until after some short breathing-space, such 
 as was pleasant enough to those whose only 
 concern with the succession lay in the shout^ 
 ing, could the cry of ' Long live the king ! \ 
 be raised. For a few days there was no^ 
 rector of Claversham. The living was during 
 this time in abeyance, or in the clouds, oi^ 
 in the lap of the law, or in any strange and 
 inscrutable place you choose to name. It^ 
 may have been in the prescience of the patron,^ 
 and, if so, no locality could be more vague,^ 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 2 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 tlie whereabouts of Lord Dynmore himself, 
 to say nothing of his prescience, being as un- 
 certain as possible. Messrs. Gearns & Baker, 
 his solicitors and agents, should have known 
 as much about his movements as any one ; yet 
 it was their habit to tell one inquirer that his 
 lordship was in the Cordilleras, and another 
 that he was on the slopes of the Andes, and 
 another that lie was at the forty-ninth parallel 
 — quite indifferently ; these places being all 
 one to Messrs. Gearns & Baker, whose walk 
 in life had lain for so many years about 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields that Clare Market had 
 come to be their ideal of an uncivilised 
 country. 
 
 Moreover, if the whereabouts of Lord 
 Dynmore could only be told in words rather 
 far sounding than definite, there was room for 
 a doubt whether his prescience existed at all. 
 According to his friends, there never was a 
 man whose memory was so notably eccentric
 
 ' LE ROI EST MORT ! ' 3 
 
 — not weak, but eccentric. And if his memory 
 was impeachable, his prescience might well be 
 
 said But we grow wide of the mark. 
 
 The question being merely where the living 
 of Claversham was during the days w^hich 
 immediately followed Mr. Williams's death, 
 let it be said at once that we do not know. 
 
 Mr. WilUams was the late incumbent. He 
 had been rector of the little Warwickshire 
 town for nearly forty years ; and although his 
 people were ready enough to busy themselves 
 with the question of his successor, he did not 
 lack honour in his death. His had been a 
 placid life, such as suited an indolent and 
 easy-going man. ' Let me sit upon one chair 
 and put up my feet on another, and there 1 
 am,' he had once been heard to say ; and the 
 town repeated the remark and chuckled over 
 it. There were some who would have had 
 the parish move more quickly, and wiio 
 talked with a sneer of the old port-wine kind
 
 4 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 of parson. But these were few. If he had 
 done little good, he had done less evil. He 
 was kindly and open-handed, and he had not 
 an enemy in the parish. He was regretted 
 as much as such a man should be. Besides, 
 people did not die commonly in Claversham. 
 It was but once a year, or twice at the most, 
 that any one who was any one passed away. 
 And so, w^hen the event did occur, the most 
 ivas made of it in an old-fashioned way. 
 When Mr. Williams passed for the last time 
 into his churchyard, there was no window 
 which did not by shutter or blind mark its 
 respect for him, not a tongue which wagged 
 foul of his memory. And then the shutters 
 were taken down and the blinds pulled up, 
 and every one, from Mr. Clode, the curate, to 
 the old people at Bourne's Almshouses, who, 
 having no affairs of their own, had the more 
 time to discuss their neighbours', asked, ' Who 
 is to be the new rector ? '
 
 ' LE ROI EST MORT ! ' 5 
 
 On the clay of the funeral two of these old 
 pensioners watched the curate's tall form as 
 he came gravely along the opposite side of the 
 street, and fell in at the door of his lodgings 
 with two ladies, one elderly, one young, who 
 were passing so opportunely that it really 
 seemed as if they might have been waiting for 
 him. He and the elder lady — she was so 
 plump of figure, so healthy of eye and cheek, 
 and was dressed besides with such a comfort- 
 able richness that it did one good to look at 
 her — began to talk in a subdued, decorous 
 fashion, while the girl listened. He was telling 
 them of the funeral, how well the archdeacon 
 had read the service, and what a crowd of 
 Dissenters had been present, and so on ; and 
 at last he came to the important question. 
 
 'I hear, Mrs. Hammond,' he said, ' that 
 the living will be given to Mr. Herbert of 
 Easthope, whom you know, I think? To 
 me ? Oh, no, I have not, and never liad, any
 
 6 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 expectation of it. Please do not,' he added, 
 with a slight smile and a shake of the head, 
 ' mention such a thing again. Leave me in 
 ray content.' 
 
 ' But why should you not have it ? ' re- 
 plied the young lady, with a pleasant persist- 
 ence. ' Every one in the parish would be glad 
 if you were appointed. Could we not do 
 something or say something — get up a peti- 
 tion or anything ? Lord Dynmore ought, of 
 course, to give it to you. I think some one 
 should tell him what are the wishes of the 
 parish. I do indeed, Mr. Clode.' 
 
 She was a very pretty young lady, with 
 bright brown eyes and hair, and rather arch 
 features ; and the gentleman she was address- 
 ing had long found her face pleasant to look 
 upon. But at this moment it really seemed 
 to him as the face of an angel. Yet his 
 answer betrayed only a kind of depressed 
 gratitude. 'Thank you, Miss Hammond,' he
 
 ' LE ROI EST MORT ! ' 7 
 
 said. ' If good wishes could procure me the 
 livinof, I should have an excellent reason for 
 hoping. But as things are, it is not for 
 me.' 
 
 'Pooh! pooh!' said Mrs. Hanmiond 
 cheerily, ' who knows ? ' And then, after a 
 few more words, she and her daughter \vent 
 on their way, and he turned into his rooms. 
 
 The old women were still watching. ' I 
 don't well know wholl get it, Peggy,' said 
 one, ' but I be pretty sure of this, as he 
 won't ! It isn't his sort as gets 'em. It's the 
 lord's friends, bless you ! ' 
 
 So it appeared that she and Mr. Clode 
 were of one mind on the matter. If that was 
 really Mr. Clode's opinion. But it was when 
 the crow opened its beak that it dropped tlie 
 piece of cheese, it will be remembered ; and 
 so to this day the wise man has no chance or 
 expectation of this or that — until he gets it. 
 And if a patron or a patron's solicitor has for
 
 8 THE NEW HECTOR 
 
 some days had under his paper-weight a 
 letter written in a hand that bears a strange 
 likeness to the wise man's — a letter setting 
 forth the latter's claims and wisdom — what of 
 that ? That is a private matter, of course. 
 
 Be that as it may, there was scarcely a 
 person in Claversham who did not give some 
 time that evening, and on subsequent even- 
 ings too, to the interesting question who was 
 to be the new rector. The rector was a big 
 factor in the town life. Girls wondered 
 whether he would be young, and hoped he 
 would dance. Their mothers were sanguine 
 that he would be unmarried, and their fathers 
 that he would play whist. And one asked 
 whether he would buy Mr. Williams's stock of 
 port, and another whether he would dine 
 late. And some trusted that he would let 
 things be, and some hoped that he would 
 cleanse the stables. And only one thing was 
 certain and sure and immutably fixed — that,
 
 ' LE KOI EST MORT ! ' 9 
 
 whoever he was, he would not be able to 
 please everybody. 
 
 Nay, the ripple of excitement spread far 
 beyond Claversham. Not only at the arch- 
 deacon's at Kingsford Carbonel, five miles 
 away among the orchards and hopyards, was 
 there much speculation upon the matter ; but 
 even at the Homfrays', at Holberton, ten 
 miles out beyond the Baer Hills, there was 
 talk about it, and bets were made across the 
 billiard-table. And in more distant vicarages 
 and curacies, where the patron was in some 
 degree known, there were flutterings of heart 
 and anxious searchings of the ' Guardian ' and 
 Crockford. Those who seemed to have some 
 chance of the living grcAv despondent, and 
 those who had none talked the thing over 
 with their wives after the children had gone 
 to bed, until tliey persuaded themselves that 
 they would die at Claversham Eectory. 
 Middle-aged men who had been at college
 
 10 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 with Lord Dynmore remembered that they 
 had on one occasion rowed in the same boat 
 with him ; and young men who had danced 
 with his niece thought secretly that, dear 
 little woman as Emily or Annie was, they 
 might have done better. And a hundred 
 and eleven letters, written by people who 
 knew less than Messrs. Gearns & Baker of 
 the Andes, seeing that they did not know 
 that Lord Dynmore was there or thereabouts, 
 were received at Dynmore Park and for- 
 warded to London, and duly made up into 
 a large parcel with other correspondence 
 by Messrs. Gearns & Baker, and so were 
 despatched to the forty-ninth parallel — or 
 thereabouts.
 
 11 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ' VIVE LE ROI ! ' 
 
 It was at the beginning of the second week 
 in October that Mr. WilHams died ; and, the 
 weather in those parts being pecnharly fine 
 and bright for the time of year, men stood 
 about in the churchyard with bare heads, and 
 caught no colds. And it continued so for 
 some days after the funeraL But not every- 
 where. Upon a morning, some three perhaps 
 after the ceremony at Claversham, a young 
 gentleman sat down to his breakfast, only 
 a hundred and twenty miles away, under 
 conditions so different — a bitter east wind, a 
 dense focr, and a (general murkiness of atmo- 
 sphere — that one might have supposed his
 
 12 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 not over-plentiful meal to be laid in another 
 planet. 
 
 The air in the room — a meagrely fur- 
 nished, much littered room — was yellow and 
 choking. The candles burned dimly in the 
 midst of yellow halos. The fire seemed only 
 to smoulder, and the owner of the room had 
 to pay some attention to it before he sat down 
 and found a letter lying beside his plate. He 
 glanced at the envelope doubtfully. ' I do not 
 know the handwriting,' he muttered. ' It is 
 not a subscription, for subscriptions never 
 come in an east wind. I am afraid it is a bill.' 
 
 The letter was addressed to the Eev. 
 Reginald Lindo, St. Barnabas' Mission House, 
 383 East India Dock Road, London, E. After 
 scrutinising it for a moment, he pulled a 
 candle towards him and tore open the envelope. 
 
 He read the letter slowly, his tea- cup at 
 his lips, and, though he was alone, his face 
 grew crimson. When he had finished the
 
 'VIVE LE ROI ! ' 13 
 
 nrte he turned back and read it again, and 
 then tiung it down and, starting up, began to 
 walk the room. ' What a boy I am ! ' he 
 muttered. ' But it is almost incredible. Upon 
 my honour it is almost incredible ! ' 
 
 He was still at tlie height of his excite- 
 ment, now sitting down to take a mouthful of 
 breakfast and now leaping up to pace the 
 room, when his housekeeper entered and said 
 that a woman from Tamplin's Eents wanted 
 to see him. 
 
 'What does she want, Mrs. Baxter?' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' Husband is dying, sir,' the old lady 
 replied briefly. 
 
 ' Do you know her at all ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir. But she is as poor a piece as I 
 have ever seen. She says that she could not 
 have come out, for want of clothes, if it had 
 not been for the fog. And they are not par- 
 ticular here, as I know, the hussies ! '
 
 14 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 * Say that I shall be ready to go with her 
 in less than five minutes,' the young clei'gy- 
 man answered. ' And here ! Give her some 
 tea. Mrs. Baxter. The pot is half full.' 
 
 He bustled about ; but nevertheless the 
 message and the business he was now upon 
 had sobered him, and as he buttoned up the 
 letter in his breast-pocket, his face was grave. 
 He was a tall young man, fair, wdth regular 
 features, and curling hair cut rather short. 
 His eyes were blue and pleasantly bold ; and 
 in his every action and in his whole carriage 
 there was a great appearance of confidence 
 and self-possession. Taking a book and a 
 small case from a side- table, he put on his 
 overcoat and went out. A moment, and the 
 dense fog swallowed him up, and with him 
 the tattered bundle of rags, which had a 
 husband, and very likely had nothing else in 
 the world. 
 
 Tamplin's Rents not affecting us, we may
 
 ' VIVE LE EOI ! ' 15 
 
 skip a few hours, and then go westward with 
 him as far as the Temple, wliich in the East 
 India Dock Eoad is considered very far west 
 indeed by those who have ever heard of it. 
 Here Lindo sought a dingy staircase in Fig- 
 tree Court, and, mounting to the second floor, 
 stopped before a door which was adorned by 
 about a dozen names, painted in white on a 
 black ground. He knocked loudly, and, a 
 small boy answering his summons with great 
 alacrity and importance, he asked for Mr. 
 Smith, and was promptly ushered into a room 
 about nine feet square, in which, at a table 
 covered with papers and open books, sat a 
 small dark-complexioned man, very keen and 
 eager in appearance, who looked up with an 
 air of annoyance. 
 
 'Who is it, Fred?' he said impatiently,, 
 moving one of the candles, which the fog still 
 rendered necessary, although it was high 
 noon. ' I am engaged at present.'
 
 16 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 ' Mr. Lindo to see you, sir,' the boy an- 
 nounced, with a formality funny enough in a 
 groom of the chambers about four feet high. 
 
 The little man's countenance instantly 
 changed, and he jumped up grinning. ' Is 
 it you, old boy ? ' he said. ' Sit down, old 
 fellow I I thought it might be my one 
 solicitor, and it is well to be prepared, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' You are not really busy?' said the visitor, 
 looking at him doubtfully. 
 
 ' Well, I am and I am not,' replied Mr. 
 Smith ; and, deftly tipping aside the books, 
 he disclosed some slips of manuscript. ' It is 
 an article for the " Cornhill," ' he continued ; 
 ' but whether it will ever appear there is 
 another matter. You have come to lunch, of 
 course ? And now, what is your news ? ' 
 
 He was so quick and eager that he re- 
 minded people who saw him for the first time 
 of a rat. When they came to know him
 
 'VIVE LE ROI ! ' 17 
 
 better, they found that a staunch er friend 
 than Jack Smith was not to be found in the 
 Temple. With this he had the reputation 
 of being a clever, clear-headed man, and his 
 sound common sense was almost a proverb. 
 Observing that Lindo did not answer him, he 
 continued, ' Is anything amiss, my boy ? ' 
 
 ' Well, not quite amiss,' Lindo answered, 
 his face flushing a little. ' But the fact is ' — 
 taking the letter from his breast-pocket — 
 ' that I have received the offer of a living, 
 Jack.' 
 
 Smith leapt up and clapped his friend 
 on the shoulder. ' By Jove ! old man,' he 
 exclaimed heartily, ' I am glad of it ! Very 
 glad of it ! You have had enough of tliat 
 slumming. But I hope it is a better living 
 than mine,' he continued, with a comical 
 glance round the tiny room. ' Let us have a 
 look! What is it.^ Two hundred and a house ?' 
 
 Lindo handed the letter to him. It was 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
 7
 
 18 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 written from Lincoln's Inn Fields, and was 
 dated the preceding day. It ran thus : 
 
 ' Dear Sir, — We are instructed by our 
 client, the Eight Honourable the Earl of 
 Dynmore, to invite your acceptance of the 
 living of Claversham in the county of War- 
 wick, vacant by the death on the 15th instant 
 of the Eev, John Wilhams, the late incumbent. 
 The Uving, of which his lordship is the patron, 
 is a town rectory, of the approximate value 
 of 810/. per annum and a house. Our client 
 is travelhng in the United States, but we have 
 the requisite authority to proceed in due form 
 and without delay, which in this matter is 
 prejudicial. We beg to have the pleasure of 
 receiving your aoceptance at as early a date 
 as possible, 
 
 ' And remain, dear Sir, 
 
 ' Your obedient servants, 
 
 ' Gearns & Baker. 
 
 ' To the Eev. Eeginald Lindo, M.A/
 
 ' TIVE LE ROI ! ' 19 
 
 The barrister read this letter with even 
 greater surprise than the other expected, 
 and, when he had done, looked at his com- 
 panion with wondering eyes. ' Claversham ! ' 
 he ejaculated. ' Why, I know it well ! ' 
 
 ' Do you ? Well, I believe I have heard 
 you mention it.' 
 
 ' I knew old Williams ! ' Jack continued, 
 still in amaze. ' Knew him well, and lieard 
 of his death, but little thought you were 
 likely to succeed him. My dear fellow, it is a 
 wonderful piece of good fortune ! Wonderful ! 
 I shake you by the hand ! I congratulate you 
 heartily ! But how did you come to knov/ 
 the high and mighty earl ? Unbosom your- 
 self, my dear boy ! ' 
 
 ' I do not know him,' replied the young 
 clergyman gravely. 
 
 ' You do not know him ? ' 
 
 ' No, I do not know him from Adam ! ' 
 
 * You don't mean it ? ' 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' I do. I have never seen him in my life.* 
 
 Jack Smith whistled. ' Are you sure it is 
 not a hoax ? ' he said, with a serious face, and 
 in a different tone. 
 
 'I think not,' the rector elect replied. 
 ' Perhaps I have given you a wrong impres- 
 s'on. I have had nothing to do with the 
 earl ; but my uncle was his tutor.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Smith slowly, ' that makes all 
 the difference. What uncle ? ' 
 
 ' You have heard me speak of him. He 
 was vicar of St. Gabriel's, Aldgate. He died 
 about a year ago — last October, I think. 
 Lord Dynmore and he were good friends, and 
 my uncle used often to stay at his place in 
 Scotland. I suppose my name must have 
 come up some time when they were talking.' 
 
 ' Likely enough,' assented the lawyer. 
 ' But for the earl to remember it, he must 
 be one in a hundred ! ' 
 
 ' It is certainly very good of him,' Lindo
 
 ' VIVE LE ROI ! ' 21 
 
 replied, liis cheek flushing. ' If it had been a 
 small country living, and my uncle had been 
 alive to jog his elbow, I should not have been 
 so much surprised.' 
 
 * And you are just twenty-five ! ' Jack 
 Smith observed, leaning back in his chair, 
 and eyeing his friend with undisguised and 
 whimsical admiration. ' You will be the 
 youngest rector in the Clergy List, I should 
 think ! And Claversham ! By Jove, what a 
 berth ! ' 
 
 A queer expression of annoyance for a 
 moment showed itself in Lindo's face. ' I say, 
 Jack, stow that ! ' he said gently, and with a 
 little shamefacedness. ' I mean,' he continued, 
 looking down and smoothing the nap on his 
 hat, ' that I do not want to regard it altogether 
 in that way, and I do not want others to re 
 gard it so.' 
 
 ' As a berth, you mean ? ' Jack said gravely, 
 but with a twinkle in his eyes.
 
 22 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' Well, from the loaves and fishes point of 
 view,' Lindo answered, beginning to walk up 
 and down the room in some excitement. ' I 
 do not think an officer, when he gets promo- 
 tion, looks only at the increase in his pay. Of 
 course I am glad that it is a good living, and 
 that I shall have a house, and a tolerable posi- 
 tion, and all that. But I declare to you. Jack, 
 believe me or not as you like, that if I did not 
 feel that I could do the work as I hope, please 
 Heaven, to do it, I would not take it up — 
 1 would not, indeed. As it is, I feel the 
 responsibility. I have been thinking about 
 it as I walked down here, and upon my 
 honour for a w^hile I thought I ought to 
 decline it.' 
 
 'I would not do that!' said Galho, dis- 
 missing the twinkle from his eyes, and really 
 respecting his old friend, perhaps, a little more 
 than before. ' You are not the man, I think, 
 to shun either .work or responsibility. Did
 
 ' VIVE LE r.oi ! ' 2?) 
 
 I tell you,' he continued in a (lificrent tone, 
 ' that I had an uncle at Clavershani ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Lindo. 
 
 ' Yes, and I think he is one of your 
 churchwardens. His name is Bon amy, and 
 he is a solicitor. His London agent is my 
 only chent,' Jack said jerkily. 
 
 ' And he is one of the churchwardens ! 
 ^Vell, that is strange — and jolly I ' 
 
 ' Umph ! Don't you be too sure of that ! ' 
 retorted the barrister sharply. ' He is a — 
 well, he has been very good to me, and he is 
 my uncle, and I am not going to say an3'thing 
 against him. But I am not quite sure that 1 
 should like him for my churchwarden. Your 
 churchwarden ! Wh}^, it is like a fairy tale, 
 old fellow ! ' 
 
 And so it seemed to Lindo when, an hoiu' 
 later, the small bo}^ with the same poi'tentous 
 gravity of face, let him out an-d bade him 
 good-day. As the young parson started east-
 
 24 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 wards, along Fleet Street first, he looked at 
 the moving things round him with new eyes, 
 from a new standpoint, with a new curiosity. 
 The passers-by were the same, but he was 
 changed. He had lunched, and perhaps the 
 material view of his position was uppermost, 
 for those in the crowd who particularly 
 observed the tall young clergyman noticed in 
 his bearing an air of calm importance and a 
 strong sense of personal dignity, which led 
 him to shun collisions, and even to avoid 
 jostling his fellows, with peculiar care. In 
 truth he had all the while before his eyes, 
 as he walked, an announcement which was 
 destined to appear in the ' Guardian ' of the 
 following week : 
 
 'The Eev. Eeginald Lindo, M.A., St. 
 Barnabas' Mission, London, to be Eector of 
 Claversham. Patron, the Earl of Dynmore,' 
 
 /
 
 CHAPTEE III 
 
 AN AWKWAED MEETING 
 
 A FORTNIGIIT after this paragraph in the 
 ' Guardian ' had filled CI aver sham with aston- 
 ishment and Mr. Clode with a modest thank- 
 fulness that he was spared the burden of office, 
 a little dark man — Jack Smith, in fact — 
 drove briskly into Paddington Station. He 
 disregarded the offers of the porters, who 
 stand waiting on the hither side of the journey 
 like Charon by the Styx, and see at a glance 
 who has the obolus, and, springing from his 
 hansom without assistance, bustled on to the 
 i:)latform. 
 
 Here he looked up and down as if he ex- 
 pected to meet some one, and then, glancing
 
 26 TUE NEW RECTOR 
 
 at the clock, found that he had a quarter of 
 an hour to spare. He made at once for the 
 bookstall, and, with a iavishness which would 
 have surprised some of his friends, bought 
 * Punch,' a little volume by Howells, the 
 ' Standard,' and finally, though he blushed 
 as he asked for it, the ' Queen.' He had 
 just gathered his purchases together and was 
 paying for them, when a high-pitched voice at 
 his elbow made him start. ' Why, Jack I 
 what in the world are you buying all those 
 papers for ? ' it said. The speaker was a girl 
 about thirteen years old, who in the hubbub 
 had stolen unnoticed to his side. 
 
 ' Hullo, Daintry! ' he answered- ' Why 
 did you not say before that you were here ? 
 I have been looking for you. Where is Kate ? 
 Oh, yes, I see her,' he added, as a young lady 
 turning over books at the farther end of the 
 €tall acknowledged his presence by a laughing 
 nod. ^ You are here in good time,' he went
 
 AS AWKWARD MEETING 27 
 
 on to tlie younger girl, who affectionately 
 slipped lier arm through his. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said. ' Your mother started us 
 early. And so you have come to see us off, 
 after all. Jack ? ' 
 
 ' eTust so,' he answered dryly. ' Let us go 
 to Kate.' 
 
 They did so, the young lady meeting them 
 halfway. ' How kind of you to be here, 
 Jack!' she said. 'As you have come, will 
 you look us out a comfortable compartment ? 
 That is the train over there. And please to 
 put this and this and Daintry's parcel in the 
 corners for us.' 
 
 This and this were a cloak and a shawl, 
 and a few little matters in brown j)aper. In 
 order to possess himself of them, Jack handed 
 Kate the papers he was carrying. 
 
 ' Are they for me ? ' she said, gratefully 
 indeed, but with a placid gratitude which 
 was not perhaps what the donor wanted.
 
 28 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 'Oh, thank you. And this too? What 
 is it?' 
 
 ' " Their Wedding Journey," ' said Jack, 
 with a tiny twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 'Is it pretty?' she answered dubiously. 
 ' It sounds silly ; but you are supposed to be 
 a judge. I think I should hke "A Chance 
 Acquaintance " better, though.' 
 
 Of course the little book was changed, and 
 Jack winced. But he had not time to think 
 much about it, for he had to bustle away 
 through the rising babel to secure seats for 
 them in an empty compartment of the Oxford 
 train, and see their luggage labelled and put 
 in. This done, he hurried back, and, bringing 
 them to the spot, pointed out the places he 
 had taken. But Kate stopped short. ' Oh, 
 dear, they are in a through carriage,' she 
 said, eyeing the board over the door. 
 
 ' Yes,' he answered. ' I thought that was 
 what you wanted.'
 
 AN AWKWARD MEETING 29 
 
 * No, I would ratlier go in another 
 carriage and change. We shall get to 
 Claversham soon enouorh without travellincf 
 with Claversham people.' 
 
 ' Indeed we shall,' Daintry chimed in im- 
 periously. ' Let us go and find seats, and 
 Jack will bring the things after us.' 
 
 He assented meekly — very meekly for 
 sharp Jack Smith — and presently came along 
 with his arms full of parcels, to find his 
 friends ensconced in the nearer seats of a 
 compartment which contained one other pas- 
 senger, a gentleman who was already deep in 
 the ' Times.' Jack, standing at the open door, 
 could not see his face, for it was hidden by 
 the newspaper, but he could see that his legs 
 wore a youthful and reckless air ; and he 
 raised his eyebrows interrogatively. ' Pooh ! ' 
 Daintry whispered in answer. ' How stupid 
 you are ! It is all right. I can see he is a 
 clergyman by his boots ! '
 
 30 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 Jack smiled at this assurance, and, put- 
 ting in the things he was holding, shut the 
 door and stood outside, looking from the 
 platform about him, on which all was flurry 
 and confusion, to the interior of the car- 
 riage, which seemed in comparison peace- 
 ful and homelike. ' I think I will come 
 with you to Westbourne Park,' he said sud- 
 denly. 
 
 ' Nonsense, Jack ! ' Kate rephed, with 
 crushing decision. ' We shall be there in five 
 minutes, and you will have all the trouble of 
 returning for nothing.' 
 
 He acquiesced meekly — very meekly for 
 Jack Smith. ' Well,' he said, with a new 
 effort at cheerfulness, 'you will soon be at 
 home, girls. Eem ember me to the governor. 
 I am afraid you will be rather dull at first. 
 You will have one scrap of excitement, how- 
 ever.*^ 
 
 ' What is that ? ' said Kate, very much as
 
 AX AWKWAKD MEETIXG 31 
 
 if slie were prepared to depreciate it before 
 she heard what it was. 
 
 ' The new rector, of course ! ' 
 
 ' He will make very little difference to 
 us ! ' the girl answered, with an accent of in- 
 difference which amounted almost to scorn. 
 ' Papa said in his letter that he thought it 
 was a great pity a local man had not been 
 appointed — some one who knew the place 
 and the old ways. Of course, knowing him, 
 you say he is clever and nice ; but either way 
 it will not affect us much.' 
 
 Xo one remarked that the ' Times ' news- 
 paper in the far corner of the compartment 
 rustled suspiciously, or that the clerical boots 
 became agitated on a sudden, as though their 
 wearer meditated a move ; and, in ignorance 
 of this, ' I expect I shall hate him ! ' Daintry 
 said calmly. 
 
 ' Come, you must not do that/ Jack re- 
 monstrated. ' You must remember that he is
 
 o 
 
 2 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 not only a very good fellow, but a great 
 friend of mine, Daintry.' 
 
 ' Then we ought indeed to spare him ! ' 
 Kate said frankly, ' for you have been very 
 good to us and made our visit delightful.' 
 
 His face flushed with pleasure even at 
 those simple words of praise. ' You will 
 write and tell me,' he continued eagerly, 
 ' that you have reached your journey's end 
 safely ? ' 
 
 ' One of us will,' was the answer. 
 ' Daintry,' Kate went on calmly, ' will you 
 remind me to write to Jack to-morrow 
 evening ? ' 
 
 His face fell sadly. So little would have 
 made him happy. He looked down and 
 kicked the step of the carriage, and made a 
 little moan to himself before he spoke again. 
 ' Good-bye,' he said then. ' They are coming 
 to look at your tickets. You should leave in 
 one minute. Good-bye, Daintry.'
 
 AN AWKW.VED MEETING 33 
 
 'Good-bye, Jack. Come and see iis 
 soon,' she cried earnestly, as slie released his 
 hand. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Kate.' Alas ! Kate's cheek 
 did not show the slightest consciousness that 
 his clasp was more than cousinly. She 
 uttered her ' Good-bye, Jack, and thank you 
 so much,' very kindly, but her colour never 
 varied by the quarter of a tone, and her 
 grasp was as firm and as devoid of shyness 
 as his own. 
 
 He had not much time to be miserable, 
 however, for, the ticket-collector coming to 
 the window, he had to fall back, and in 
 doing so made a discovery. Kate, hunting 
 for her ticket in one of those mysterious 
 places in which ladies will put tickets, heard 
 him utter an exclamation, and looking up 
 asked, ' What is it. Jack ? ' 
 
 He did not answer, but, to her surprise, 
 the collector having by this time disappeared, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 he stretched his hand through the window to 
 some one beyond her. ' Why, Lindo ! ' he 
 cried, ' is that you ? I had not a notion of 
 your identity. Of course you are going down 
 to take possession.' 
 
 Kate, trembhng already with a horrible 
 presentiment, turned her head quickly. Her 
 fears were well-grounded. It was the clergy- 
 man in the corner who answered Jack's greet- 
 ing and rose to shake hands with him, the 
 train being already in motion. ' I did not 
 recognise your voice out there,' the stranger 
 said, his cheek hot, his manner constrained. 
 
 ' No ? And I did not know you were 
 going down to-day,' Jack answered, walking 
 beside the train. ' Let me introduce you to 
 my cousins. Miss Bonamy and Daintry. I am 
 aiorry that I did not see you before. Good 
 luck to you ! Good-bye, Kate ; good-bye ! ' 
 
 The train was moving faster and faster, 
 and Jack was soon left behind on the plat-
 
 AN AWKWARD MEETING 35 
 
 form, gazing pathetically at the black tunnel 
 which had swallowed it up. In the carriage 
 there w^as silence, and in the heart of one at 
 least of the passengers the most horrible 
 vexation. Kate could have bitten out her 
 tongue. She was conscious that the clergy- 
 man had bowed in acknowledgment of Jack's 
 introduction and had muttered something. 
 But after that he had sunk back in his corner, 
 his face wearing, as it seemed to her, a frown 
 of scornful annoyance. Even if nothing 
 awkward had been said, she would still have 
 shunned for a reason best known to herself 
 such a meeting as this with a new^ clergyman 
 who did not yet know Claversham. But now 
 she had aggravated the matter by her heed- 
 lessness. She had made a hopeless faux pas, 
 and she sat angry, and yet ashamed, with her 
 lips pressed together and her eyes fixed upon 
 the opposite cushion. 
 
 For the Rev. Reginald, he was by no 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 means indifferent to the criticisms he had 
 unfortunately overheard. Always possessed 
 of a fairly good opinion of himself, he had 
 lately been raising his standard to the rec- 
 torial height ; and, being very human, he had 
 come to think himself something of a person- 
 age. If Jack Smith had introduced him to 
 his maiden aunt under circumstances as un- 
 lucky, there is no saying how far the ac- 
 quaintance would have progressed, or how 
 long the new incumbent might have fretted 
 and fumed. But presently he stole a look at 
 Kate Bonamy and melted. 
 
 He saw a girl slightly above the middle 
 height, graceful and rounded of figure, with a 
 grave stateliness of carriage which oddly 
 became her. Her complexion was rather 
 pale, but it was clear and healthy, and there 
 was even a freckle here and a freckle there, 
 which I never heard a man say that he would 
 have had elsewhere. If her face was a trifle
 
 AN AWKWARD MEETING 37 
 
 long, the nose a little aquiline, the curving 
 lips too wide, yet it was a fair and dainty 
 face, such as Englishmen love. The brow^n 
 hair, w^hich straj^ed on to the broad white 
 l)row^ and hung in a heavy loop upon her 
 neck, had a natural w^aviness — the sole beauty 
 on which she prided herself. For she could 
 not see her eyes as others saw them — big 
 grey eyes that from under long lashes looked 
 out at you, full of such purity and truth that 
 men meeting their gaze straightway felt a 
 desire to be better men, and went away and 
 tried — for half an hour. Such w^as Kate out- 
 wardly. Inwardly she had faults of course, 
 and perhaps pride and a little temper were 
 tw^o of them. 
 
 The rector was still admiring her askance, 
 surprised to find that Jack Smith, who was 
 not very handsome himself, had such a cousin, 
 when Daintry roused him abruptly. For 
 some moments she had been gazing at him, as
 
 38 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 at some unknown specimen — with no attempt 
 to hide her interest. Now she said suddenly, 
 ' You are the new rector ? ' 
 
 He answered stiffly that he was ; being a 
 good deal taken aback at being challenged in 
 that way. Eemonstrance, however, was out 
 of the question, and Daintry for the moment 
 said no more, though her gaze, as she sat 
 curled up in her corner of the carriage, lost 
 none of its embarrassing directness. 
 
 But presently she began again. 'I should 
 think the dogs would like you,' she said 
 deliberately, and much as if he had not been 
 there to hear ; ' you look as if they would.' 
 
 Silence again. The rector, gazing at the 
 opposite cushions, smiled fatuously. What 
 was a beneficed clergyman, whose dignity 
 was young and tender, to do, subjected to the 
 criticism of unknown dogs ? He tried to 
 divert his thoughts by considering the pretty 
 sage-green frock and the grey fur cape and
 
 AX AWKWARD MEETING 39 
 
 hat to match which the elder girl was w^ear- 
 ing. Doubtless she was taking the latest 
 fashions dow^n to Claversham, and fur capes 
 and hats, indefinitely and mysteriously multi- 
 plying, would listen to him on Sundays from 
 all the nearest pews. And Daintry was silent 
 so lon^ that he thoui]^ht lie had done with 
 her. But no. 'Do you think that you will 
 like Claversham ? ' she asked, with an air of 
 serious curiosity. 
 
 ' I trust I shall/ he said, a flush rising to 
 his cheek. 
 
 She took a moment to consider the answer 
 conscientiously, and, thinking badly of it, 
 remarked gravely, ' I don't think you will.' 
 
 This was unbearable. The clergyman, 
 full of a nervous dread lest the next question 
 should be, ' Do you think that they will like 
 you at Claversham ? ' made a great show of 
 resuming his newspaper. Kate, possessed by 
 the same fear, shot an imploring glance at
 
 40 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 Daintry ; but, seeing that the latter had only 
 eyes for the stranger, hoped desperately for 
 the best. 
 
 Which was very bad. ' It must be jolly, 
 do you know,' remarked the unconscious tor- 
 mentor, ' to have eight hundred pounds a 
 year, and be a rector ! ' 
 
 ' Daintry ! ' Kate cried in horror. 
 
 ' Why, what is the matter ? ' Daintry 
 asked, turning suddenly to her sister with 
 wide-open eyes. 
 
 Her look of aggrieved astonishment over- 
 came Lindo's gravity, and he laughed aloud. 
 He was not without a charming sense, still 
 novel enough to be pleasing, that Daintry 
 was right. It was jolly to be a rector and 
 have eight hundred pounds a year ! 
 
 The laugh came in happily. It swept 
 away the cobwebs of embarrassment which 
 had lain so thickly about two of the party. 
 Lindo, ignoring what had gone before, began
 
 AN AWKWARD :MEETING 41 
 
 te^ talk pleasantly, pointing out this or tliat 
 reacli of the river ; and Kate, meeting his 
 cheery eyes, put aside a faint idea of apolo- 
 o'isinor which had been in her head, and 
 replied frankly. He told tliem tales of 
 summer voyages between lock and lock, of 
 long days idly spent in the Wargrave 
 marshes ; and, as the identification of Maple- 
 durham and Pangbourne and Wittenham and 
 Goring rendered it necessary that tliey should 
 all cross and recross the carriage, they were 
 soon on excellent terms with one another, or 
 would have been if the rector had not still 
 detected in Kate's manner a slight stiffness 
 for wliich he could not account. It puzzled 
 ]iim also to observe that, though they were 
 ready, Daintr}^ more particularly, to discuss 
 the amusements of London and the goodness 
 of Cousin Jack, they both grew reticent when 
 the conversation turned towards Claversham 
 and its affairs.
 
 42 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 At Oxford he stepped out to go to the 
 bookstall. 'Jack was right,' said Daintry, 
 looking after him. ' He is nice.' 
 
 ' Yes,' her sister allowed, rising and sitting 
 down again in a restless fashion. ' But I wish 
 we had not fallen in with him, all the same.' 
 
 ' It cannot be helped now,' said Daintry, 
 who was evidently prepared to accept the 
 event with philosophy. 
 
 Not so the elder girl. ' We might go into 
 another carriage,' she suggested. 
 
 ' That would be rude,' said Daintry 
 calmly. 
 
 The question was decided for them by the 
 young clergyman's return. He came along 
 the platform, an animated look in his eyes. 
 ' Miss Bonamy,' he said, stopping at the open 
 door with his hand extended, ' there is some 
 one in the refreshment-room whom I think 
 that you would like to see. Mr. Gladstone is 
 there, talking to the Duke of Westminster,
 
 AN AWKWARD MEETING 43 
 
 and tliey are both eating buns like common 
 mortals. Will you come and take a peep at 
 tliem ? ' 
 
 'I don't think that Ave have time,' she 
 objected. 
 
 ' There is sure to be time,' Daintry cried, 
 ' Now, Kate, come ! ' And she was down 
 upon the platform in a moment, 
 
 ' The train is not due out for five minutes 
 yet,' Lindo said, as he piloted them through 
 the crowed to the doorway. ' There, on the 
 left by the fireplace,' he added. 
 
 Kate glanced, and turned away satisfied. 
 Xot so Daintry. With rapt attention in her 
 face she strayed nearer and nearer to the 
 great men, her eyes growing larger with each 
 step. 
 
 ' Slie will be speaking to them next,' said 
 Kate, in a fidget. 
 
 ' Perhaps asking Mr. Gladstone if he likes 
 Downing Street,' Lindo suggested slyly.
 
 44 THE NEW RECTOH 
 
 ' There, she is coming now,' he added, as Miss 
 Daintry turned and came to them at last. 
 
 ' I wanted to make sure,' she said simply, 
 seeing Kate's impatience, ' that I should know 
 them again. That was all.' 
 
 ' Quite so, and I hope you have suc- 
 ceeded,' Kate answered dryly. ' But, if w^e 
 are not quick, we shall miss our train.' And 
 she led the way back with more speed than 
 dignity. 
 
 ' There is plenty of time — plenty of time,' 
 Lindo answered, following them. He could 
 not bear to see her pushing her way through 
 the mixed crowd, and accepting so easily a 
 footing of equality with it. He was one of 
 those men to whom their womenkind are 
 sacred. He took his time, therefore, and 
 followed at his ease ; only to see, when he 
 emerged from the press, a long stretch of 
 empty platform, three porters, and the tail of 
 a departing train. ' Good gracious ! ' he
 
 A\ AWKWARD MEETING 45 
 
 stammered, halting suddenly, with dismay in 
 his face. ' What does this mean ? ' 
 
 'It means,' Kate answered, in an accent 
 of sharp annoyance — she did not intend to 
 spare him — ' that you liave made us miss our 
 train, Mr. Lindo. And there is not another 
 which reaches Claversham to-day ! '
 
 46 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 CHAPTEE IV 
 
 BIKDS IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ' Well, there now ! Whose fault was that ? ' 
 said Daintry, turning from the departing train. 
 
 The young rector could not deny it was 
 his. He would have given anything for at 
 least the appearance of being undisturbed ; 
 but the blood rose to his cheek, and in his 
 attempt to maintain his dignity he only suc- 
 ceeded in looking angry as well as confused 
 and taken aback. He had certainly made a 
 mess of his escort duty. What in the world 
 had led him to go out of his way to make 
 a fool of himself? he wondered. And with 
 these Claversham people ! 
 
 ' There may be a special train to-day,'
 
 BIRDS IX THE WILDERNESS 47 
 
 Kate suggested suddenly. Slie had got over 
 her first vexation, and perhaps repented that 
 she had betrayed it so openly. ' Or we may 
 be allowed to go on by a luggage train, Mr. 
 Lindo. Will you kindly see ? ' 
 
 He snatched at the relief which her pro- 
 posal held out to him, and strode away to 
 inquire. But almost at once he was back 
 again. ' It is most vexatious ! ' he said, with 
 loud indignation. ' It is only three o'clock, 
 and yet there is no w^ay of getting to Claver- 
 sham to-night ! I am very sorry, but I never 
 dreariied the company managed things so 
 badly. Never ! ' 
 
 ' No,' said Kate dryly. 
 
 He winced and looked at her sharply, his 
 vanity hurt again. But then he found that 
 he could not keep it up. No doubt it was a 
 ridiculous position for a beneficed clergyman, 
 on his way to undertake the work of his life — 
 to be delayed at a station with two girls ; but.
 
 48 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 after all, for a young man to be angry with a 
 young woman who is also pretty — well, the 
 task is difficult. 'I am afraid,' he said, look- 
 ing at her shyly, and yet with a kind of frank- 
 ness, ' that I have brought you into trouble. 
 Miss Bonamy. As your sister says, it was my 
 fault. Is it a matter of great consequence 
 that you should reach home to-night ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid that my father will be vexed,' 
 she answered. 
 
 'You must telegraph to him,' he rejoined. 
 ^ I am afraid that is all I can suggest. And 
 that done, you will have only one thing to 
 consider — whether we shall stay the night 
 here or go on to Birmingham and stay there.' 
 
 Kate looked at him, her grey eyes full of 
 trouble, and did not at once answer. He had 
 clearly made up his mind to join his fortunes 
 to theirs, while she, on her side, had private 
 reasons for shrinking from intimacy with him. 
 But he seemed to consider it so much a matter
 
 BIRDS IX THE WILDERXESS 49 
 
 of course that they should remain together 
 and travel together, that she scarcely saw 
 how to put things on a different footing. Slie 
 knew, too, that she would get no help from 
 Daintry, who already regarded their detention 
 in the light of a capital joke. 
 
 ' What are you going to do yourself, Mr. 
 Lindo?' she said at last, her manner rather 
 chilling. 
 
 He opened his eyes and smiled. 'You 
 discard me, then ? ' he said. ' You have lost 
 all faith in me, IMiss Bonamy, and will go no 
 farther with me ? Well, I deserve it after the 
 scrape into which I have led you.' 
 
 ' I did not mean that,' she answered. ' I 
 wished to know if you had formed any 
 plans.' 
 
 ' Yes,' he replied—' a plan to make amends, 
 if you will let me take command of the party. 
 We will stay in Oxford, and I will show you 
 round the colleges.' 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 ' No,' exclaimed Daintry. ' Will you ? How 
 jolly ! And then ? ' 
 
 ' We will dine at the Mitre,' he answered, 
 smiling, 'if Miss Bonamy will permit me to 
 manage everything. And then, if you leave 
 here at nine- thirty to-morrow you will be at 
 Claversham soon after twelve. Will that suit 
 you?' 
 
 Baintry's face answered sujSiciently for 
 her. As for Kate, she was in a difficulty. 
 She knew little of hotels : yet they must stop 
 somewhere, and no doubt Mr. Lindo would 
 take a great deal of trouble off her hands. 
 But would it be proper to do as he proposed ? 
 She really did not know — only that it sounded 
 odd. That it would not be wise she knew. 
 She could answer that question at once. But 
 how could she explain, and how tell him to go 
 his way and leave them? And, after all, to 
 see Oxford would be delightful ; and he really 
 was very pleasant, very different from the men
 
 BIEDS m THE WILDERNESS 61 
 
 she knew at home. ' You are very good,' 
 she said at length, with a grateful sigh — ' if 
 we have no choice but between Oxford and 
 Birmingham.' 
 
 ' And no choice of guides at all,' he said, 
 smiling, ' you will take me.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she answered, looking away rather 
 primly. 
 
 Her reserve, however, did not last. Once 
 through the station gates, that free holiday 
 feeling which we have all experienced on 
 being set down in an unknown town, w^ith 
 no duty before us save to explore it, soon 
 possessed her ; while he wished nothing better 
 than to play the showman — a part we love. 
 The day was fine and bright, though cold. 
 She had eyes for beauty and a soul for the 
 past, and soon forgot herself; and he, piloting 
 the sisters through Magdalen Walks, now 
 strewn with leaves, or displaying with pride 
 the staircase of Christchurch, the quaint 
 
 E 2 
 
 iSavonamo.
 
 52 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 library of Merton, or the ancient front of 
 John's, forgot himself also, and especially his 
 new-born dignity, in which he had lived 
 rather too much, perhaps, during the last 
 three weeks. He showed himself in his true 
 colours — the colours known to his intimate 
 Iriends — and grew so bright and cheery that 
 Kate found herself talking to him in utter 
 forgetfulness of his position and theirs. The 
 girl sighed frankly when darkness fell and 
 they had to go into the house, their curiosity 
 still unsated. 
 
 She thought it was all over. But no, 
 there was a cheery fire awaiting them in the 
 ' House ' room (he had looked in for a few 
 minutes on their arrival and given his orders) ; 
 and before it a little table laid for three w^as 
 sparkling with plate and glass. Nay, there 
 were two cups of tea ready on a side- table, 
 for it wanted an hour yet of dinner-time. 
 Altogether, as Daintry naively told him,
 
 BIRDS IN THE WILDERNESS [).> 
 
 * even Jack could not have made it nicer 
 for us.' 
 
 ' Jack is a favourite of yours ? ' he said, 
 lauorhincr. 
 
 ' I should tliink so I ' Daintry answered, in 
 wonder. ' There is no one like Jack.' 
 
 'After that I shall take myself oT,' he 
 replied. ' Seriously, I want to call on a friend, 
 Miss Bonamy. But if I may join you at 
 dinner ' 
 
 ' Oh, do 1 ' she said impulsively. Then, 
 more shyly, she added, 'We shall be very 
 glad if you will, I am sure.' 
 
 He felt singularly light-hearted and pleased 
 witli himself as he turned the windy corner of 
 tlie Broad. It was pleasant to be in Oxford 
 again, a beneficed clergyman. Pleasant to 
 have such a future to look forward to, such a 
 holiday moment to enjo3\ Pleasant to antici- 
 pate the cheery meal and the girl's smile, half 
 shy, half grateful. And Kate ? She remained
 
 54 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 before the fire, saying little because Daintry's 
 tongue gave few openings, but thinking a 
 good deal. Once she did speak. ' It won't 
 last,' she said pettishly. 
 
 ' Why, Kate ? ' Daintry protested. ' Do 
 you think he will be different at Claver- 
 sham P ' 
 
 ' Of course he will ! ' She spoke with a 
 little scorn in her voice, and that sort of 
 decision which we use when we wish to crush 
 down our own unwarranted hopes. 
 
 ' But he is nice,' Daintry persisted. ' You 
 do think so, Kate, don't you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, he is very nice,' she said dryly. 
 ' But he will be in the Hammond set at home, 
 and we shall see nothing of him.' 
 
 But presently he was back, and then 
 Kate found it impossible to resist the charm. 
 He ladled the soup and dispensed the mutton 
 chops with a gaiety and boyish glee which 
 were really the stored-up effervescence of
 
 BIRDS m THE WILDERNESS 55 
 
 weeks, the ebullition of the long-repressed 
 delight which he took in his promotion. He 
 learned casually that the girls had been in 
 London for more than a month, staying with 
 Jack's mother in Bayswater, and that they 
 were by no means well pleased to be upon 
 their road home. 
 
 ' And yet,' he said — this was towards the 
 end of dinner — ' I have been told that your 
 town is a very picturesque one. I fancy that 
 we never appreciate our home as we do a 
 place strange to us.' 
 
 'Very likely that is so,' Kate answered 
 quietly. And then a little pause ensued, such 
 as he had observed several times before, and 
 come to connect with any mention of Claver- 
 sham. The girls' tongues would run on 
 frankly and pleasantly enough about their 
 London visit, or Mr. Gladstone ; but let him 
 bring the talk round to his parish and its 
 people, and forthwith something of reserve
 
 66 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 seemed to come between him and them until 
 the conversation strayed afield again. 
 
 After the others had finished he still toyed 
 with his meal, partly in lazy enjoyment of tlie 
 time, partly as an excuse for staying vvith 
 them. They were sitting in a momentary 
 silence, when a boy passed the window chant- 
 ing a ditty at the top of his voice. The 
 doggerel came clearly to their ears — 
 
 Here we sit like birds in the wilderness, 
 
 Birds in the wilderness, birds in the wilderness ; 
 
 Here we sit like birds in the wilderness, 
 Samuel asking for more. 
 
 As the sound passed on the young man 
 looked up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, 
 and met their eyes, and all three burst into a 
 merry peal of laughter. They were the birds 
 in the wilderness, sitting there in the little 
 circle of light, in the strange room in the 
 strange town, almost as intimate as if they 
 had known one another for years, or had been 
 a week at sea together.
 
 BIRDS IN THE WILDERNESS 57 
 
 But Kate, having acknowledged by that 
 pleasant outburst her sense of the oddity of 
 the position, rose from the table ; and the 
 rector had to say good-night, explaining at 
 the same time that he should not travel with 
 them next morning, but intended to go on by 
 a later train, as his friend wished to see more 
 of him. Nevertheless, he said he should be 
 up to breakfast with them and should see 
 them off. And in this resolution he persisted, 
 notwithstanding Kate's protest, which perhaps 
 was not very violent. 
 
 Xeverlheless, he was a little late next 
 morning, and when he came down he found 
 them already seated in the coffee-room. There 
 w^ere others breakfasting here and there in 
 the room, chiefly upon toast-racks and news- 
 papers, and he did not at once observe that 
 the gentleman standing with his back set 
 neghgently against the mantelshelf was talking 
 to Kate. Arrived at the table, however., he
 
 58 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 saw that it was so ; and the cheery greeting 
 on his lips faded into a commonplace ' Good 
 morning, Miss Bonamy.' He took no ap- 
 parent notice of the stranger as he added, ' I 
 am afraid I am rather late.' 
 
 The intruder, a short dark- whiskered man 
 between thirty and forty, seemed to the full as 
 much surprised by the clergyman's appear- 
 ance as Lindo was by his ; and, moreover, to 
 be as little able to hide the feeling as Kate 
 herself to control the colour which rose in 
 her cheeks. She gave Mr. Lindo his tea in 
 silence, and then with an obvious effort 
 introduced the two men. ' This is Dr. Gregg 
 of Claversham— Mr. Lindo,' she said. 
 
 Lindo rose and shook hands. 
 
 ' Mr. Lindo the younger, I presume ? ' said 
 the doctor, with a bow and a careless gesture 
 intended to show that he was quite at his 
 ease, 
 
 'The only one, I am afraid,' replied the
 
 BIRDS IX THE WILDERNESS b\) 
 
 rector, smiling. Though he by no means 
 liked the look of his new friend. 
 
 ' Did I rightly catch your name ? ' was the 
 answer—' " Mr. Lindo ? " ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the rector again, opening his 
 eyes in some surprise. 
 
 'But you are not — you do not mean to 
 say that you are the new rector ? ' pronounced 
 the dark man abruptly, and with a kind 
 of aggressiveness which seemed his most 
 striking quality — ' the rector of Claversham, 
 I mean ? ' 
 
 ' I believe so,' said Lindo quietly. ' You 
 want some more water, do you not. Miss 
 Bonamy ? ' he continued. 'Let me ring the 
 bell.' 
 
 He rose and crossed the room to do so. 
 The truth was, he hated the newcomer 
 already. The man's first sentence had been 
 enough. His manner was not the manner of 
 the men with whom Lindo had mixed, and
 
 60 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 the rector felt almost angry with Kate for 
 introducing Gregg — albeit his parishioner — 
 to him, and quite angry with her for suffering 
 the doctor to address her with the familiarity 
 he seemed to affect. 
 
 And Kate, her eyes cast down, knew by 
 instinct how it was with him, and what he was 
 thinking. ' I have been telling Dr. Gregg,' 
 she said hurriedly, when he returned, ' how 
 we missed our train yesterday.' 
 
 ' Eather how I missed it for you,' Lindo 
 answered gravely, devoting himself to liis 
 breakfast. 
 
 ' Ah, yes, it was very funny ! ' the doctor 
 fired off, watching each mouthful they ate. 
 Daintry had finished, and was sitting back in 
 her chair kicking the leg of the table mono- 
 tonously ; not in the best of tempers ap- 
 parently. ' Very funny indeed ! ' the doctor 
 continued. ' An accident, I hope ? ' witli a 
 little sniggling laugh.
 
 BIRDS IX THE WILDERNESS 61 
 
 ' Yes ! ' said the rector, looking up at him 
 with a black brow and steadfast eyes — ' it was 
 an accident.' 
 
 Gregg was a little cowed by the look, and 
 in another minute, with a muttered word or 
 two, fidgeted himself away, cursing the 
 general superciliousness of parsons and the 
 quiet airs of this one in particular. He was a 
 little dog-in- the-mangerish man, ill-bred, and 
 like most ill-bred men, resentful of breeding 
 in others. The fact that he had a sneaking 
 liking for Kate did not tend to lessen his 
 disgustful wonder how the Bonamy girls and 
 the new rector came to be travelling together 
 — which, indeed, to any Claversham person 
 would have seemed a portent. But, then, 
 Lindo did not know tliat. 
 
 The objectionable item removed, and the 
 temptation to remark upon him overcome, 
 Lindo soon recovered his good temper, and 
 rattled aw^ay so pleasantly that the train
 
 62 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 time seemed to all of them to come very 
 quickly. 
 
 ' There,' he said, as he handed the last of 
 Kate's books into the railway carriage, ' now 
 I have done something to make amends for 
 my fault, I trust. One thing more I can do. 
 When you get home you need not spare me. 
 You can put it all on my shoulders, Miss 
 Bonamy.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' Kate answered demurely. 
 
 'You are going to do so, I see,' he said, 
 laughing. 'I fear my character will reach 
 Claversham before me.' 
 
 ' I do not think we shall spread it very 
 widely,' she answered in a pecuHar tone ; 
 which he naturally misunderstood. 
 
 He had not time to weigh it, indeed, for 
 the train was already in motion, and he shook 
 hands with her as he walked beside it. 
 ' Good-bye,' he said. And then he added in 
 a lower tone — he was such a very young
 
 BIRDS IN THE WILDERNESS 63 
 
 rector — ' I hope to see very much of you in 
 the future, Miss Bonamy.' 
 
 Kate sank back in her seat, her cheek 
 a shade warmer. And in a moment he was 
 alone upon the platform.
 
 64 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ' REGINALD UNDO, 1850 ' 
 
 Long before the later train, by which the 
 rector came on, arrived at the Claversham 
 station, the Eev. Stephen Clode was waiting on 
 the platform. The curate — we have seen him 
 once before — was a tall dark man, somewhat 
 over thirty, with a strong rugged face and a 
 bush of stiff black hair standing up from his 
 forehead. He had been at Claversham three 
 years, enjoying all the importance which old 
 Mr. Williams's long illness would naturally 
 give to his curate and locum tenens ; and, 
 though the town was agreed that his chagrin 
 at having a new rector set over his head was 
 great, it must be admitted that he concealed
 
 ' REGINALD LINDO, 1850 ' 65 
 
 it with admirable skill. More tlian one letter 
 had passed between him and the new incum- 
 bent, and, in securing for the latter Mr. 
 Williams'^ good old-fashioned furniture, and 
 in other ways, he had made himself very 
 useful to Lindo. But the two had not met, 
 and consequently the curate viewed tlie 
 approaching train with lively, though secret, 
 curiosity. 
 
 It came, the bell rang, the porter cried, 
 ' Claversham ! Claversham ! ' and the curate 
 walked down it, past the carriage-windows, 
 looking for the man he had come to meet. 
 Half a dozen people stepped out, and for a 
 moment there was a mimic tumult on the 
 little platform : but nowhere amid it all could 
 Clode see any one like the new rector. ' He 
 has missed another train ! ' he muttered to 
 himself in contemptuous wonder ; and he was 
 alreadv castinof a last look round liim before 
 turning on his heel, when a tall, fair young 
 
 VOL. L F
 
 66 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 man, in a clerical overcoat, who had been one 
 of the first to alight, stepped up to him. 
 ' Am I speaking to Mr. Clode ? ' said the 
 stranger pleasantly. And he lifted his hat. 
 
 ' Certainly,' the curate answered. ' I am 
 Mr. Clode. But I fear I have not the ' 
 
 ' No, I know,' replied the other, smiling, 
 and at the same time holding out his hand. 
 ' Though, indeed, I hoped that you might 
 have been here on purpose to meet me. My 
 name is Lindo.' 
 
 The curate uttered an exclamation of 
 surprise ; and, hastily returning the proffered 
 grip, fixed his black eyes curiously on his 
 new friend. ' Mr. Lindo did not mention 
 that you were with him,' he answered in a 
 tone of some embarrassment. ' But, there, 
 let me see to your luggage. Is it all here ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I think so,' Lindo answered, tapping 
 one article after another with his umbrella, 
 and giving the station-master a pleasant
 
 ' REGINALD LINDO, 1850 ' 67 
 
 ' Good day ! ' 'Is there an omnibus or any- 
 thing?' 
 
 'Yes,' Clode said; 'it will be all right. 
 They know where to take it. You will Avalk 
 up with me, perhaps. It is al)out a quarter 
 of a mile to the rectory.' 
 
 The new-comer assented gladly, and the 
 two passed out of the station together. 
 Lindo let his eye travel up the wide, steep 
 street before him, until it rested on the noble 
 tower which crowned the little hill and looked 
 down now, as it had looked down for five 
 centuries, on the red roofs clustering about it. 
 His tower ! his church ! Even his companion 
 did not remark, so slight was the action, that, 
 as he passed out of the station and looked up, 
 he hfted his hat for a second. 
 
 ' And where is your father ? ' Clode asked. 
 ' Was he delayed by business ? Or perhaps,' 
 he added, dubiously scanning him, ' you are 
 Mr. Lindo's brother? ' 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE KEW RECTOK 
 
 ^1 am Mr. Lindo ! ' said onr friend, 
 turning in astonishment and looking at his 
 companion. 
 
 'The rector?' 
 
 'Yes; 
 
 It was the curate's turn to stare now, and 
 he did so- — his face flushing darkly and his 
 eyes wide open for once. He even seemed 
 for a moment to be stricken dumb with 
 surprise and em;Otion. ' Indeed ! ' he said at 
 last, in a half-stifled voice which he vainly 
 strove to render natural. ' Indeed ! I beg 
 your pardon. I had thought — I don't know 
 why — I mean that I had expected to see an 
 older man.' 
 
 'I am sorry you are disappointed,' the 
 rector replied, smiling ruefully. ' I am begin- 
 ning to think I am rather young, for you are 
 not the first to-day who has made that mis- 
 take.' 
 
 The curate did not answer, and the two
 
 ' KEGIiYALD LINDO, ISoO ' 69 
 
 walked on in silence, feeling somewhat awk- 
 ward, Clode, indeed, was raging inwardly.. 
 By one thing and another he had been led to 
 expect a man past middle life, and the only 
 Clergy List in the parish, being three year^ 
 old and containing the name of Lindo's unck 
 only, had confirmed him in the error. He 
 had never conceived the idea that the man 
 set over his head would be a fledgeling 
 scarcely a year in priest's orders, or he would 
 have gone elsewhere. He would never have 
 stayed to be at the beck and call of such a 
 puppy as this ! He felt that he had been 
 entrapped, and he chafed inwardly to such an 
 extent that he did not dare to speak. To 
 have this young fellow, six or seven years his 
 junior, set over him would humiliate him in 
 the eyes of all those before whom he had long 
 played a diiferent part ! 
 
 In a minor degree Lindo also was vexed 
 — not only because he was sufficiently sensi-
 
 70 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 tive to enter into the other's feelings, but also 
 because he foresaw trouble ahead. It was 
 annoying, too, to be received at each new 
 rencontre as a surprise — as the reverse of all 
 that had been expected and all that had been, 
 as he feared, hoped. 
 
 ' You will find the rectory a very comfort- 
 able house,' said the curate at last, his mind 
 fully made up now that he would leave at the 
 earliest possible date. 'Warm and old- 
 fashioned. Eough-cast outside. Many of 
 the rooms are panelled.' 
 
 ' It looks out on the churchyard, I be- 
 lieve,' rephed the rector, with the same 
 laboured politeness. 
 
 ' Yes, it stands high. The view from the 
 windows at the back is pleasant. The front 
 is perhaps a little gloomy — in winter at 
 least.' 
 
 Near the top of the street a quaint, narrow 
 flight of steps conducted them to the church-
 
 ' REGINALD LINDO, 1850 i 1 
 
 yard — an air}^, elevated place, surrounded on 
 three sides by the church and houses, but 
 open on the fourth, on which a terraced 
 walk, runnino^ alonsf the summit of the old 
 town wall, admitted the southern sun and 
 afforded a wide view of plain and hill. The 
 two men crossed the churchyard, the new 
 rector looking about him with curiosity and 
 a little awe, his companion marching straight 
 onwards, his strongly-marked face set omin- 
 ously. He would go ! He would go at the 
 earliest possible minute, he was thinking. 
 
 It did not affect him nor alter his resolu- 
 tion that in the wooden porch of the old 
 rectory the new rector turned to him and 
 shyly, yet with real feeling, besought his help 
 and advice in the work before him. The 
 young clergyman, commonly so self-confident, 
 was moved, and moved deeply, by the even- 
 ing light, by the dark forms of the yew-trees, 
 and his own strange and solemn position.
 
 72 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 Stephen Clode's answer was in the affirmative 
 — it could hardly have been other; and it 
 was spoken becomingly, if a little coldly. 
 But, even while he uttered it, he was consider- 
 ing how he might best escape from Claver- 
 sham. Nevertheless, his Yea, yea, comforted 
 his companion and lightened his momentary 
 apprehensions. 
 
 Nor was the curate, when he had recovered 
 from the first shock of surprise and disgust, 
 so foolish as to betray his feelings by wanton 
 churlishness. He parted from his companion 
 at the door, leaving him to be welcomed by 
 Mrs. Baxter, the rector's London housekeeper, 
 who had come down two days before ; but at 
 the same time he consented readily to return 
 at half-past six and dine with Lindo, and give 
 him in the course of the meal all the informa- 
 tion in his power. 
 
 Left to himself, the rector went over the 
 house under Mrs. Baxter's guidance, and, as
 
 KEGIXALD LINDO, 1850 ' 73 
 
 lie trod the polished floors, could not but 
 feel some accession of self-importance. The 
 panelled hall, with its wide oak staircase, fed 
 this, and the spacious sombrely-furnished 
 library, with its books and busts, its antique 
 clock and one good engraving, and its lofty 
 windows opening upon the garden. So, in a 
 less degree, did the long oak-panelled dining- 
 room, and a smaller sitting-room which looked 
 to the front and the churchyard ; and the 
 drawing-room, which was placed over the 
 library, and seemed the larger because Mr. 
 Williams had furnished it but scantily and 
 lived in it less. Then there were six or seven 
 bedrooms, and in the garden a stone basin 
 and fountain. Altogether, when the rector 
 descended after washing his hands, and stood 
 on the library hearthrug looking about him, 
 he would have been more than human if he 
 had not with a feeling of thankfulness enter- 
 tained also some faint sense of self gratulation
 
 74 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 and personal desert. Nor, probably, would 
 Mr. Clode have been human if, coining in and 
 finding the younger man standing on that 
 hearthrug, and betraying in his face and atti- 
 tude something of his thoughts, he on his 
 part had not felt a degree of envy and antago- 
 nism. The man seemed so prosperous, so 
 self- contented, so conscious of his own merit 
 and success. 
 
 But the curate was too wise to betray this 
 feeling, and, laying himself out to be pleasant, 
 he had, before the little meal was over, so far 
 ingratiated himself with his entertainer that 
 the rector was greatly surprised when he 
 presently learned that Clode had not been to 
 a university. 'You astonish me,' he said. 
 ' You have so completely the manner of a 
 'varsity man ! ' 
 
 The observation was a little too gracious, 
 a little wanting in tact, but it would not have 
 hurt the curate had he not been at the
 
 'REGIXALD UNDO, 1850 ' 75 
 
 moment in a state of irritation. As it was 
 Clode treasured it up, and never got rid of 
 the feeling that the Oxford man looked down 
 upon him because he had been only at Wells ; 
 whereas, in fact, Lindo, though sufficiently- 
 prone to judge his fellows, had far too high 
 an opinion of himself to be bound by such 
 distinctions, but was just as likely to make a 
 friend of a ploughboy, if he liked him, as of a 
 Ghristchurch man. After that speech, how- 
 ever, the curate was more than ever resolved 
 to go, and go quickly. 
 
 But, when dinner was over and he was 
 about to take his leave, he happened to pick 
 up, as he moved about the room, a small 
 Prayer Book which Lindo had just unpacked, 
 and which was lying on the writing-table. 
 Clode idly looked into it as he talked, and, 
 seeing on the fly-leaf ' Peginald Lindo, 1850,' 
 found occasion, when he had done with the 
 subject in hand, to discuss it. 'Surely,' he
 
 76 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 said, holding it up, ' you did not possess this 
 in 1850, Mr. Lindo ! ' 
 
 'Hardly,' the rector answered, laughing. 
 ' I was not born until '54/ 
 
 ' Then who did ? ' 
 
 ' It was my uncle's,' the rector explained. 
 'I was his godson, and his name was mine 
 also.' 
 
 ' Is he alive, may I ask ? ' the curate pur- 
 sued, looking at the title-page as if he saw 
 something curious there — though, indeed, 
 what he saw was not new to him ; only 
 from it he had suddenly deduced an idea. 
 
 'No, he died about a year ago — nearly 
 a year ago, I think,' Lindo answered care- 
 lessly, and without the least suspicion. ' He 
 was always particularly kind to me, and I 
 use that book a good deal I must have it 
 rebound/ 
 
 ' YeB,' Clode said mechanically ; ' it wants 
 rebinding, if you value it.'
 
 * KEGINALD LINDO, 1850 ' 77 
 
 * I shall have it done. And a lot of 
 these books,' the rector continued, looking at 
 old Mr. Wilhams's shelves, ' want their clothes 
 renewing. I shall have them all looked to, I 
 think.' He had a pleasant sense that this was 
 in his power. The cost of the furniture and 
 library had made a hole in his private means, 
 which were not very large ; but that mattered 
 little now. Eight hundred a year, paid 
 quarterly, will bind a book or two. 
 
 Had the curate been attending, he would 
 have read Lindo's thoughts with ease. But 
 Clode was pursuing a train of reflections of 
 his own, and so was spared this pang. ' Your 
 uncle was an old man, I suppose,' he [said. 
 ' I tliink I observed in the Clergy List that he 
 had been in orders about forty years.' 
 
 ' Not quite so long as that,' Lin do replied. 
 ' He was sixty-four when he died. He had 
 been Lord Dynmore's private tutor, you 
 know, though they were almost of an age.*
 
 78 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' the curate rejoined, still with 
 that thoughtful look on his face. ' You knew 
 Lord Dynmore through him, I suppose then, 
 Mr. Lindo?' 
 
 ' Well, I got the living through him, if 
 that is what you mean,' Lindo said frankly. 
 ' But I do not think that I ever met Lord 
 Dynmore. Certainly I should not know him 
 from Adam.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said the curate, ' ah, indeed ! ' 
 He smiled as he gazed darkly into the fire, 
 and stroked his chin. In the other's place, 
 he thought he would have been more reticent. 
 He would not have disclaimed, though he 
 might not have claimed, acquaintance with 
 Lord Dynmore. He would have left the thing 
 shadowy, to be defined by others as they 
 pleased. Thinking thus, he got up some- 
 what abruptly, and wished Lindo good-night. 
 A cool observer, indeed, might have noticed 
 — but the rector did not — a change in his
 
 ' REGINALD LINDO, 1850 ' 79 
 
 manner as lie did so — a little increase of fami- 
 liarity, which seemed not far removed from a 
 dehcate kind of contempt. The change was 
 subtle ; but one thing was certain — Stephen 
 Clode had no longer any intention of leaving 
 Claversham in a hurr3^ That resolve was gone. 
 Once out of the house, he walked as if he 
 had business. He passed quickly from the 
 churchyard by a narrow lane leading to an 
 irregular open space quaintly called ' The 
 Top of the Town.' Here were his own lodg- 
 ings on the first-floor over a stationer's ; but 
 he did not enter them. Instead, he strode on 
 towards the farther and darker side of the 
 square, where were no buildings, but a belt 
 of tall trees stood up, gaunt and rustling in 
 the night wind, above a line of walk Through 
 the trees the lights of a large house were 
 visible. He walked up the avenue which led 
 to the door, and, ringing loudly, was at once 
 admitted.
 
 80 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 The sound of his summons came pleasantly 
 to the ears of two ladies who had been for 
 some time placidly expecting it. They were 
 seated in a small but charming room filled 
 with soft shaded light and warmth and 
 colour ; an open piano and dainty pictures 
 and china, and a well-littered writing-table all 
 contributing to the air of accustomed luxury 
 which pervaded it. The elder lady — that 
 Mrs. Hammond whom we saw talking to the 
 curate on the day of the old rector's funeral 
 • — looked up expectantly as Mr. Clode entered, 
 and, extending to him a podgy white hand 
 covered with rings, began to chide him in a 
 rich full voice for being so late. ' I have been 
 dying,' she said cheerfully, ' to hear what is the 
 fate before us, Mr. Clode. What is he like ? ' 
 
 'Well,' he answered, taking with a word 
 of thanks the cup of tea which Laura offered 
 him, 'I have one surprise in store for you. 
 He is comparatively young.'
 
 * REGINALD LINDO, 1850 ' 81 
 
 * Sixty ? ' said Mrs, Hammond interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 ' Forty ? ' said Laura, raising her eye- 
 brows, 
 
 ' No,' Clode replied, smiling and stirring 
 his tea, ' you must guess again. He is twenty- 
 six.' 
 
 ' Twenty-six ! You are joking,' exclaimed 
 the elder lady. While Laura opened her 
 eyes very wide, but said nothing yet. 
 
 ' No,' said the curate, * I am not. He 
 told me himself that he was not born until 
 1854.' 
 
 The two ladies were first incredulous, 
 then loud in their surprise ; while for a 
 moment the cura.te sipped his tea in silence. 
 The brass kettle hissed and bubbled on the 
 hob. The tea-set twinkled cheerfully on the 
 wicker table, and faint scents of flowers and 
 fabrics filled the room with an atmosphere 
 which he had long come to associate with 
 
 VOL. I. a
 
 82 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 Laura. It was Laura Hammond, indeed, who 
 had introduced him to this new world. The 
 son of an accountant Hving in a small Lin- 
 colnshire town, Clode owed his clerical pro- 
 fession to his mother's ardent wish that he 
 should rise in the world. His father was not 
 wealthy, and, before he came as curate to 
 Claversham, he had had no experience of 
 society. Thereon, however, alighting on a 
 sudden in the midst of much such a small 
 town as his native place, he had found him- 
 self astonishingly transmogrified into a person 
 of social importance. He found every door 
 open to him, and particularly that of the 
 Hammonds, who were admitted to be the first 
 people in the town. He fell in easily enough 
 with the ' new learning,' but the central 
 figure in the novel, pleasant world of refine- 
 ment had always been, and continued still to 
 be, Laura Hammond, 
 
 Much petting had somewhat spoiled him,
 
 ' REGINALD LINDO, 1850 ' 83 
 
 and it annoyed him now, as he sat sipping his 
 tea, to observe that the ladies were far from 
 displeased with his tidings. ' If he is a young 
 man, he is sure not to be evangelical,' said 
 Mrs. Hammond decisively. ' That is well. 
 That is a comfort, at any rate.' 
 
 ' He will play tennis, too, I dare say,' said 
 Laura. 
 
 ' And Mr. Bonamy will be kept in some 
 order now,' Mrs. Hammond continued. ' Not 
 that I am blaming you, Mr. Clode,' she added 
 graciously — indeed, the curate was a favourite 
 with her — ' but in your position you could do 
 nothing with a man so impracticable.' 
 
 ' He really will be an acquisition,' cried 
 Laura gleefully, her brown eyes shining in the 
 firelight. And she made her tiny lace hand- 
 kerchief into a ball and flung it up — and did 
 not catch it, for, with all her talk of lawn- 
 tennis, she was no great player. Her role lay 
 rather in the drawing-room. She was as fond 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 of comfort as a cat, and loved the fire with 
 the love of a dog, ^nd was, in a word, pre- 
 eminently feminine, delighting to surround 
 herself with all such things as tended to set 
 off this side of her nature. ' But now,' she 
 continued briskly, when the curate had re- 
 covered her handkerchief for her, ' tell me 
 what you think of him. Is he nice ? ' , 
 
 ' Certainly, I should say so,' the curate 
 answered, smiling. 
 
 But, though he smiled, he became silent 
 again. He was reflecting with carefully 
 hidden bitterness that Lindo would not only 
 override him in the parish, but would be his 
 rival in the particular inner clique which he 
 affected — perhaps his rival with Laura. The 
 thought awoke the worse nature of the man. 
 Up to this time, though he had not been true, 
 though he had kept back at Claversham de- 
 tails of his past history which a frank man 
 would have avowed, though in the process of
 
 8.") 
 
 assimilatinof himself to his new siirroundinL*"s 
 he had been over-pHant, he had not been 
 guiUy of any baseness which had seemed to 
 him a baseness, which had outraged his own 
 conscience. But, as he reflected on tlie 
 wroni? which this youno' strans^er was threat- 
 ening to do him, he felt himself capable of 
 much. 
 
 ' ]Mrs. Hammond,' he said suddenly, * may 
 I ask if you have destroyed Lord Dynmore'a 
 letter which you showed me last week ? ' 
 
 ' Destroyed Lord Dynmore's letter ! ' 
 Laura answered, speaking for her mother in a 
 tone of comic surprise. ' Do you think, sir, 
 tliat we get peers' autographs every day of 
 the week ? ' 
 
 ' No,' Mrs. Hammond said, waving aside 
 her daughter's flippancy and speaking with 
 some stateliness, ' it is not destroyed, though 
 such things are not so rare with us as Laura 
 pretends. But why do you ask ? '
 
 86 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 'Because the rector was not sure when 
 Lord Dynmore meant to return to England,' 
 Clode explained readily. ' And I thought he 
 mentioned the date in his letter to you, Mrs. 
 Hammond.' 
 
 ' I do not think so,' said Mrs. Hammond. 
 
 'Might I look?' 
 
 * Of course,' was the answer. ' Will you 
 find it, Laura ? I think it is under the mala- 
 chite weight in the other room.' 
 
 It was, sitting there in solitary majesty. 
 Laura opened it, and took the liberty of 
 glancing through it first. Then she gave it 
 to him. ' There, you unbelieving man,' she 
 said, ' you can look. But he does not say a 
 word about his return.' 
 
 The curate read rapidly until he came to 
 one sentence, and on this his eye dwelt a 
 moment. ' I hear with regret,' it ran, ' that 
 poor Williams is not long for this world. 
 When he goes I shall send you an old friend of
 
 ' REGINALD LINDO, 1850 * 87 
 
 mine. I trust he will become an old friend of 
 yours also.' Clode barely glanced at the rest 
 of the letter, but, as he handed it back, he 
 informed himself that it was dated in America 
 two days before Mr. Williams's death. 
 
 * No,' he admitted, ' I was wrong. I 
 thought he said when he would return.' 
 
 ' And you are satisfied now ? ' said Laura. 
 
 ' Perfectly,' he answered. ' Perfectly 1 ' 
 with a little unnecessary emphasis. 
 
 He lingered long enough after this to give 
 them a personal description of the new-comer 
 — speaking always of him in words of praise 
 — and then he took his leave. As his hand 
 met Laura's, his face flushed ever so slightly 
 and his dark eyes glowed ; and the girl, as 
 she turned away, smiled furtively, knowing 
 well, though he had never spoken, that she 
 was the cause of this. So she was, but in 
 part only. At that moment the curate saw 
 before him something besides Laura — he saw
 
 88 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 across a narrow strait of trouble the fadr land 
 of preferment, his footing on which once 
 gained he might pretend to her and to many 
 other pleasant things at present beyond his^ 
 reacli.
 
 89 
 
 CHAPTEE YI 
 
 THE BOI^AMYS AT HOME 
 
 The rector made his first exploration of his 
 new neighbourhood, not on the day after his 
 arrival, which was indeed taken up with his 
 induction by the archdeacon and with other 
 matters, but on the day after that. He chose 
 on this occasion to avoid the streets, in which 
 he felt somewhat shy, so polite were the 
 attentions and so curious the glances of his 
 parishioners ; and selected instead a lane 
 which, starting from the churchyard, seemed 
 to plunge at once into the country. It was a 
 pleasant lane. It lay deep sunk in a cutting 
 through the sandstone rock — a cutting first
 
 90 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 formed, perhaps, when the great stones for 
 the building of the church were dragged up 
 that way. He paused half-way down the 
 slope to look curiously over the landscape, 
 and was still standing when some one came 
 round the corner before him. It was Kate 
 Bonamy. He recognised her at once, and 
 saw the girl's cheek — she was alone — flush 
 ever so slightly as their eyes met ; and he 
 noticed, too, that to all appearance she would 
 have passed him with a bow had he not 
 placed himself in her way. ' Come,' he said, 
 laughing frankly, as he held out his hand, 
 ' you must not cut me. Miss Bonamy ! Indeed, 
 you have quite the aspect of an old friend, 
 for until now I have not seen one face since I 
 came here that was not absolutely new to 
 me.' 
 
 ' It must feel strange, no doubt,' she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 ' It does. / feel strange ! ' he replied. ' I
 
 THE BONAMYS AT HOME 91 
 
 want you to tell me where this road goes to, 
 if you please. I am so strange, I do not even 
 know that.' 
 
 ' It leads to Kingsford Carbonel,' she 
 answered briefly. 
 
 ' Ah ! The archdeacon lives there, does 
 he not ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' And the distance is ? ' 
 
 ' Three miles.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' he said. ' Eeally, you are 
 as concise as a milestone, Miss Bonamy. And 
 now let me remind you,' he continued — there 
 was an air of ' I am going on this moment ' 
 about her, which provoked him to detain her 
 the longer — ' that you have not yet asked me 
 what I think of Claversham.' 
 
 ' I would rather ask you in a month's 
 time,' Kate answered quietly, holding out her 
 hand to take leave. ' Though it is already 
 reported in the town that your stay will not
 
 92 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 be a long one; indeed, that you will only 
 stay a year.' 
 
 ' I shall only stay a year ! ' the rector re- 
 peated in astonishment. 
 
 'Certainly,' she answered, smiling, and 
 relapsing for a moment into the plea-sant 
 frankness of that day at Oxford — 'only a 
 year ; your days are already numbered, it is 
 said.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' he asked plainly. 
 
 ' Have you never heard the old tradition 
 that as many times as a clergyman sounds 
 the bell at his induction, so many years 
 will he remain in the living? The report 
 in Claversham is that you rang it only 
 once.' 
 
 ' You did not hear it yourself? ' he said, 
 catching her eyes suddenly, a lurking smile 
 in his own. 
 
 Her colour rose faintly. ' I am not sure,' 
 she said. And then, meeting his eyes boldly,
 
 THE BONAMYS AT HOME 93 
 
 she added in a different tone, ' Yes, I did 
 hear it.' 
 
 ' Only once ? ' 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 ' That is very sad,' he answered. ' Well, 
 the tradition is new to me. If I had known 
 it,' he added, laughing, ' I should have tolled 
 the bell at least fifty times. Clode should 
 have instructed me ; but I suppose he thought 
 I knew. I remember now that the arch- 
 deacon did say something afterwards, but I 
 did not understand the reference. You know 
 the archdeacon. Miss Bonamy, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Kate, growing stiff again. 
 
 ' Do you not ? Well, at any rate you can 
 tell me where Mrs. Hammond lives. She has 
 kindly asked me to dine with her on Tuesday. 
 I put my acceptance in my pocket, and 
 thought I would deliver it myself when I 
 came back from my walk.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Hammond lives at the Town House '
 
 94 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 Kate answered. ' It is the large house among 
 the trees near the top of the town. You can- 
 not mistake it.' 
 
 ' Shall I have the pleasure of meeting 
 you there ? ' he asked, holding out his hand 
 at last. 
 
 ' No,' she replied, with unexpected deci- 
 sion, ' I do not know Mrs. Hammond, Mr. 
 Lindo. But I am detaining you. Good 
 afternoon.' And with that and a slight bow 
 she left him ; rather abruptly at the last. 
 
 ' That is odd,' Lindo reflected, as, continu- 
 ing his walk, he turned to admire her grace- 
 ful figure and the pretty carriage of her 
 head. ' I fancied that in these small towns 
 every one knew every one. What sort of 
 people are the Hammonds, I wonder ? New, 
 rich, and vulgar, perhaps. It may be so, and 
 that would account for it. Yet Clode spoke 
 well of them.' 
 
 Something which he did not understand
 
 THE BOIs^AMYS AT HOME 95 
 
 in the girl's manner continued to pique the 
 young man's curiosity long after he had 
 parted from her, and led him to dwell more 
 intently upon her than upon the scenery, 
 novel as this was to him. She had shown 
 herself at one moment so frank, and at another 
 so stiff and constrained, that it was equally 
 impossible to ascribe the one attitude to shy- 
 ness or the other to a naturally candid 
 manner. The rector considered the question 
 so long, and found it so puzzling — and inte- 
 resting — that on his return to town he had 
 come to one conclusion only — that it was his 
 immediate duty to call upon his church- 
 wardens. He had made the acquaintance of 
 Mr. Harper, his own warden, at his induction. 
 It remained, therefore, to call upon Mr. 
 Bonamy, the people's warden. When he had 
 taken his lunch, it seemed to him that there 
 was no time like the present. 
 
 He had no difficulty in finding Mr.
 
 "96 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 Bonamy's house, which stood in the middle of 
 the town, about half-way down Bridge Street, 
 It was a substantial, respectable residence of 
 brick, not detached nor withdrawn from the 
 roadway. It had nothing aristocratic in its 
 appearance, and was known by a number. 
 Its eleven windows, of which the three lowest 
 rejoiced in mohair blinds, were sombre, its 
 doorway was heavy. In a word, it was a 
 respectable middle-class house in a dull street 
 in a country town — a house suggestive of 
 early dinners and set teas. The rector felt 
 chilled by its very appearance ; but he knocked, 
 and presently a maid-servant opened the door 
 about a foot. ' Is Mr. Bonamy at home ? ' he 
 said. 
 
 'No, sir,' the girl drawled, holding the 
 door as if she feared he might attempt to 
 enter by force, ' he is not.' 
 
 ' Ah, I am sorry I have missed him,' said 
 the clergyman, handling his card -case. ' Do
 
 THE BOXAMYS AT HOME 97 
 
 you know at what time he is likely to 
 return ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir, I don't,' replied the girl, who was 
 all eyes for the strange rector, ' but I expect 
 Miss Kate does. Will you walk upstairs, sir ? 
 and I will tell her.' 
 
 'Perhaps I had better,' he answered, 
 pocketing his card-case after a moment's 
 hesitation. And accordingly he walked in 
 and followed the servant to the drawing- 
 room, where she poked the sinking fire and 
 induced a sickly blaze. 
 
 Left to himself — for Kate was not there — 
 he looked round curiously, and as he looked 
 the sense of disappointment which he had felt 
 at sight of the house grew upon him. It was 
 a cold, uncomfortable room. It had a set, 
 formal look, which was not quaintness nor 
 harmony, and which was strange to the 
 Londoner. It was so neat : every article in 
 it had a place, and was in its place, and 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 apparently never had been out of its place. 
 There was a vase of chrysanthemums on the 
 large centre table, but the rector thought they 
 must be wax, they were so prim. There were 
 other wax flowers — which he hated. He 
 almost shivered as he looked at the four walls. 
 He felt obliged to sit upright on his chair, 
 and to place his hat exactly in the middle of a 
 square of the carpet, and to ponder over the 
 question of what the maid had done with the 
 poker. For she had certainly not stirred the 
 fire with the bright and shining thing which 
 lay in evidence in the fender. 
 
 He was in the act of rising cautiously with 
 the intention of solving this mystery, when 
 the door opened and the elder sister came in, 
 Daintry following her. ' My father is not in, 
 Mr. Lindo,' Kate said, advancing to meet him, 
 and shaking hands with him. 
 
 ' No ; sol learned downstairs,' he answered. 
 ' But I '
 
 THE BOXAMYS AT HOME 99 
 
 Kate — slie had scarcely turned from liim 
 — cut him short with an exclamation of dis- 
 may. ' Oh, Daintry, you naughty girl ! ' she 
 cried. ' You have brought Snorum up.' 
 
 ' Well," said .Daintry with her usual sim- 
 plicity — a large white dog, half bulldog, half 
 terrier, witli red-rimmed eyes and pi"ojecting 
 teeth, had crept in at her heels — ' he followed 
 me.* 
 
 ' You know papa would be so angry if he 
 found him here.' 
 
 ' But I only want him to see Mr. Lindo. 
 You are unkind, Kate ! You know he never 
 gets a chance of seeing a stranger.' 
 
 ' You want to know if he hkes me ? ' the 
 rector said, laughing. 
 
 ' That is it,' she answered, nodding. 
 
 But Kate, though she laughed, was inexor- 
 able, and bundled the big dog out. ' Do you 
 know, she has two more like that, Mr. Lindo ? ' 
 she said apologetically. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' Snip and Snap,' Daintry explained. 
 ' But they are not like that. They are smaller. 
 Jack gave me Snorum, and Snip and Snap are 
 Snorum's sons.' 
 
 ' It is quite a genealogy,' the rector said, 
 smiling. 
 
 ' Yes, and Jack was the genesis. Genesis 
 means beginning, you know,' Daintry vouch- 
 safed. 
 
 ' Daintry, you must go downstairs if you 
 talk nonsense,' Kate said imperatively. She 
 was looking, the young man thought, prettier 
 than ever in a grey and blue plaid frock and 
 the neatest of collars and cuffs. As for 
 Daintry, she shrugged her shoulders under the 
 rebuke, and lolled in one of the stiff-backed 
 chairs, her attitude that of a vine clinging to 
 a telegraph-post. 
 
 Her wilfulness had one happy effect, 
 however. The rector in his amusement 
 forgot the chill formality of the room and
 
 THE BOXAMYS AT HOME 101 
 
 tlie dull respectability of the house's ex- 
 terior. For half an hour he talked on with- 
 out a thought of tlie gentleman whom he 
 had come to see. Some inkling of the 
 real circumstances of the case which had 
 entered his head before the sisters' appearance 
 faded again, and in gazing on the pure ani- 
 mated faces of the two girls he quickly lost 
 sigfht of the evidences of lack of taste which 
 appeared in tlieir surroundings. If Kate, on 
 lier side, forgot for a moment certain chilling 
 realities, and surrendered herself to the plea- 
 sure of the moment, it must be remembered 
 tliat hitherto — in Claversham, at least — her 
 experience of men had been confined to Dr. 
 Gregg and his fellows ; and also that none of 
 us, even the wisest and proudest, are always 
 on guard. 
 
 Mr. Bonamy not appearing, Lindo left at 
 last, perfectly assured that the half-hour he 
 had just spent was the pleasantest he had yet
 
 102 THE ^^EW RECTOR 
 
 passed in Claversham. He went out of the 
 house in a gentle glow of enthusiasm. The 
 picture of Kate Bonamy, trim and neat, with 
 her hair in a bright knot, and laughter 
 softening her eyes, remained with him, and he 
 walked half-way down the grey street, in 
 which the night was falling cheerlessly, his 
 consciousness of outward objects lost in a 
 delightful reverie. 
 
 He was roused from it by the approach of 
 a tall elderly man, who, having just turned 
 the corner before him, was advancing towards 
 him with long, rapid strides. The stranger, 
 who looked about sixty, wore a wide-skirted 
 black coat and had a tall silk hat, from under 
 which the grey hairs straggled thinly, set far 
 back on his head. His figure was spare, his 
 face sallow, his features prominent. His 
 mouth was peevish, his eyes sharp and satur- 
 nine. As he walked he kept one hand in his 
 trousers-pocket, the other swung by his side.
 
 THE BOXAMYS AT HOME 103 
 
 The rector looked at him a moment in doubt, 
 and then stopped him. ' Mr. Bonamy, I am 
 sure ? ' he said, liolding out his hand. 
 
 ' Yes, I am,' the other answered, fixing 
 him with a penetrating glance. -And you, 
 sir.?' 
 
 ' May I introduce myself ? I have just 
 called at your house, and, unluckily, failed to 
 find you at home. I am Mr. Lindo.' 
 
 ' Oh, the new rector ! ' said Mr. Bonamy, 
 putting out a cold hand, while the glitter ol 
 his eye lost none of its steeliness. 
 
 ' Yes, I am glad to have intercepted you,' 
 Lindo continued, with a little colour in his 
 cheek, and speaking quickly under the influ- 
 ence of his late enthusiasm, which as yet was 
 proof against the lawyer's reserve. ' Eor I 
 have been extremely anxious to make your 
 acquaintance, and, indeed, to say something 
 particular to you, Mr. Bonamy.' 
 
 The elder man bowed to hide a smile.
 
 104 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' As churchwarden, I presume ? ' he said 
 smoothly. 
 
 'Yes, and — and generally. I am quite 
 aware, Mr. Bonamy,' continued the rash 
 young man in a fervour of frankness, ' that 
 you were not disposed to look upon my 
 appointment — the appointment of a complete 
 stranger, I mean — with favour.' 
 
 ' May I ask who told you that ? ' said the 
 churchwarden abruptly. 
 
 The young clergyman coloured. 'Well, 
 I — perhaps you will excuse me saying how I 
 learned it,' he answered, beginning to see that 
 he would have done better to be more reti- 
 cent. For there is no mistake which youth 
 more often makes than that of arousing 
 sleeping dogs, and trying to explain things 
 which a wiser man would pass over in silence. 
 Mr. Bonamy had his own reasons for regard- 
 ing the parson with suspicion, and had no mind 
 to be addressed in the indulgent vein. Nor
 
 THE BONAMYS AT HOME 105 
 
 was lie propitiated when Lindo added, 'I 
 learned your feeling, if I may say so, by an 
 accident.' 
 
 'Then I think you should have kept 
 knowledge so gained to yourself! ' the lawyer 
 retorted. 
 
 The rector started and turned crimson 
 under the reproof. His dignity was new and 
 tender, and the other's tone was offensive in 
 a high degree. Yet the young man tried to 
 control himself, and for the moment succeeded. 
 ' Possibly,' he said, with some stiffness. ' My 
 only motive in mentioning the matter, how- 
 ever, was this, Mr. Bunamy, that I hope in a 
 short time, by appealing to you for your 
 hearty co-operation, to overcome any preju- 
 dices you may have entertained.' 
 
 'My prejudices are rather strong,' the 
 lawyer answered grimly. ' You are quite at 
 liberty to try, however, Mr. Lindo. But I 
 may as well warn you of one thing now, as
 
 106 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 frankness seems to be in fashion. I have just 
 been told that you are meditating consider- 
 able changes in our church here. Now, I 
 must tell you this, that I object to anything 
 new — anything new, and not only to new 
 incumbents ! ' with a smile which somewhat 
 softened his last words. 
 
 ' But who informed you,' cried the young 
 rector in indignant surprise, ' that I meditated 
 changes, Mr. Bonamy ? * 
 
 'Ah!' the lawyer answered in his driest 
 and thinnest voice, ' that is just what I 
 cannot tell you. Let us say that I learned 
 it — by accident, Mr. Lindo ! ' And his sharp 
 eyes twinkled. 
 
 ' It is not true, however ! ' the rector 
 exclaimed. 
 
 'Is it not.^ Well,' with a slight cough, 
 ' I am glad to hear it ! ' 
 
 Mr. Bonamy made the admission, but his 
 tone as he did so was such that it only irritated
 
 THE BOXAMYS AT HOME 107 
 
 Lindo the more. * You mean that you do not 
 beheve me ! ' he cried, speaking so strenuously 
 that Clowes the bookseller, who had been 
 watching the interview from his shop-door, 
 was able to repeat the words to a dozen people 
 afterwards. ' I can assure you that it is so. 
 I am not thinking of making any changes 
 whatever — un'ess you consider the mere re- 
 moval of the sheep from the churchyard a 
 change ! ' 
 
 ' I do. A great change,' replied the 
 churchwarden with grimness. 
 
 ' But you surely do not object to it ! ' 
 Lindo exclaimed in astonishment. ' Every one 
 must agree that in these days, and in town 
 churchyards at any rate, the presence of sheep 
 is unseemly.' 
 
 'I do not agree to that at all ! ' Mr. 
 Bonaray answered calmly. ' Neither did Mr. 
 Williams, the late rector, who had had long 
 experience, act as if he were of that mind.'
 
 108 THE NEW HECTOR 
 
 The present rector threw up his hands in 
 disgust — in disgust and wonder. Eemember, 
 he was very young. The thing seemed to 
 him so clear that he was assured the other 
 was arguing for the sake of argument — a 
 thing we all hate in other people — and he lost 
 patience. ' I do not think you mean what 
 you say, Mr. Bonamy,' he blurted out at last. 
 He was much discomposed, yet he made an 
 attempt to assume an air of severity w^hich 
 did not ^it well upon him at the moment. 
 
 Mr. Bonamy grinned. ' That you will see 
 when you turn out the sheep, Mr. Lindo,' he 
 said. ' For the present I think I will bid you 
 good evening.' And taking off his hat gravely 
 — to the rector the gravity seemed ironical — 
 he went his way. 
 
 Men take these things differently. To the 
 lawyer there was nothing disturbing in such a 
 passage of arms as this. He was never so 
 happy — Claversham knew it well — as in and
 
 THE BOXAMYS AT HOME 109 
 
 after a quarrel. ' Master Lindo thought to 
 twist me round his finger, did he ? ' he 
 muttered to himself as he stopped on his own 
 doorstep and thrust the key into the lock. 
 ' He has found out his mistake now. We will 
 have nothing new here — nothing new while 
 John Bonamy is warden, at any rate, my lad ! 
 It is well, however,' Mr. Bonamy continued, 
 pausing to cast a backward glance, ' that 
 Clode gave me a hint in time. Set a beggar 
 on horseback and he will ride — I know 
 where ! ' And the lawyer went in and 
 slammed the door behind him. 
 
 Meanwhile, what is sauce for the goose is 
 not always sauce for the gander. The younger 
 man turned away, at the moment, indeed, in 
 a white heat ; full of wrath at the other's un- 
 reasonableness, folly, churlishness. But the 
 comfortable warmth which this feeling en- 
 gendered passed away quickly — alas ! much 
 too quickly — and long before Lindo reached
 
 110 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 the rectory, though the walk through the 
 streets, in which the shops were just being 
 hghted, did not take him two minutes, a chill 
 depression had taken its place. This was a 
 fine beginning ! This was a happy augury for 
 his future administration of the parish ! To 
 have begun by quarrelling with his church- 
 warden — could anything be worse ? And the 
 check had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly, 
 and at a time when he had been on such good 
 terms with himself, that he felt it the more 
 sorely. He went into the house with his head 
 bent, and was not best pleased to find Stephen 
 Clode inquiring after him in the hall. He 
 would rather have been alone. 
 
 The curate did not fail to note, as he came 
 forward, that something was amiss, and a 
 gleam of intelligence flashed for an instant 
 across his dark face. ' Come into the study, 
 will you ? ' said the rector curtly. Since Clode 
 was here, and could not be avoided, he felt it
 
 THE BONAMYS AT HOME 111 
 
 would be a relief to tell him all. Without 
 much delay he did so, the curate listening 
 and making no remark whatever, so that the 
 rector, when he had done, looked at him in 
 surprise. ' What do you think of it ? ' he said, 
 some impatience in his tone. ' It is unfortu- 
 nate, is it not ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know,' the curate answered, 
 leaninof forward in his chair, with his elbows 
 on his knees and his eyes cast down upon the 
 hat which he was slowly revolving between 
 his hands. ' I am not astonished, you know. 
 What can you expect from a pig but a 
 grunt ? ' 
 
 The rector got up, and, leaning his arm 
 on the mantelshelf, felt, if the truth be told, 
 rather uncomfortable. ' I do not understand 
 you,' he said at length. 
 
 ' It is what I should have expected from 
 Bonamy. That is all.' 
 
 ' Then you must think him a very ill-
 
 112 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 conditioned man ! ' Lindo retorted, scarcely 
 knowing whether the annoyance he felt was 
 a reminiscence of his late conflict or was 
 caused by his companion's manner. 
 
 ' Well, again, what else can you expect ? ' 
 Clode replied sagely, looking up and shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. 'You know all about 
 him, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' I know nothing,' said the rector, frown- 
 ing shghtly. 
 
 'He is not a gentleman, you know,' the 
 curate answered, still looking up and speaking 
 with languid indolence, as if what he said 
 must be known to every one. 'You have 
 heard his history ? ' 
 
 ' No, I have not.' 
 
 'He was an ofiice-boy with Adams and 
 Eooke, the old solicitors here — swept out the 
 office, and brought the coal, and so forth. 
 He had his wits about him, and old Adams 
 gave him his articles, and finally took him
 
 THE BOXAMYS AT HOME lio 
 
 into partnership. Then the old men died off, 
 and it all came to him. He is well off, and 
 has power of a sort in the town ; but, of 
 course,' the curate added, getting up lazily 
 and yawning — ' well, people like the Ham- 
 monds do not visit with him.' 
 
 There was silence in the room for a full 
 minute. The rector had left the fireplace, 
 and, with his back to the speaker, was raising 
 the lamp-wick. 'Why did you not tell me 
 this before ? ' he said at length, his voice 
 hard. 
 
 ' I did not see why I should prejudice you 
 against the man before you saw him,' replied 
 the curate, with much reason. ' Besides, I 
 really was not sure whether you knew his 
 history or not. I am afraid I did not give 
 much thought to the matter.' 
 
 Fie, Mr. Clode, fie ! 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 114 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 CHAPTEE VII 
 
 THE HAMMONDS' DINNER-PARTY 
 
 However, the bloom was gone. The new top, 
 tlie new book, the bride — the first joy in the 
 possession of each one of these fades, not 
 gradually, but at a leap, as day fades in the 
 tropics. A chip in the wood, the turning of 
 the last page, the first selfish word, and the 
 thing is done ; ecstasy becomes sober satisfac- 
 tion. It was so with the rector. The first 
 glamour of his good fortune, of his new toy, 
 died abruptly with that evening — with the 
 quarrel with his churchwarden, and the dis- 
 covery of the cause of that constraint which 
 he had remarked in Kate Bonamy's manner 
 from the first.
 
 THE HAMMONDS' DINNER-PARTY 115 
 
 He was a conscientious man, and the 
 failure of his good resolutions, his aspirations 
 to be the perfect parish priest, fretted him. 
 Moreover, he liad to think of the future. He 
 soon learned that Mr. Bonamy might not be 
 a gentleman, and was indeed reputed to be 
 a stubborn, queer-tempered man ; but he 
 learned also that he had great influence in 
 the town, though, except in the way of 
 business, he associated with few, and that lie, 
 Eeginald Lindo, would have to reckon with 
 him on that footing. The certainty of this 
 and of the bad beginning he had made natu- 
 rally depressed the young man, his customary 
 good opinion of himself not coming to his aid 
 at once. And, besides, he carried about with 
 him — sometimes it came between him and his 
 book, sometimes he saw it framed by the 
 autumn landscape — the picture of Kate's pure, 
 proud face. At such moments he felt himself 
 humiliated by the slights cast upon her. The 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE NEW SECTOR 
 
 Hammonds did not think her fit company for 
 them ! The Hammonds ! 
 
 Not that he knew the Hammonds yet, 
 or many others, the days which intervened 
 between his induction and the dinner at the 
 Town House being somewhat lonely days, 
 during which he was much thrown back upon 
 himself, and only felt by slow degrees the 
 soothing influence of the routine work of his 
 position. Of his curate, and of him only, 
 he naturally saw much, and found it small 
 comfort to learn from the Eeverend Stephen 
 that the fracas with Mr. Bonamy had not 
 escaped the attention of the town, but was 
 being made the subject of comment by many 
 who were delighted to have so novel a topic 
 as the new rector and his probable conduct. 
 
 He was sitting at breakfast a few days 
 later — on the morning of the Hammonds' 
 party — when Mrs. Baxter announced an early 
 visitor. ' No, he is not a gentleman, sir,' she
 
 TUE UAMMONDS' DIXNER-PAKTY 117 
 
 said, ' though he has on a black coat. A 
 stranger to the town, I think, but he will not 
 say what he wants, except to see you.' 
 
 ' I will come to him in the study,' her 
 master answered. 
 
 The housekeeper, however, on going out, 
 and taking a second glance at the caller, did 
 not show him into the study ; but, instead, 
 gave him a seat in the hall on the farther side 
 from the coat-stand. There the rector, when 
 he came out, found him— a pale, fat-faced, 
 smaU-eyed man, dressed neatly and de- 
 corously, though his black clothes were 
 threadbare. He took him into the study, and 
 asked him his business. ' But first sit down,' 
 the rector added pleasantly, desiring to set 
 the man at his ease. 
 
 The stranger sat down gingerly on the 
 edore of a chair. For a moment there was a 
 pause of seeming embarrassment, and then he 
 broke it abruptly. ' I am body-servant, sir,'
 
 118 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 he said, passing his tongue across his lips 
 and looking up furtively to learn the effect 
 of his announcement, ' to the Earl of Dyn- 
 more.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' the rector replied, with a slight 
 start. ' Has Lord Dynmore returned to 
 England, then ? ' 
 
 Again the man looked up slyly. * No, 
 sir,' he answered with deliberation, ' I cannot 
 say that he has, sir.' 
 
 ' You have brought some letter or message 
 from him, perhaps?' the clergyman hazarded. 
 The stranger seemed to have a difficulty in 
 telling his own story. 
 
 ' No, sir, if you will pardon me, I have 
 come about myself, sir,' the man answered, 
 speaking a little more freely. 'I am in a 
 little bit of trouble, and I think you would 
 help me, sir, if you heard the story.' 
 
 'I am quite willing to hear the story,' 
 said the rector gravely. Looking more
 
 THE HAMMONDS DIXNER-PARTY 119 
 
 closely at the man, he saw now that his neat- 
 ness was only on the surface. His white 
 cravat was creased, and his wrists displayed 
 no linen. An air of seediness marked him, 
 viewed in the full light of the windows ; and, 
 pale as his face was, it wore here and there a 
 delicate flush. Perhaps the man's admission 
 that he was in trouble helped the rector to 
 see this. 
 
 ' Well, sir, it was this way,' the servant 
 began. ' I was not very well out there, sir, 
 and his lordship — he is an independent kind 
 of man — thought he would be better by him- 
 self. So he gave me my passage-money and 
 board wages for three months, and told me to 
 come home and take a holiday until he re- 
 turned to England. So far it was all right, 
 sir.* 
 
 ' Yes ? ' said the rector. 
 
 ' But on board the boat — I am not excus- 
 ing what I did, sir ; but there are others
 
 120 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 have done worse,' the man continued, with 
 another of his sudden upward glances — ' I 
 was led to play cards with a set of sharpers, 
 and — and the end of it was that I landed at 
 Liverpool yesterday without a halfpenny.' 
 
 ' That was bad.' 
 
 ' Yes, it was, sir. I do not know that I 
 ever felt so bad in my life,' replied the servant 
 earnestly. ' And now you know my position, 
 sir. There are several people in the town — 
 but they have no means to help me — who can 
 tell you I am his lordship's valet, and my 
 name is Charles Felton.' 
 
 ' You want help, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' I have not a halfpenny, sir ! I want 
 something to live on until his lordship comes 
 back.' 
 
 His tone seemed to change as he said this, 
 growing hard and almost defiant. The rector 
 noted the alteration, and did not like it. 
 ' But why come to me ? ' he said, more coldly
 
 THE ITA.^JMOXDS' DINNER-rARTY 12] 
 
 than lie had yet spoken. ' Why do you not 
 go to Lord D3mmore's steward, or agent, or 
 his sohcitor, my man ? ' 
 
 ' They would tell of me,' was the curt 
 answer. 'And likely enough I should lose 
 my place.' 
 
 ' Still, why come to me ? ' Lindo persisted 
 — chiefly to learn what was in the man's 
 mind, for he had already determined what he 
 would do. 
 
 ' Because you are rector of Claversham, 
 sir,' the applicant answered at last. And he 
 rose and confronted the parson with an un- 
 pleasant smile on his pale face — ' which is in 
 my lord's gift, as you know, sir,' he con- 
 tinued, in a tone rude and almost savage — a 
 tone which puzzled his companion, who was 
 not conscious of having said anything offen- 
 sive to the man. ' I came here, sir, expecting 
 to meet an older gentleman — a gentleman of 
 your name, a gentleman known to me — and I
 
 122 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 find you. I see you, do you see, where I 
 expected to find him.' 
 
 ' You mean my uncle, I suppose ? ' said 
 Lindo. 
 
 ' Well, sir, that is as may be. You know 
 best,' was the odd reply, and the man's look 
 was as odd as his words. ' But that is how 
 the case stands ; and, seeing it stands so, I 
 hope you will help me, sir. I do hope, on 
 every account, sir, that you will see your way 
 to help me.' 
 
 The rector looked at the speaker with a 
 slight frown, liking neither him nor his be- 
 haviour. But he had already made up his 
 mind to help him, if only in gratitude to Lord 
 Dynmore, whose retainer he was ; and this, 
 though the earl would never know of the act, 
 nor possibly approve of it. The man had at 
 least had the frankness to own the folly which 
 had brought him to these straits, and Lindo 
 was inchned to set down the oddity of his
 
 THE HAMMONDS' DINJS^EK-rAKTY 12 O 
 
 present manner to the fear and anxiety of a 
 respectable servant on the verge of disgrace. 
 ' Well,' he said coldly, after a moment's 
 thought, ' I am willing to help you. Of 
 course I shall expect you to repay me, if and 
 when you are able, Felton.' 
 
 ' I will do that,' rephed the man rather 
 cavaherly. 
 
 ' You might have added, " and thank you, 
 sir," ' the rector said, with a keen glance of 
 reproof. He turned, as he spoke, to a small 
 cupboard constructed among the bookshelves 
 near the fireplace, and, opening it, took out a 
 cash-box. 
 
 The man coloured under his reproach, 
 and muttered some apology, resuming, as by 
 habit, the tone of respect which seemed 
 natural to him. All the same he watched the 
 clergyman's movements with great closeness, 
 and appraised, even before it was placed in 
 his hand, the sum which Lindo took from a
 
 124 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 compartment set apart apparently for gold. 
 ' I will allow you ten shillings a week — on 
 loan, of course,' Lindo said after a moment's 
 thought. ' You can keep yourself on that, 
 I suppose? And, besides, I will advance 
 you a sovereign to supply yourself with any- 
 thing of which you have pressing need. 
 That should be ample. There are three half- 
 sovereigns.' 
 
 This time the man did thank him with an 
 appearance of heartiness, and might have said 
 more, had not the study-door opened, and 
 Stephen Clode come in, his hat in his hand. 
 ' Oh, I beg your pardon,' the curate said, 
 taking in at a glance the open cash- box and 
 the stranger's outstretched hand, and pre- 
 paring to withdraw. '1 thought you were 
 alone.' 
 
 ' Come in, come in ! ' said the rector, 
 closing the money-box hastily, and with some 
 embarrassment, for he was not altogether
 
 THE HAMMONDS' DIKNER-PARTY 125 
 
 sure that he had not done a foohsh and 
 Quixotic thing. ' Our friend here is going. 
 You can send me your address, Felton. 
 Good-day.' 
 
 The man thanked him again, and, taking 
 up his hat, went. 'Some one out of luck?' 
 said Clode, looking after him. 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' I did not much Hke his looks,' the curate 
 remarked. ' He is not a townsman, or I 
 should know him.' 
 
 The rector felt that his discretion was 
 assailed, and hastened to defend himself. 
 ' He is respectable enough,' he said care- 
 lessly. 'As a fact, he is Lord Dynmore's 
 valet.' 
 
 ' What ! Has Lord Dynmore come back ? ' 
 the curate exclaimed, his hand arrested in the 
 act of taking down a book from a high shelf, 
 and his head turning quickly. If he expected 
 to learn anything, however, from his superior's
 
 126 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 demeanour lie was disappointed. Lindo was 
 busy locking the cupboard, and had his back 
 to him. 
 
 'No, he has not come back himself,' the 
 rector explained, ' but he has sent the man 
 home, and the foolish fellow lost his money on 
 the boat coming over, and wants an advance 
 until his master's return.' 
 
 ' But why on earth does he come to you 
 for it.^' cried the curate, with undisguised 
 astonishment. 
 
 The rector shrugged his shoulders. ' Oh, 
 I do not know,' he said, a trifle of irritation in 
 his manner. ' He did, and there is an end of 
 it. Is there any news ? ' 
 
 Mr. Clode seemed to find a difficulty in at 
 once changing the direction of his thoughts. 
 But he did so with an effort, and, after a 
 pause, answered, ' No, I think not. There is 
 a good deal of interest felt in the question of 
 the churchyard sheep, I fancy — whether you
 
 THE HAMMOXDS' DINNER-PARTY 127 
 
 will take your course or comply with Mr. 
 Bonamy's wliim.' 
 
 ' I do not know myself,' the young rector 
 answered, turning and facing the curate, his 
 feet apart and his hands thrust deep into his 
 pockets. ' I do not, indeed. It is a serious 
 matter.' 
 
 ' It is. Still you bear the responsibility,' 
 said the curate with diffidence, ' and, without 
 expressing any view of my own on the subject, 
 I confess ' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 'I think, if I bore the responsibility, I 
 should feel called upon to do what I myself 
 thouijht risht in the matter.' 
 
 The younger man shook his head doubt- 
 fully. ' There is something in that,' he said ; 
 ' but, on the other hand, one cannot look on 
 the point as an essential ; and, that being so, 
 perhaps one should prefer peace. But there, 
 enough of that now, Clode. I think you said
 
 128 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 you were not going to the Hammonds' this 
 evening ? ' 
 
 ' No, I am not.' 
 
 The rector almost wished he were not. 
 However sociable a man may be, a few days 
 of sohtude and a little temporary depression 
 will render him averse to society if he be in 
 the least degree sensitive. Lindo as a man 
 was not very sensitive ; he held too good an 
 opinion of himself. But as a rector he was, 
 and as he walked across to the Town House to 
 dinner he anticipated anything but enjoyment. 
 
 In a few minutes, however — ^has it not 
 some time or other fallen out so with all 
 of us? — everything was changed with him. 
 He felt as if he had entered another world. 
 The air of culture and refinement which sur- 
 rounded him from the hall inwards, the hearty 
 kindness of Mrs. Hammond, the pretty rooms, 
 the music and flowers, Laura's light laughter 
 and pleasant badinage, all surprised and de-
 
 THE HAMMONDS' DINNER-PARTI' 129 
 
 lighted him. The party might ahnost Jiave 
 been a London party, it was so Uvely. The 
 archdeacon, a red-faced, cheery, white-haired 
 man, whose acquaintance Lindo had already 
 made, and his wife, who was a mild image of 
 himself, were of the number, which was com- 
 pleted by their daughter and four or five 
 county people, all prepared to welcome and 
 be pleased with the new rector. Lindo, 
 sprung from gentlefolk himself, had the ordi- 
 nary experience of society ; but here he found 
 himself treated , as a stranger and a dignitary, 
 to a degree of notice and a delicate flattery 
 of which he had not before tasted the sweets. 
 Perhaps he was the more struck by the taste 
 displayed in the house, and the wit and liveli- 
 ness of his new friends, because he liad so 
 little looked for them — because he had in- 
 sensibly judged his parish by his experience 
 of Mr. Bonamy, and had come expecting this 
 house to be as his. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 If, under these circumstances, the young 
 fellow had been unaffected by the incense 
 offered to him he would have been more than 
 mortal. But he was not. He began, before 
 he had been in the house an hour, to change, 
 all unconsciously of course, his point of view. 
 He began to wonder especially why he had 
 been so depressed during the last few days, 
 and why he had troubled himself so much 
 about the opinions of people whose views no 
 sensible man would regard. 
 
 Perhaps the girl beside him — he took 
 Laura in to dinner — contributed as much as 
 anything to this. It was not only that she 
 was bright and sparkling — nay, in the luxury 
 of her pearls and evening dress even enchant- 
 ing — Bor only that the femininity which had 
 enslaved Stephen Clode began to have its 
 effect on her new neighbour. But Laura had 
 a way while she talked to him, while her 
 lustrous brown eyes dwelt momentarily on
 
 THE IIAMMOJVDS' DINNER-PARTY 131 
 
 his, of removing herself and himself to a 
 world apart — a world in which downright- 
 ness seemed more downright and rudeness an 
 outrage. And so, while her manner gently- 
 soothed and liattered her companion, it led 
 liim almost insensibly to — well, to put it in 
 the concrete, to think scorn of Mr. Bonamy. 
 
 ' You have had a misunderstanding,' she 
 said softly, as they stood together by the 
 piano after dinner, a feathering plant or two 
 fencing tliem off in a tiny solitude of their 
 own, ' with Mr. Bonamy, have you not, Mr. 
 Lindo?' 
 
 From any one else, perhaps from her hali 
 an hour before, he would have resented men- 
 tion of the matter. Now he did not seen: 
 to mind. ' Something of the kind,' he said 
 laughing. 
 
 ' About the sheap in the churchyard, was 
 it not?' she continued. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE N-KW RECTOE 
 
 ' Well, will you pardon me saying some- 
 tliing ? ' Besting both her hands on the raised 
 lid of the piano, she looked up at him, and it 
 must be confessed that he thought he had 
 never seen eyes so soft and brilliant before. 
 ' It is only this,' she said earnestly — ' that I 
 hope you will not give way to him. He is a 
 w^retched cross-grained fidgety man and fuU 
 of crotchets. You know all about him, of 
 course ? ' she added, a slight ring of pride in 
 her voice. 
 
 ' I know that he is my churchwarden,' said 
 the rector, half in seriousness. 
 
 ' Yes ! ' she replied. ' That is just what 
 he is fit for ! ' 
 
 ' You think so ? ' Lindo retorted, smiling. 
 ' Then you really mean that I should be 
 guided by him ? That is it ? ' 
 
 She looked brightly at him for a moment. 
 ' I have not known you long,' she murmured, 
 ' but I think you will be guided only by your-
 
 THE HAMMONDS' DIXXER-FARTY 133 
 
 self; and, blushing slightly, she nodded and 
 left him, to go to another guest. 
 
 They were all in the same tale. ^ He is a 
 rude overbearing man, Mr. Lindo,' Mrs. Ham- 
 mond said roundly, even her good nature 
 giving place to the odium theologicum. ' And 
 I cannot imagine why Mr. Williams put up 
 with him so long.* 
 
 ' No, indeed,' said the archdeacon's wife, 
 complacently smoothing down her skirt. ' But 
 that is the worst of a town parish. You have 
 this sort of people/ 
 
 Mrs. Hammond looked for the moment as 
 if she would like to deny it. But under the 
 circumstances this was impossible. ' I am 
 afraid we have,' she admitted gloomily. ' I 
 hope Mr. Lindo will know how to deal with 
 him.' 
 
 ' I think the archdeacon would,' said the 
 other lady, shaking her head sagely. 
 
 But, naturally enough, the archdeacon
 
 134 THE A^EW RECTOR 
 
 was more guarded in his expressions. ' It is 
 about removing the sheep from the church- 
 yard, is it not ? ' he said, when he and Lindo 
 happened to be left standing together and the 
 subject came up. ' They have been there a 
 long time, you know.' 
 
 ' That is true, I suppose,' the rector an- 
 swered. ' But,' he continued rather warmly 
 — ' you do not approve of their presence there, 
 archdeacon ? ' 
 
 'No, certainly not.' 
 
 ' Nor do I. And, thinking the removal 
 right, and the responsibility resting upon me, 
 ought I not to undertake it ? ' 
 
 'Possibly,' replied the older man cautiously. 
 ' But pardon me making a suggestion. Is 
 not the thing of so little importance that you 
 may with a good conscience prefer quiet to 
 the trouble of raising the question ? ' 
 
 ' If the matter were to end there, I think 
 so,' replied the new rector, with perhaps too
 
 THE HAMMONDS' DINNER-rARTY 135 
 
 strong an assumption of wisdom in his tone. 
 * But what if this be only a test case ? — if to 
 give way h'ere mean to encourage further 
 trespass on my right of judgment ? The affair 
 would bear a different aspect then, would it 
 not?' 
 
 ' Oh, no doubt. No doubt it would.' 
 And that was all the archdeacon, who was 
 a cautious man and knew Mr. Bonamy, would 
 say. But it will be observed that the rector 
 on his part had both altered his standpoint 
 and done another thing which most people 
 find easy enough : he had discovered an answer 
 to his own arijuments.
 
 136 THE NEW RECTOB 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 TWO SUEPRISES 
 
 On tlie evening of the Hammonds' party, Mr. 
 Clode sat alone in his room, trying to compose 
 himself to work. His lamp burned brightly, 
 and his tea-kettle — he had sent down his frugal 
 dinner an hour or more — murmured pleasantly 
 on the hob. But for some reason Mr. Clode 
 could do no work. He was restless, gloomy, 
 ill-satisfied. The suspicions which had been 
 aroused in his breast on the evening of the 
 rector's arrival had received, up to to-day at 
 least, no confirmation ; but they had grown, 
 as suspicions will, feeding on themselves, and 
 with them had grown the jealousy which had 
 fostered them into being. The curate saw
 
 TWO SURPRISES 137 
 
 himself already overshadowed* by his superior, 
 socially and in the parish ; and this evening 
 felt this the more keenly that, as he sat in his 
 little room, he could picture perfectly the gay 
 scene at the Town House, where, for nearly 
 two years, not a party had taken place without 
 his presence, not a festivity been arranged 
 without his co-operation. The omission to 
 invite him to-night, however natural it might 
 seem to others, had for him a tremendous 
 significance ; so that from a jealousy that was 
 general he leapt at once to a jealousy more 
 particular, and conjured up a picture of Laura 
 — with whose disposition he was not unac- 
 quainted — smiling on the stranger, and weav- 
 ing about him the same charming net which 
 had caught his own feet. 
 
 At this thought the curate sprang up with 
 a passionate gesture and began to walk to and 
 fro, his brow dark. He felt sure that Lindo 
 had no ricfht to his cure, that he had been
 
 lo8 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 appointed by mistake ; but he knew also that 
 the cure was a freehold, and that to oust the 
 rector from it something more than a mere 
 mistake would have to be shown. If the rector 
 should turn out to be very incompetent, if he 
 should fall on evil times in the parish, then, 
 indeed, he might find his seat untenable when 
 the mistake should be discovered ; and with 
 an eye to this the curate had already dropped 
 a word here and there — as, for instance, that 
 word which had reached Mr. Bonamy. But 
 Clode was not satisfied with that now. Was 
 there no shorter, no simpler course possible ? 
 There was one ; one only, which he could 
 think of. The rector might be shown to have 
 been aware of the error when he took advan- 
 tage of it. In that case his appointment 
 would be vitiated, and he might be compelled 
 to forego it. 
 
 Naturally enough, the curate had scarcely 
 formulated this to himself before he became
 
 TWO SURPRISES 139 
 
 convinced — in his present state of envy and 
 suspicion — of the rector's guilt. But how 
 was he to prove it ? How was he to make it 
 clear to others ? As he walked up and dowm 
 the room, chafing and hot-eyed, he thought 
 of a w^ay in which proof might be secured. 
 The letters which had passed between Lindo 
 and Lord Dynm ore's agents, in regard to the 
 presentation, must surely contain some word, 
 some expression sufficiently clear to have ap- 
 prised the young man of the truth — that the 
 living was intended not for him but for his 
 uncle. A look at those letters, if they w^ere 
 in existence, might give Stephen Clode, mere 
 curate though he was, the whip-hand of his 
 rector ! 
 
 He had another plan in his mind, of which 
 more presently ; and probably he would have 
 pursued the idea which has just been men- 
 tioned no farther if his eye had not chanced 
 to hght at the moment on a small key hanging
 
 140 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 from a nail by the fireplace. Clode looked at 
 the key, and his face flushed. He stood think- 
 ing and apparently hesitating, the lamp throw- 
 ing his features into strong relief, while a man 
 might count twenty. Then he sat down with 
 an angry exclamation and plunged into his 
 work. But in less than a minute he lifted his 
 head. His glance wandered again to the key ; 
 and, getting up suddenly, he took it down, put 
 on his hat, and went out. 
 
 His lodgings were over the stationer's shop, 
 but he could go in and out through a private 
 passage. He saw, as he passed, however, that 
 there was a light in the shop, and he opened 
 the side door. ' I am going to the rectory to 
 consult a book, Mrs. Wafer,' he said, seeing 
 his landlady dusting the counter. ' You can 
 leave my lamp alight. I shall want nothing 
 more to-night, thank you.' 
 
 She bade him good-night, and he closed 
 the door again and issued into the street.
 
 TWO SURPRISES 141 
 
 Crossing the top of the town, he had to pass 
 the Market Hall, where he spoke to the one 
 policeman on night duty ; and here he saw 
 that it was five minutes to ten, and hastened 
 his steps, in the fear that the rector's house- 
 hold might have retired. ' Lindo will not be 
 home himself until eleven, at the earliest,' he 
 muttered as he turned rapidly into the church- 
 yard, which was very dark, the night being 
 moonless. ' I have a clear hour. It was well 
 that I looked in late the other night.' 
 
 But, whatever his design, it received a 
 sudden check. The rectory was closed ! The 
 I'ront of the house stood up as dark and shape- 
 less as the great church which towered in front 
 of it. The servants had gone to bed, and, as 
 they slept at the back, he would have found 
 it difficult to arouse them, had it suited his 
 plans to do so. As it was, he did not dream 
 of such a thing. With a slight shiver — for 
 the night was cold, and now that his project
 
 142 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 no longer excited him he felt it so, and felt, 
 too, the influence of the night wind soughing 
 in sad fashion through the yews — he was 
 turning away, when something arrested his 
 attention, and he paused. 
 
 The something he had seen, or fancied he 
 had seen, was a momentary glimmer of light 
 shining through the fanlight over the door. 
 It could not affect him, for, if the servants 
 had really closed the house for the night, even 
 if they had not all gone to bed, he could 
 scarcely go in. And yet some impulse led 
 him to step softly into the porch, and grope 
 for the knocker. 
 
 His hand lit instead on the iron-studded 
 surface of the old oak door, and, to his sur- 
 prise, he felt it move slightly under his touch. 
 He pushed, and the door slid slowly and 
 silently open, disclosing the dusky outline of 
 the hall, faintly illuminated by a thin shaft 
 of light which proceeded apparently from
 
 TWO SURPRISES 143 
 
 the study, the door of which was a trifle 
 ajar. 
 
 The sight recalled to the curaste's mind the 
 errand on which he liad come, and he stole 
 across the hall on tiptoe, listening with all his 
 ears. He heard nothing, however, and pre- 
 sently he stood on the mat at the study door, 
 his form intercepting the light. Then he did 
 hear the dull footsteps of some one moving in 
 the room, and suddenly it occurred to him 
 that the rector had stepped home to fetch 
 something — a song, music, or a book possibly 
 — and was now within searching for it. That 
 would explain all. 
 
 The curate was seized with panic at the 
 thought, and, fearful of being discovered in 
 liis present position — for though he might 
 have done all he had done in perfect innocence, 
 conscience made a coward of him — he crept 
 across the hall again and passed out into the 
 churchyard. There he stood in the darkness,
 
 144 THE JS'EW RECTOR 
 
 waiting and watching, expecting the rector to 
 bustle out each minute. 
 
 But five minutes passed, and even ten, as 
 it seemed to the curate in his impatience, and 
 no one came out, aor did the situ^-tion alter. 
 Then he made up his mind that the person 
 moving in the study could not be the owner 
 of the house, and he went in again and, cross- 
 ing the hall, flung the study door wide open 
 and entered. 
 
 Instantly there was a ringing sound as of 
 coins falling on the floor ; and a man, who had 
 been kneeling low over something, sprang to 
 his feet and gazed with wide, horror-stricken 
 eyes at the intruder. A moment only the 
 man looked, and then in a paroxysm of terror 
 he fell again on his knees. ' Oh, mercy ! 
 mercy ! ' he cried, almost grovelling before the 
 curate. ' Don't give me up ! I have never 
 been took ! I have never been in gaol or in 
 trouble in my life ! I did not know what I
 
 TWO SURrEISES 145 
 
 was doing, sir ! I swear I did not ! Don't 
 ^'ive me up ! ' 
 
 ' The man's cry, wliich was low and yet 
 oiercing, ended in hysterical sobbing. On 
 lie table by his side stood a single candle, 
 md by its light Clode saw tliat the little cup- 
 board among the books — the little cupboard 
 to which the key in his own pocket belonged 
 — was open. The curate started at the sight, 
 and grew pale and red by turns. The words 
 which he had been about to utter to the 
 shrinking wretch begging for mercy on the 
 floor before him died away in his husky 
 throat. His eyes, however, burned with a 
 gloomy rage, and when he recovered himself 
 liis voice was pitiless. ' You scoundrel ! ' he 
 said, in the low rich tone which had been so 
 much admired in the church when he first came 
 to Claversham, ' what are you doing here ? 
 Get up and speak ! ' And he made as if he 
 would spurn tlie creature with his foot, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' I am a respectable man,' the rogue whined. 
 ' I am — that is I was, I mean, sir — don't be 
 hard on me — Lord Dj^nmore's own valet. I 
 will tell you all, sir.' 
 
 ' I know you ! ' Clode rejoined, looking 
 harshly at him. ' You were here this morn- 
 ing. And Mr. Lindo gave you money.' 
 
 ' He did, sir. I confess it. I am a ' 
 
 ' You are an ungrateful scoundrel ! ' 
 Stephen Clode answered, cutting the man 
 short. ' That is what you are ! And in a 
 few days you will be a convicted felon, with 
 the broad arrow on your clothes, my friend ! ' 
 
 To hear his worst anticipations thus put 
 into words was too much for the poor wretch. 
 He fell on his knees, feebly crying for mercy, 
 mercy ! ' You are a minister of the Gospel. 
 Give me this one more chance, sir ! ' he 
 prayed. 
 
 * Stop that noise ! ' the curate growled 
 fiercely, his dark face rendered more rugged
 
 TWO SUErRISES 147 
 
 by the light and shadow cast by the single 
 candle. ' Be silent ! do you hear P and get 
 up and speak like a man, if you can. Tell 
 nie all — how you came here, and what you 
 came for, and perhaps I may let you escape. 
 But the truth, mind — the truth ! ' he added 
 truculently. 
 
 The knave was too thoroughly terrified 
 indeed to think of anything else. ' Lord 
 Dynmore dismissed me,' he muttered, his 
 breath coming quickly. ' He missed some 
 money in Chicago, and he gave me enough 
 to carry me home, and bade me go to the 
 devil ! I landed in Liverpool w^ithout a sliil- 
 limr — sir, it is God's truth — and I remembered 
 the gentleman Lord Dynmore had just put 
 into the living here. I used to know him, 
 and he has given me half a sovereign more 
 than once. And I thought I would come to 
 him. So I pawned my clothes, and came on.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' exclaimed the curate, leaning
 
 148 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 forward, with fierce impatience in his tone. 
 'And then?' 
 
 ' Sir ? ' 
 
 *Well? When you came here? What 
 happened ? Go on, fool ! ' He could scarcely 
 control himself. 
 
 ' I found a stranger,' the man whimpered 
 — ' another Mr. Lindo. He had got in here 
 somehow.' 
 
 ' Well ? But there,' the curate added 
 with a sudden change of manner, ' how do 
 you know that Lord Dynmore meant to put 
 the clergyman you used to know in here ? ' 
 
 ' Because I heard him read a letter from 
 his agents about it,' the man replied simply. 
 ' And from what his lordship said I knew it 
 was his old pal — his old friend, sir, I mean, 
 begging your pardon humbly, sir,' 
 
 ' And when did you learn,' said the curate 
 more quickly, ' that the gentleman here was 
 not your Mr. Lindo ? '
 
 TWO SURPRISES 149 
 
 * I heard in the town that he was a young- 
 man. And, putting one thing and anotlier 
 together, and keeping a still tongue rayself. I 
 thouorht he would serve me as well as the 
 other, and I called -' 
 
 ' What did you say ? ' 
 
 ' Not much, sir,' the valet answered, a 
 twinkle of cunning in his eye. ' The less said 
 the sooner mended, I thought. But he under- 
 stood, and he promised to give me ten shillings 
 a week.' 
 
 ' To hold your tongue ? ' 
 
 ' Well, so I took it, sir.' 
 
 The curate drew a long breath. This was 
 what he had suspected. It was to information 
 which might be drawn from this man that his 
 second sclieme 1iad referred- And here was 
 the man at his service, bound by a craven 
 fear to do his bidding — bound to tell all he 
 knew, ' But why,' Clode asked suspiciously, 
 a new thought striking him, ' if what you
 
 150 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 say be true, are you here now — doing this, 
 my man ? * 
 
 ' I was tempted, sir,' the servant answered, 
 his tone growing abject again. ' I confess it 
 truly, sir. I saw the money in the box here 
 this morning, sir, and I thought that my ten 
 shiUings a week would not last long, and a 
 little capital would set me up comfortably. 
 And then the devil put it into my head that 
 the young gentleman would not prosecute me, 
 even if he caught me.' 
 
 ' You did not think of me catching you ? ' 
 retorted the curate grimly. 
 
 The man uttered a cry of anguish. ' That 
 I did not, sir,' he sobbed. ' Oh, Lord ! I have 
 never had a policeman's hand on me. I have 
 been honest always ' 
 
 ' Until you took his lordship's money/ 
 replied Clode quietly. ' But I understand. 
 You have never been found out before, you 
 mean/
 
 TWO SURPRISES 151 
 
 When people of a certain class, for whom 
 respectability has long spelled livelihood, do 
 fall into th.e law's clutch, they sufTer very 
 sharply- Master Felton continued to pour 
 forth heartrending prayers ; but he might 
 have saved his breath. The curate's thoughts 
 were elsewhere. He was thinking that a 
 witness so valuable must be kept within reacli 
 at any cost, and it did flash across his brain 
 that the best course would be to hand liim 
 over now to the police, and trust to the effect 
 which his statements respecting the rector 
 would produce at the inquiry. But the reflec- 
 tion that the allegations of a man on his trial 
 for burglary would not obtain much credence 
 led Clode to reject this simple course and 
 adopt another. ' Look here ! ' he said curtly. 
 ' I am going to deal mercifully with you, 
 my man. But — but,' he continued, frowning 
 impatiently, as he saw the other about to 
 speak, ' on certain conditions. You are not
 
 152 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 to leave Ciaversliani. That is the first. If 
 you leave the town before I give you the 
 word, I shall put the police on your track 
 without an instant's delay. Do you hear 
 that?' 
 
 ' I will stop as long as you like, sir,' said 
 the servant submissively; but with wonder 
 apparent both in his voice and face. 
 
 'Very welL I wish it for the present — 
 no matter why. Perhaps because I would 
 see that you lead an honest life for awhile.' 
 
 'And how — how shall I live, sir ? ' asked 
 the culprit timidly. 
 
 'For the present you may continue to 
 draw your half-sovereign a week,' the curate 
 answered, his face reddening, he best knew 
 why. ' Possibly I may tell Mr, Lindo at once. 
 Possibly I may give you another chance, and 
 tell him later, if I find you deserving. What 
 is your address ? ' 
 
 ' I am at the " Bull and Staff." ' muttered
 
 TWO SURPKISES loo 
 
 Felton. It was a small public-house of no 
 very good repute. 
 
 ' Well, stay there,' Stephen Clode answered 
 after a moment's thought. ' But see you get 
 into no harm. And since you are living on 
 the rector's bounty, you may say so.' 
 
 The man looked puzzled as well as relieved, 
 but, stealing a doubtful glance at the curate's 
 dark face, he found his eyes still upon him, 
 and cowered afresh. ' Yes, take care,' Clode 
 said, smihng unpleasantly as he saw the effect 
 his look produced. ' Do not try to evade me 
 or it will be the worse for you, Felton. And 
 now go ! But see you take nothing from here.' 
 
 The detected one cast a sly glance at the 
 half-rifled box which still lay on the carpet at 
 his feet, a few gold coins scattered round it ; 
 then he looked up again. ' It is all there, 
 sir,' he said, cringing. ' 1 had but just 
 begun.' 
 
 ' Then go ! ' said the curate impatiently,
 
 154 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 pointing with emphasis to the door. ' Go, I 
 tell you ! ' 
 
 The man's presence annoyed and humili- 
 ated him so that he felt a positive relief when 
 the valet's back was turned. Left alone he 
 stood listening, a cloud on his brow, until the 
 faint sound of the outer door being pulled to 
 reached his ear ; and then, stooping hastily, 
 he gathered up the sovereigns and half- 
 sovereigns, which lay where they had fallen, 
 and put them into the box. This done, he 
 rose and laid the box itself upon the table by 
 his side ; and again he stood, still and listen- 
 ing, a dark shade on his face. 
 
 Long ago, almost at the moment of his 
 entrance, he had seen the pale shimmer of 
 papefs at the back of the little cupboard ; 
 and his heart had bounded at the sight. Now, 
 still listening stealthily, he thrust in his hand 
 and drew out one of the bundles of -papers, 
 and opened it. A final scruple held him back
 
 TWO SURPRISES 155 
 
 for a second ; then he looked, only to be 
 disappointed. The papers were parish ac- 
 counts in his o^Yn handwriting ! With a 
 gesture of fierce impatience he thrust them 
 back and drew out others, and, disappointed 
 again in these, exchanged them hastily for a 
 tliird set. In vain ! The last were as worth- 
 less to him as the first. 
 
 He was turning away baffled and defeated, 
 with a dark face and anger in his heart, when 
 he saw lying at the back of the lower com- 
 partment of the cupboard, whence the cash- 
 box had come, two or three smaller packets, 
 consisting apparently of letters. The curate 
 reached hastily for one of these, and the 
 discovery that it contained some of Lindo's 
 private accounts, dated before his appoint- 
 ment, made his face flush and his fing 
 tremble with eagerness. He glanced nervously 
 round the room and stopped to listen ; then, 
 moving the candle a little nearer, he ran his
 
 156 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 eye over the papers. But here, too, though 
 the scent was hot, he took nothing, and he 
 exchanged the packet for one of the others. 
 Looking at this, he saw that it was indorsed 
 in the rector's handwriting, ' Letters relating 
 to the Claversham Living.' 
 
 ' At last,' Clode muttered, his eyes burning. 
 ' I have it now.' The string which bound the 
 packet was knotted tightly, and his fingers 
 seemed all thumbs as he laboured to unfasten 
 it. But he succeeded at length, and opening 
 the uppermost letter (they were all folded 
 across), he saw that it was written from Lin- 
 coln's Inn Fields. 'My dear sir,' he read — 
 just so far ; and then, with a mighty crash 
 which sounded awfully in his ears, the door 
 behind him was flung open, just as he had 
 flung it open himself an hour before ; and, 
 dropping the letter, he sprang round, to find 
 the young rector confronting him with a face 
 of stupid astonishment.
 
 15' 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TOWN TALK 
 
 He was a man, as the reader will perhaps have 
 gathered, of many shifts, and cool-headed ; 
 but for a moment he felt something of the 
 anguish of discovery which had so tortured 
 the surprised servant. The table shook 
 beneath his hand, and it was with difficulty 
 he repressed a wild impulse to overturn the 
 candle, and escape in the darkness. He did 
 repress it, however ; nay, he forced his eyes to 
 meet the rector's, and twisted his lips into the 
 likeness of a smile. But when he thought of 
 the scene afterwards he found his chief com- 
 fort in the reflection that the light had been 
 too faint to betray his full embarrassment.
 
 158 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 Naturally the rector was the first to speak. 
 ^ Clode ! ' he ejaculated, with a soft whistle, 
 his surprise above words. ' Is it you ? Why, 
 man,' he continued, still standing with his 
 hand on the door and his eyes devouring the 
 scene, ' what is up ? ' 
 
 The money-box stood open at the curate's 
 side, and the letters lay about his feet where 
 they had fallen. The little cupboard yawned 
 among the books. No wonder that Lindo's 
 amazement, as he gradually took it all in, 
 rather increased than diminished, or that the 
 curate's heart for a moment stood still : that 
 his tongue was dry and his throat husky when 
 he at last found his voice. ' It is all right. I 
 will explain it,' he stammered, almost upset- 
 ting the table in his agitation. 'I expected 
 you before,' he added fussily, moving the 
 light. 
 
 'The dickens you did I ' the rector ejacu- 
 lated. It was difficult for him not to believe
 
 TOWX TALK 159 
 
 that his arrival had been the last thing ex- 
 pected. 
 
 ' Yes,' returned the curate, with a little 
 snap of defiance. He was recovering himself, 
 and could look the other in the face now. 
 ' But I am glad you did not come before, all 
 the same.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' I will explain.' 
 
 The Hght which the one candle gave was 
 not so meagre that Clode's embarrassment had 
 altogetlier escaped Lindo ; and had the latter 
 been a suspicious man he might have had 
 queer thoughts, and possibly expressed them. 
 As it was, he was only puzzled, and when the 
 curate said he would explain, answ^ered simply 
 'Do.' 
 
 ' The truth is,' said Clode, beginning witli 
 an effort, ' I have taken a good deal on myself, 
 and I am afraid you will blame me, Mr. 
 Lindo. If so, I cannot help it.' His face
 
 160 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 reddened, and he beat a tattoo on the table 
 with his fingers. 'I came across,' he con- 
 tinued, ' to borrow a book a little before ten. 
 The lights here were out ; but, to my surprise, 
 your house-door was open.' 
 
 'As I found it myself!' the rector ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 ' Precisely. Naturally I had misgivings, 
 and I looked into the hall. I saw a streak of 
 light proceeding from the doorway of this 
 room, and I came in softly to see what it 
 meant. I heard a man moving about in 
 here, and I threw open the door much as 
 you did.' 
 
 ' Did you ? ' said Lindo eagerly. ' And 
 who was it — the man, I mean ? ' 
 
 ' That is just what I cannot tell you,' the 
 curate replied. His face was pale, but there 
 was a smile upon it, and he met the other's 
 gaze without flinching. He had settled his 
 plan now.
 
 TOWN TALK l61 
 
 ' He got away, then? ' said the rector, dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 ' No. He did not try either to escape or 
 to resist,' was the answer. 
 
 ' But was he really a burglar ? * 
 
 « Yes.' 
 
 ' Then where is he ? ' The rector looked 
 round as if he expected to see the man lying 
 bound on the floor. ' What did you do with 
 him ? ' 
 
 ' I let him go.' 
 
 Lindo opened his mouth, and whistled; 
 and when he had done whistling still stood 
 with his mouth open and a face of the most 
 complete mystification. ' You let him go ? ' 
 he repeated mechanically, but not until after 
 a pause of half a minute or so. ' Why, may I 
 ask?' 
 
 ' You have every right to ask,' the curate 
 answered with firmness, and yet despondently. 
 ' I will tell you why — why I let him go, and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 why I cannot tell you his name, Mr. Lindo. 
 He is a parishioner of yours. It was his first 
 offence, and I believe him to be sincerely 
 penitent. I believe, too, that he will never 
 repeat the attempt, and that the accident of 
 my entrance saved him from a life of crime. 
 I may have been wrong — I dare say I was 
 wrong,' continued the curate, growing excited 
 — excitement came very easily to him at the 
 moment — ' but I cannot go back from my 
 word. The man's misery moved me. I 
 thought what I should have felt in his place, 
 and I promised him, in return for his pledge 
 that he would live honestly in the future, that 
 he should go free, and that I would not betray 
 his name to any one — to any one ! ' 
 
 ' Well ! ' exclaimed the rector, his tone one 
 of unbounded admiration in every sense of the 
 w^ord. ' When you do a thing nobly, my dear 
 fellow, you do do it nobly, and no mistake ! I 
 wonder who it was ? But I must not ask you.»
 
 TOWI^ TALK 163 
 
 ' No,' said Clode. ' And now, tell me,' he 
 continued, still beating the tattoo on the 
 table, ' you do not blame me greatly ? ' 
 
 'I do not, indeed. No. Only I think 
 perhaps that you should have retained the 
 right to tell me.' 
 
 'I should have done so,' said the curate 
 regretfully. 
 
 ' He has taken nothing, I suppose ? ' the 
 rector continued, turning to the cupboard, 
 and, not only feeling satisfied with the expla- 
 nation, but liking Clode better than he had 
 liked him before ; speaking to him, indeed, 
 with increased frankness. 
 
 ' No,' the other answered. ' I was putting 
 things straight when you entered and startled 
 me. He had dropped the money about the 
 floor, but you will find it right, I think. He 
 has made a mess among the papers, I fear, 
 and damaged the cupboard door in forcing it, 
 but that is the extent of the mischief. By the 
 
 n 2
 
 164 THE ]SrEW KECTOB 
 
 way/ tlie curate added, ' I have a key to this 
 cupboard at my lodgings. Williams gave it' 
 to me. He only kept parish matters here. I 
 must let you have it.' 
 
 ' Eight/ said the rector carelessly ; and 
 then a few more words passed between them 
 as to the attempted robbery, and the manner 
 in which the outer door had been opened. At 
 last the curate took his hat and prepared to 
 go. ' You had a pleasant party, I suppose ? ' 
 he said, pausing and turning when half-way 
 across the hall. 
 
 ' A very pleasant one/ Lindo answered 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 ' They are nice people,' said Clode. 
 
 * They are — very nice. You told me I 
 should find them so, and you were right. 
 Good-night.' 
 
 ' Good-night.' 
 
 Such harmless words ! And yet they 
 roused the curate's jealousy anew. As he
 
 TOWN TALK 165 
 
 walked home, the church clock toihng mid- 
 iiiglit above his head, he drank in no peaceful 
 influence from the dark stilhiess or the solemn 
 sound. He was gnawed by no remotse, but 
 was tormented instead by fresh hatred of the 
 man who liad surprised and confounded him, 
 and forced him to lie and quibble in order to 
 escape from a dishonourable position. If you 
 would make a man your enemy, come upon 
 him when he is doing something of which he 
 is ashamed. He will fear you afterwards, but 
 he will hate you more. In the curate's case 
 it was only he who knew liimself discovered^ 
 so that he had no ground for fear. But he 
 hated none the less vigorously. 
 
 And he was not one to hate, and stop at 
 that. In a few days an ugly rumour of which 
 the new rector was tlie subject began in 
 some strange way to gain currency in the 
 town. It was an ill-defined rumour, coming 
 to one thing in one person's month and to a
 
 166 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 different thing in another's — a kind of cloud 
 on the new-comer's fair fame, shifting from 
 moment to moment, and taking ever a fresh 
 shape, yet always a cloud. 
 
 One whispered that he had obtained the 
 presentation as the reward of . questionable 
 services rendered to the patron. Another 
 that he had forged his own deed of presenta- 
 tion, if such a thing existed. A third that he 
 had been presented by mistake ; and a fourth 
 that he had deceived the authorities as to his 
 age. It was noticeable that these rumours 
 began low down in the social scale of the town 
 and worked their way upwards, which was 
 odd ; and further that, whatever form the 
 rumour took, there was not one who heard it 
 who did not within a fortnight or three weeks 
 come to associate it with the presence of a 
 seedy, down-looking, unwholesome man, who 
 was much about the rector's doorway, and, 
 when he was not there, was generally to be
 
 . TOWX TALK 167 
 
 found at the 'Bull and Staff.' Whetlier lie 
 was the disseminator of the reports, or, alike 
 with the rector, was the unconscious subject 
 of them, was not known ; but at sight of him 
 — particularly if he were seen, as frequently 
 happened, in the rector's neighbourhood — 
 people shrugged their shoulders and lifted 
 their eyebrows, and expressed a great many 
 severe things without using their tongues. 
 
 To the circle of the rector's personal 
 friends the rumours did not reach. That was 
 natural enough. To tell a person that his or 
 her intimate friend is a forger or a swindler is 
 a piquant but somewhat perilous task. And no 
 one mentioned the matter to the Hammonds, 
 or to the archdeacon, or to the Homfrays of 
 Holberton, or the other county people living 
 round, with whom it must be confessed that, 
 after that dinner-party at the Town House, 
 Lindo consorted perhaps too exclusively. It 
 mif?ht have been thoug^ht that even the towns-
 
 168 THE NEW RECTOE 
 
 folk, seeing the young fellow's frank face 
 passing daily about their streets, and catching 
 the glint of his fair curly hair when the wintry 
 sunlight pierced the lanthorn windows and fell 
 in gules and azure on the reading-desk, would 
 have been slow to believe such tales of him. 
 
 They might have been ; but circum- 
 stances and Mr. Bonamy were against him. 
 The lawyer did not circulate the stories ; he 
 had not mentioned them out-of-doors, nor, 
 for aught the greater part of Claversham 
 knew, had heard of them at all. But all his 
 weight — and with the Low-Church middle 
 class in the town it was great — was thrown 
 into the scale against the rector. It was 
 known that he did not trust the rector. It 
 was known that day by day his frown on 
 meeting the young clergyman grew darker 
 and darker. And the why and the wherefore 
 not being understood — for no one thought of 
 questioning the lawyer, or observed how
 
 TOWX TALK 1G9 
 
 frequently of late the curate happed upon 
 him in tlie street or in the reading-room 
 — many conchided that he knew more of the 
 clergyman's antecedents than appeared. 
 
 There was one person, and perhaps only 
 one, who openly circulated and rejoiced in 
 these rumours. This was a man whom Lindo 
 would least have suspected ; one whom he 
 met daily in the street, and passed with a 
 careless nod and a word, not dreaming for an 
 instant that the spiteful little busybody was 
 concerning himself w^ith him. But such was 
 the case. The man was Dr. Gregg ; the 
 snappish, ill-bred surgeon who chanced upon 
 Lindo and the Bonamy girls breakfasting 
 together at Oxford. The sight, it will be 
 remembered, had not pleased him. He had 
 long had a sneaking liking for Miss Kate 
 himself, and had only refrained from trying to 
 win her because he still more desired to be of 
 the ' best set ' in Claversham. He had been
 
 170 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ashamed, indeed, up to this time of his 
 passion ; but, reading on that occasion un- 
 mistakable admiration of the girl in the 
 young clergyman's face, and being himself 
 rather cavaherly treated by Lindo, he had 
 somewhat changed his views. The girl had 
 acquired increased value in his eyes. 
 Another's appreciation had increased his own, 
 and, merely as an incident, the man who had 
 effected this had earned his hearty jealousy 
 and ill-will. And all this, while Lindo 
 thought him a vulgar but harmless Httle man. 
 Still, if the rector, immersed in new social 
 engagements, did not gee whither he was 
 tending, others, though they knew nothing of 
 the unpleasant tales we have mentioned, saw 
 more clearly. The archdeacon, coming into 
 town one Saturday five or six weeks after 
 Lindo's arrival, did his business early and 
 turned his steps towards the rectory. He 
 felt pretty sure of finding the young fellow
 
 TOWX TALK 171 
 
 at home, because he knew this was his 
 sermon day. A few yards from the door he 
 fell in, as it chanced, with Stephen Clode. The 
 two stood together talking, while the arch- 
 deacon waited to be admitted, and presently 
 the curate, noticing what he was about, said, 
 ' If you wish to see the rector, archdeacon, I 
 am afraid you will be disappointed. He is 
 not at home.' 
 
 ' But I thought that he was always at 
 home on Saturdays ? ' 
 
 ' Generally he is,' Clode replied, looking 
 down and tracing a pattern with the point of 
 his umbrella. ' But he is away to-day.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' asked the archdeacon rather 
 abruptly. 
 
 ' He has gone to the Homfrays' at Holber- 
 ton. They have some sort of party to-day, 
 and the Hammonds drove him over.' De- 
 spite himself, the curate's tone was sullen, 
 his manner constrained.
 
 172 THE NEW HECTOR 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said the archdeacon thoughtfully. 
 The Homfrays were his very good friends, but 
 of the county families round Claversham they 
 were reckoned the fastest and most frivolous. 
 And he sagely suspected that a man in 
 Lindo's delicate position might be wiser if he 
 chose other companions. ' Lindo seems to 
 see a good deal of the Hammonds,' he re- 
 marked after a pause. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Clode. ' It is very natural.' 
 ' Oh, very natural,' the archdeacon has- 
 tened to say ; but his tone clearly expressed 
 the opinion that ' toujours Hammonds ' was 
 not a good bill of fare for the rector of 
 Claversham. ' Very natural, of course. Only,' 
 he continued, taking courage, for he really 
 liked the rector, ' you have had some experi- 
 ,ence here, and I think it would be well if you 
 were to give him a hint not to be too exclu- 
 ^ive. A town rector must not be too exclu- 
 sive. It does not do.'
 
 TOWN TALK 173 
 
 * No,' said Clode. 
 
 ' It is different in the country, of course. 
 And then there is Mr. Bonamy. He is un- 
 pleasant, I know, and yet he is honest after a 
 fashion. Lindo must beware of getting across 
 w^ith him. He has done nothing about the 
 sheep yet, has he ? ' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Well, do not let him, if you can help it. 
 You are not urging him on in that, are 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' On the contrary,' the curate answered 
 rather warmly, ' I have all through told him 
 that I w^ould not express an opinion on it. If 
 anything, I have discouraged him in the 
 matter.' 
 
 ' Well, I hope he will let it drop now. I 
 hope he will let it drop.' 
 
 They parted then, and the archdeacon, 
 sagely revolving in his mind the evils of ex- 
 clusiveness as they affected town parsons,
 
 174 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 strolled back to the hotel where he put up his 
 horses. On his way, casting his eye down 
 the wide quiet street, with its old-fashioned 
 houses on this side and that, he espied Mr. 
 Bonamy's tall spare figure approaching, and 
 he purposely passed the inn and went to meet 
 him. As a county magnate the archdeacon 
 could afford to know Mr. Bonamy, and even 
 to be friendly with him. I am not sure, in- 
 deed, that he had not a sneaking liking and re- 
 spect for the rugged, snappish, self-made man. 
 
 'How do you do, Mr. Bonamy?' he 
 began loudly and cheerfully. And then, 
 after saying a few words about a proposal to 
 close a road in which he was interested, he 
 slid into a mention of Lindo, with a view to 
 seeing how the land lay. ' I have just been 
 to call on your rector,' he said. 
 
 ' You did not find him at home,' Bonamy 
 replied, with a queer grin, and a little jerk of 
 his head which sent his hat still farther back.
 
 TOWN TALK 175 
 
 ' No, I was unlucky.' 
 
 ' Not more than most people,' said the 
 churchwarden, with much enjoyment. ' I 
 will tell you what it is, Mr. Arclideacon. 
 Mr. Lindo is better suited for your position. 
 He would make a very good archdeacon. 
 With a pair of horses and a park phaeton and 
 a small parish, and a little general superintend- 
 ence of the district — with that and the life of a 
 country gentleman he would get on capitally.' 
 
 There was just so much of a jest in the 
 words that the clergyman had no choice but 
 to laugh. 'Come, Bonamy,' he said good- 
 humouredly, ' he is young yet.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, he is quite out of place here in 
 that respect, too ! ' replied the lawyer naively. 
 
 ' But he will improve,' the archdeacon 
 pleaded. 
 
 'I am not sure that he will have the 
 chance,' Mr. Bonamy answered in his gentlest 
 tone.
 
 176 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 The archdeacon was so far from under- 
 standing him that he did not answer save by- 
 raising his eyebrows. Could Bonamy really 
 be so foolish, he wondered, as to think he 
 could get rid of a beneficed clergyman ? The 
 archdeacon was surprised, and yet that was 
 all he could make of it. 
 
 'He is away at Mr. Homfray's of Hol- 
 berton now,' the lawyer continued, con- 
 demnation in his thin voice. . 
 
 ' Well, there is no harm in that, Mr. 
 Bonamy,' replied the archdeacon, somewhat 
 offended, ' as long as he is back to do the 
 duty to-morrow.' 
 
 Mr. Bonamy grunted. 'A one-day-a- 
 week duty is a very fine thing,' he said. 
 ' You clergymen are to be envied, Mr. Arch- 
 deacon ! ' 
 
 ' You would be a great deal more to be 
 envied yourself, Mr. Bonamy,' the magnate 
 returned, losing his temper at last, 'if you
 
 TOWN TALK 177 
 
 did not carp at everything and look at other 
 people through distorted glasses. Fie ! here 
 is a young clergyman, new to the parish, and, 
 instead of helping him, you find fault with 
 everything he does. For shame I For shame, 
 Mr. Bon amy ! ' 
 
 * Ah ! * the lawyer answered drily, quite 
 unabashed by the other's attack, ' you did not 
 mean to say that when you came across the 
 street to me. But — well, least said soonest 
 mended, and I will wish you good evening. 
 You will have a wet drive home, I am afraid, 
 Mr. Archdeacon.' 
 
 And he put up his umbrella and went his 
 way sturdily, while the archdeacon, crossing 
 to his carriage, which was standing in front 
 of the inn, entertained an uncomfortable 
 suspicion that he had done more harm than 
 good by his intercession. ' I am afraid,' he 
 said to himself, as he handled the reins, and 
 sent his horses down the street in a fashion 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 of which he was ordinarily not a little proud 
 — ' I am afraid that there is trouble in front 
 of that young man. I am afraid there is.' 
 
 If he had known all, he would have 
 shaken his head still more gravely.
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 
 
 Stephen Clode had no idea, as he stood hsten- 
 ing with a certain pleasure to the archdeacon's 
 hints, of the good turn which fortune was 
 about to do him. If he had foreseen it, he 
 would probably have taken a bolder part in 
 the conversation, and parted from the elder 
 clergyman with a more jubilant step. As it 
 was, he heard no rumour that evening ; nor 
 w^as it until ten o'clock on the Sunday morning 
 that he learned anything was amiss. But, 
 calhng at the house in the churchyard at that 
 hour, he was received by Mrs. Baxter herself; 
 and he remarked at once that the housekeeper's 
 
 n2
 
 180 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 face fell in a manner far from flattering when 
 she recognised him. 
 
 ' Oh, it is you, is it, Mr. Clode ? ' she said, 
 her tone one of disappointment. ' You have 
 not seen him, sir, have you ? ' she added 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' Seen whom ? ' the curate replied in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 ' Mr. Lindo, sir ? ' 
 
 ' Why ? Is he not here ? ' 
 
 ' Not here ? No, sir, he is not,' the house- 
 keeper said, putting her head out to look up 
 and down. ' He never came back last night 
 from Holberton, and we have not heard of 
 him. I sent across to the Town House to in- 
 quire, and the only thing Mrs. Hammond 
 could say was that Mr. Lindo was to follow 
 them, and they supposed he had come.' 
 
 ' Well, but — who is to do the duty at the 
 church ? ' Clode ejaculated, shaping his lips to 
 a whistle. His dismay at the moment was
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 181 
 
 genuine, for he did not see on the spur of the 
 moment liow tliis might tend to his advantage. 
 
 ' There is only you, sir, unless he comes 
 in time,' the housekeeper replied. 
 
 ' But I am going to the Hamlet church,' 
 Clode answered, rapidly turning things over 
 in his mind. If there should be no one at the 
 parish church to conduct the chief service of 
 the week, what a talk there would be ! It 
 would almost be matter for the bishop's inter- 
 ference ! ' You see I cannot possibly neglect 
 that,' he continued argumentatively, in answer 
 as much to the remonstrances of his own con- 
 science as to the housekeeper. ' It was the 
 rector's own arrangement, Mrs. Baxter. You 
 may be sure he will be here in time for the 
 eleven o'cl(5ck service. Mr. Homfray has kept 
 him over night. That is all.' 
 
 ' You do not think he has met with an 
 accident, sir? ' Mrs. Baxter suggested anxiously. 
 ' They say the coal-pits on Baer Hill '
 
 182 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' Pooli, pooh I He will be here in a few 
 minutes, you will see,' the curate answered. 
 And he affected to be so cheerfully certain of 
 this that he would not wait even for a little 
 while, but started at once for the Hamlet 
 church — a small chapel-of-ease in the out- 
 skirts of the town. There he put on his sur- 
 plice early, and was ready in excellent time. 
 For punctuality is a virtue. 
 
 At half-past ten the bells of the great 
 church began to ring, and presently door after 
 door in the quiet streets about it opened 
 silently, and little parties issued forth in their 
 Sunday clothes and walked stiffly and slowly 
 towards the building. At the moment when 
 the High Street was dotted most thickly with 
 these groups, and the small bell was tinkling 
 its impatient summons, the rattle of an old 
 taxed-cart was heard — first heard as the vehicle 
 flashed quickly over the bridge at the foot of 
 the street. One and another of the church-
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 183 
 
 goers turned to look, for sucli a sound was 
 rare on a Sunday morning. Great was their 
 astonisliment when they recognised, perched 
 up beside the boy who urged on the pony, no 
 less a person than the rector himself! As he 
 jogged up the street in his sorry conveyance 
 and with his sorry companion, he had to pass 
 under the fire of a battery of eyes which did 
 not fail to notice all the peculiarities of his 
 appearance. His tie was awry and his chin 
 unshaven. He had a haggard, dissipated air, 
 as of one who had been up all night, and there 
 was a stain of dirt on his cheek. He looked 
 dissipated — even disreputable, some said ; and 
 he seemed aware of it, for he sat erect, gazing 
 straight before him, and declining to see 
 any one. At the top of the street he descended 
 hastily, and, as the bell jerked out its final 
 note, hurried towards the vestry with a de- 
 pressed and gloomy face. 
 
 ' Well ! ' said Mr. Bonamy to Kate, who
 
 184 THE KEW RECTOR 
 
 was walking up the street by his side, and 
 whose face for some mysterious reason was 
 flushed and troubled, ^I think that is the 
 coolest young man within ray experience ! ' 
 
 ' Eh ? ' said a voice behind them as they 
 entered the porch — the speaker was Gregg. 
 ' What do you think of that, Bonamy ? • A 
 gay young spark, is he not ? ' 
 
 There was time for no more then. But as 
 the congregation waited in their seats through 
 a long voluntary, many were the nods and 
 winks, and incessant the low mutterings, as 
 one communicated to another the details of 
 the scene outside, and his or her view of them. 
 When the rector appeared — nine minutes late 
 by Mr. Bonamy's watch — he looked pale and 
 fagged, and the sermon he preached was of 
 the shortest. Nine-tenths of the congregation 
 noted only the brevity of the discourse and 
 drew their conclusions. But Kate Bonamy, 
 who sat by her father with downcast eyes and
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 185 
 
 a tinge of colour still in her cheeks, and who 
 scarcely once looked up at the weary face and 
 tumbled hair, fancied, heaven knows why, that 
 she detected a new pathos and a deeper tone 
 of appeal in the few simple sentences ; and 
 though she had scarcely spoken to the rector 
 for a month, and was nursing a little contempt 
 for him, the girl felt on a sudden more kindly 
 disposed towards the young man. 
 
 Not so Mr. Bonamy. He came out of 
 church chuckling ; full of a grim delight in 
 the fulfilment of his predictions. It was not 
 his custom to linger in the porch, for he 
 was not a sociable man ; but he did so to-day, 
 and, letting Kate and Daintry go on, formed 
 one of a coterie of men, who had no diffi- 
 culty in coming to a conclusion about the 
 rector. 
 
 ' He has been studying hard, poor fellow ! ' 
 said Gregg, with a wink — there is no dislike 
 so mean and cruel as that which the ill-bred
 
 186 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 man feels for the gentleman — ' reading the 
 devil's books all night ! ' 
 
 ' Mne minutes late ! ' said the lawyer. 
 ' That is what comes of having a young fellow 
 who is always gadding about the country ! ' 
 
 ' He could not gad to a more congenial 
 place than Holberton, I should think,' sneered 
 a third. 
 
 And then all the sins which the Homfrays 
 had ever committed, and all those which had 
 ever been laid to their charge, were cited to 
 render the rector's case more black. To do 
 him justice, Mr. Bonamy took but a listener's 
 part in this. He was a shrewd man, and he 
 did not believe that the rector could have had 
 anything to do with an elopement from Hol- 
 berton which had taken place before his name 
 was heard in the county ; but he was honestly 
 assured that the young fellow had been sitting 
 over cards or the biiliard-table half the night. 
 And as for the other crimes, perhaps he would
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 187 
 
 commit them if he were left to follow his own 
 foolish devices. 
 
 'What is ill-gotten soon goes,' said one 
 charitable person with a sneer. 'You may 
 depend upon it that what we hear is true.' 
 
 'Yes, it is all of a piece,' another said. 
 ' A man does not have a follower of that kind 
 for nothing.' 
 
 ' It comes over the devil's back, and goes 
 — you know how ! ' chimed in a third. 'But 
 perhaps he is wise to make the most of it while 
 it lasts. He is consequential enough now, but 
 the Homfrays will not have much to say to 
 him presently, you will see. A few weeks, 
 and he will go ! ' 
 
 ' Well, let him go, for the d — d dissipated 
 gambhng parson he is ! ' said Gregg coarsely, 
 carried away by the unusual agreement with 
 him. ' And the sooner the better, say I ! ' 
 
 The man beside him, a little startled by 
 the doctor's violence, turned round to make
 
 188 THE NEW KECTOB. 
 
 sure that they were not overheard ; and found 
 himself face to face with no less a person than 
 the rector, who, seeking to go out — as was not 
 his custom, for he generally used the vestry 
 door — by the porch, had walked into the midst 
 of the group, even as Gregg opened his mouth. 
 A glance at the young man's reddening cheek 
 and compressed lips apprised the startled 
 gossips that he had overheard some part at 
 least of what had been said. 
 
 In one way it was the crisis of his fate at 
 Claversham. But he did not know it. If he 
 had been wise — if he had been such a man 
 as his curate, for instance ; or if, without being 
 wise, he had learned a little of the prudence 
 which comes of necessity with years — he would 
 have passed through the group in silence, 
 satisfied with such revenge as mute contempt 
 could give him. But he was not old, nor very 
 wise ; and certain things had lately jarred on 
 his nerves, so that he was not quite himself.
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 189 
 
 He did not pass by in silence, but, instead, 
 stood for a moment. Then, singling Gregg 
 out with a withering glance, he gave vent to 
 his feelings. ' I am much obliged to you for 
 your good opinion,' he said to him ; ' but I 
 should be still more obliged if you would swear 
 elsewhere, sir, and not in the porch of my 
 church. Leave the building ! Go at once ! ' And 
 he pointed towards the churchyard with the air 
 of an angry schoolmaster addressing a pupil. 
 
 But Gregg did not move. He was astounded 
 by this direct attack, but he had the courage 
 of numbers on his side, and, though he did 
 •not dare to answer, he did not budge. Neither 
 did the others, though they felt ashamed of 
 themselves, and looked all ways at once. Only 
 one of them all met the rector's glance fairly 
 and squarely, and that was Mr. Bonamy. ' I 
 think the least said the soonest mended, Mr. 
 Lindo,' he repHed, with an acrid smile. 
 
 ' I am sorry that you did not think of that
 
 190 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 before,' retorted the young man, standing be- 
 fore them with his fair head thrown back, his 
 clerical coat hanging loose, and his brow dark 
 with indignation — for he had heard enough 
 to be able to guess the cause of Gregg's re- 
 mark. ' Do you come to church only to cavil 
 and backbite ? — to put the worst construction 
 on what you cannot understand ? ' 
 
 'Speaking for myself,' the churchwarden 
 replied coolly, ' the sole thing with which I 
 can charge myself is the remark that you were 
 somewhat late for service this morning, Mr. 
 Lindo.' 
 
 ' And if I was ? ' the clergyman said in his 
 haughtiest tone. 
 
 ' Well, of course there may have been a 
 good cause for it,' the lawyer replied drily. 
 ' But it is a thing I have not known happen 
 here for twenty years.' 
 
 The rector hesitated, but only for a moment. 
 An altercation with these men, none of whom
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 191 
 
 were well disposed towards him, and half of 
 whom were tradespeople, was the last thing 
 upon which he should have allowed himself to 
 enter; and the last thing to which he would 
 have condescended in his normal frame of mind. 
 But on this unlucky morning he was nervous 
 and irritable ; and, finding himself thus bearded 
 and defied, he spoke foolishly. ' You trouble 
 yourself too much, Mr. Bonamy,' he said im- 
 pulsively, ' with things which do not concern 
 you ! The parish, among other things. You 
 have set yourself, as I know, to thwart and 
 embarrass me ; but I warn you that you are 
 not strong enough ! I shall find means to ' 
 
 ' To put me down, in fact ? ' said Mr. 
 Bonamy. 
 
 The young man hesitated, his face crimson. 
 His opponent's sallow features, seamed with a 
 hundred astute wrinkles, warned him, if the 
 covert smiles of the others did not, that, in 
 his present mood at any rate, he was not a
 
 192 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 match for the lawyer. He had gone too far 
 already, as he was now aware. 'No,' he replied, 
 swallowing his rage, ' but to keep you to your 
 proper province, as I hope to keep to mine. 
 I wish you good morning.' 
 
 He passed through them then, and hurried 
 away, more angry with them, and with himself 
 for allowing them to provoke him, than he had 
 ever felt in his life. He knew well that he 
 had been foolish. He knew that he had 
 lowered himself in their eyes by his display of 
 temper. But, though he was bitterly annoyed 
 with himself, the consciousness that the fault 
 had originally lain with them, and that they 
 had grievously misjudged him, kept his anger 
 hot ; for there is no wrath so fierce as the 
 indignation of the man falsely accused. He 
 called them under his breath an uncharitable, 
 spiteful, tattling crew ; and was so far immersed 
 in thought of them that he had entered his 
 dining-room before he remembered that he
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 193 
 
 was engaged to take the midday meal at the 
 Town House ; as he had done once or twice 
 before, afterwards walking up with Laura to 
 the schools. 
 
 He washed and changed hurriedly, keeping 
 his anger hot the while, and then went across, 
 with the tale on the tip of his tongue. Again, 
 if he had been wise, he would have kept what 
 had happened to himself. But the soothing 
 luxury of unfolding his wrongs to some one 
 who would sympathise was a balsam he could 
 not in his soreness forego. 
 
 It was a particularly mild day for the 
 fourth Sunday in Advent, and he found Miss 
 Hammond still lingering before the door. She 
 was looking for violets under the north wall, 
 and he joined her, and naturally broke at once 
 into the story of what had happened. She was 
 wearing a little close bonnet, which set off 
 her piquant features and bright colouring to 
 peculiar advantage, and, as far as looks went, 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 no young man in trouble ever had a better 
 listener. Only to stand beside her on the lawn, 
 where the old trees shut out all view of the 
 town and the troubles he connected with it, 
 was a relief. Of course the search for violets 
 was soon abandoned. ' It is abominable ! ' she 
 said. ' It is really abominable of them ! * 
 But her voice was like the cooing of a dove. 
 She did everything softly. Even her indigna- 
 tion was gentle. 
 
 ' But you have not heard yet,' he protested, 
 ' why I really was late.' 
 
 ' I know what is being said,' she mur- 
 mured, looking up at him, a gleam of humour 
 in her brown eyes — ' that you stayed at the 
 Homfrays' all night playing cards. My maid 
 told me as we came in after church.' 
 
 * Ha ! I knew that they were saying some- 
 thing of the kind,' he replied savagely. He 
 took the matter so much to heart that she felt 
 her little attempt at badinage reproved. ' The
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 195 
 
 true reason was of a very different descrip- 
 tion,' he continued earnestly. ' Wliat spiteful 
 busy bodies they are ! I started to return 
 last evening about half-past nine, but as I 
 passed Baer Hill Colliery I learned that there 
 had been an accident. A man going down 
 the shaft with the night shift had been crushed 
 — hurt beyond help,' the rector continued in 
 a lower voice. ' He wanted to see a clergy- 
 man ; and the other pitmen, some of whom 
 had seen me pass earlier in the day, stopped 
 me and took me to him.' 
 
 ' How sad ! How very sad ! ' she ejacu- 
 lated, her voice low and constrained. Some- 
 how she felt ill at ease with him in this mood. 
 With his last words a kind of veil had fallen 
 between them. 
 
 ' I stayed with him the night,' the rector 
 continued. ' He died at half-past nine this 
 morning. I came straight from that to this. 
 And they say these things of me ! ' 
 
 2
 
 196 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 His voice, though low, was hard, and yet 
 there was a suspicious break in it as he uttered 
 his last words. Injustice touches a man, 
 young and not yet hardened, very sorely ; 
 and he was overwrought. Laura, fingering 
 her little bunch of violets, heard the catch in 
 his voice, and knew that he was not very far 
 from tears. 
 
 She was almost terrified. She longed to 
 respond, to say the proper thing, but here her 
 powers deserted her. She was not capable 
 of much emotion, unless the call especially 
 concerned herself ; and she could not rise to 
 this occasion. She could only murmur again 
 that it was abominable and too bad ; or, 
 taking her cue from the young man's face, 
 say that it was very sad. She said enough, 
 it is true, to satisfy him, though not herself ; 
 for he only wanted a listener. And for the 
 rest, when he went in to lunch, Mrs. Ham- 
 mond more than bore him out in all his
 
 OUT WITH THE SHEEP 197 
 
 denunciations ; so that when he left to go to 
 the schools he had fully made up his mind to 
 carry things through. 
 
 The quarrel indeed did him more injury 
 by throwing him into the arms of the party 
 which his own pleasure and taste led him to 
 prefer, than in any other way. He did not 
 demur when Mrs. Hammond — meaning little 
 evil, but expressing prejudices which at one 
 time she had sedulously cultivated (for when 
 one lives near the town one must take especial 
 care not to be confounded with it) — talked of 
 a set of butchers and bakers, and said, much 
 more strongly than he had, that Mr. Bonamy 
 must be kept in his place. No, he did not 
 demur. Nay, he assented. A little quarrel 
 with the lawyer, a little social relaxation in 
 which the young fellow had lost sight of the 
 excellent intentions with which he had set 
 out, then this final quarrel — such had been 
 the course of events ; sufficient, taken with
 
 198 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 his own fastidiousness and inexperience, to 
 bring him to this, and to make a breach 
 between him and the parish a most probable 
 event. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond, standing at the drawing- 
 room window, watched him as he walked 
 down the short drive. ' I like that young 
 man/ she said decisively. ' He is thrown 
 away upon these people.' 
 
 Her daughter, who had not gone to the 
 schools, yawned. ' He has not one-half the 
 brains of some one else we know, mother,' she 
 answered. 
 
 'Who is that?' 
 
 But Laura did not reply ; and probably 
 her mother understood, for she did not press 
 the question. ' Well,' Mrs. Hammond said, 
 after a moment's silence, ' perhaps he has not. 
 I do not know. But at any rate he is a gen- 
 tleman from the crown of his head to the tips 
 of his toes.'
 
 OUT WITH TUE SHEEP 199 
 
 ' I daresay he is,' Laura admitted lan- 
 guidly, 
 
 Mi*s. Hammond, depositing her portly 
 form in a suitable chair, watched her daughter 
 curiously. She would have given a good deal 
 to be able to read the girl's mind and learn 
 her intentions ; but she was too wise to ask 
 questions, and had always given her the 
 fullest liberty. She had watched the growth 
 of the intimacy between Laura and Mr. Clode 
 without demur, feeling a considerable liking 
 for the man herself, though she scarcely 
 thought him a suitable match for her daughter. 
 On the old rector's death there had seemed 
 for a few days a chance of Mr. Clode being 
 appointed his successor ; and at that time Mrs. 
 Hammond had fancied she detected a shade of 
 anxiety and excitement in Laura's manner. 
 But Clode had not been appointed, and the new 
 rector had come ; and Laura had apparently 
 transferred her favour from the curate to him.
 
 200 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 At this Mrs. Hammond had felt somewhat 
 troubled — at first ; but in a short time she 
 had naturally reconciled her self to the change, 
 the rector's superiority as a parti being indis- 
 putable. Yet still Mrs. Hammond felt no 
 certainty as to Laura's real feelings, and, 
 gazing at her this afternoon, was as much in 
 the dark as ever. That the girl was fond of 
 her she knew ; indeed, it was quite a pretty 
 sight to see the daughter purring about the 
 mother. But Mrs. Hammond was more than 
 half inclined to doubt now whether Laura 
 was fond, or capable of being fond, of any 
 other human being except herself. 
 
 She sighed gently as she thought of this, 
 and rang the bell for tea. ' I think we will 
 have it early this afternoon,' she said. ' I feel 
 I want a cup.'
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 
 
 The anxious feelings with which the curate 
 hastened, on the conckision of his own ser- 
 vice, to learn what had happened at the great 
 church may be imagined. His excitement 
 and curiosity were not the less because he 
 had to hide them. If there really had been 
 no service — if the rector had not appeared — - 
 what a scandal, what a subject for talk was 
 here ! Even if the rector had appeared a 
 little late there would still be whispering ; for 
 new brooms are expected to sweep clean. 
 The curate composed his dark face, and pur- 
 posely made one or two sick calls at houses
 
 202 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 which lay in his road, lest he might seem to 
 ask the question he had to put too pointedly. 
 By the time he reached the rectory he had 
 made up his mind, judging from the absence 
 of stir in the streets, that nothing very unusual 
 had happened. 
 
 ' Is the rector in ? ' he asked the servant. 
 
 ' No, sir ; he has gone to the Town House 
 to dinner,' the girl answered. 
 
 Involuntarily Mr. Clode frowned. ' He 
 was in time for service, I suppose ? ' he asked, 
 more abruptly than he had intended. 
 
 ' Oh yes, sir,' the maid answered readily. 
 She had not been to church, and knew 
 nothing. 
 
 ' Thank you ; that is all,' he answered, 
 turning away. So nothing had come of it 
 after all ! His heart was sick with disap- 
 pointed hope as he turned into his own dull 
 lodgings ; and he felt that the rector in being 
 in time had wronged him afresh, and by
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 20 o 
 
 dining at the Town House had added insult to 
 injury. 
 
 But in the course of the day he learned 
 how late the rector had been ; and early next 
 morning some rumour of the triangular alter- 
 cation in the church porch also reached him 
 — of course in an exaggerated form. As a 
 fact, all Claversham was by this time talking 
 of it, Mr. Bonamy's companions, with one 
 exception, taking good care to make the most 
 of his success, and to paint the rebuff he had 
 administered to the clergyman in the deepest 
 colours. The curate heard the news with a 
 face of grave concern, but with secret deUght ; 
 and, turning over in his mind what use he 
 might make of it, came opportunely upon 
 Gregg as the latter was going his rounds. 
 ' Hallo I ' he cried, speaking so loudly that 
 the doctor, who had turned away and would 
 fain have retreated, could not decently escape, 
 ' you are the very man I wanted to see !
 
 204 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 What is this absurd story about the rector 
 and you ? There is not a word of truth in it, 
 I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure I cannot say until you tell me 
 what it is,' replied the doctor snappishly. He 
 was a little afraid of the curate, who had a 
 knack of being unpleasant without giving an 
 opening in return. 
 
 'Why, you seem rather sore about it,' 
 Clode remarked, with apparent surprise. 
 
 ' I do not know why I should be,' sneered 
 the doctor, his face dark red with anger. 
 
 ' Certainly not, if there is no truth in the 
 story,' the curate replied, looking down with 
 his eyes half shut at the chafing little man. 
 ' But I suppose it is all an invention, Gregg ? ' 
 
 ' It is not an invention that the rector 
 was abominably rude to me,' blurted out the 
 doctor, who scarcely knew with whom to be 
 most angry — his present tormentor or the first 
 cause of his trouble.
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 205 
 
 ' Pooli ! ' said Clode, ' it is only his way.' 
 
 'Then it is a d , I mean, it is a 
 
 most unpleasant way ! ' retorted the doctor 
 savagely. 
 
 ' He means no harm,' said the curate gaily. 
 ' Why did you not answer him back ? ' 
 
 Dr. Gregg's face turned a shade redder. 
 That was where the shoe pinched. Why had 
 he not answered him back, as Bonamy had ; 
 and not stood mute, acknowledging himself 
 the smaller man ? That was what was 
 troubling him now, and making him fancy 
 himself the laughing-stock of the town. ' I 
 will answer him back in a way he will not 
 like ! ' he cried viciously, striving to hide his 
 embarrassment under a show of bluster. 
 
 ' Tut-t-tut ! ' said the curate provokingly, 
 ' do not go and make a fool of yourself by 
 saying things Hke that, when you know you 
 don't mean them, man. What can you say to 
 the rector ? '
 
 206 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 ' I will ask him ' 
 
 But what he would ask the rector was 
 lost to the world, for at that moment Mr. 
 Bonamy, coming down the pavement behind 
 him, touched his sleeve. ' I have just been 
 to your house, doctor,' he said. ' My younger 
 girl is a little out of sorts. Would you mind 
 stepping in and seeing her ? ' 
 
 Gregg swallowed his wrath, and secretly 
 perhaps was thankful for the interruption. 
 He muttered that he would ; and the lawyer 
 turned to Mr. Clode. ' Well,' he said, with a 
 grim geniality, ' so you have made up your 
 minds to fight ? ' 
 
 ' I am not quite sure,' the curate answered 
 with caution — for he knew better than to 
 treat Mr. Bonamy as he treated Gregg ^ — ^ that 
 I take you.' 
 
 ' You have not seen your principal this 
 morning?' replied the lawyer, with a smile 
 which for him was almost benevolent. The
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 207 
 
 prospect of a fight was as the Mountains of 
 Beiilah to him. 
 
 ' Do you mean Mr. Lindo ? ' asked the 
 curate, with some curtness. 
 
 The la^v}^er nodded. ' I see you have not,' 
 he continued. ' So I daresay you do not 
 know that he turned the sheep out of the 
 churchyard after breakfast this morning, and 
 half of them were found nearly a mile away 
 down the Eed Lane ! ' 
 
 ' I did not know it,' said the curate gravely 
 and quietly, though it was as much as he 
 could do to restrain his exultation. It was 
 by a mighty effort he restrained all signs save 
 of concern. 
 
 ' Well, it is the fact,' the lawyer replied, 
 rubbing his hands with every sign of geniality. 
 ' It is quite true he gave the churchwardens 
 notice to remove them a fortnight ago ; but 
 we did not comply, because we say it is our 
 affair and not his. Now you may tell him
 
 208 THE NEW RECTOH 
 
 from me that the only question in my mind is 
 the form of action.' 
 
 'I will tell him,' said the curate with 
 dignity. 
 
 ' Just so ! What do you say, Gregg ? ' 
 
 But the doctor, grinning from ear to ear 
 with satisfaction, was gone ; and the curate, 
 not a whit less pleased in his heart, hastened 
 to follow his example, and march off down 
 the street. ' Bonamy one, and Gregg two,' he 
 said softly to himself, ' and last, but not least, 
 one who shall be nameless, three ! He has 
 made three enemies already, and if those be 
 not enough, with right on their side, to oust 
 him from his seat when the time comes, why, 
 I know nothing of odds ! ' 
 
 'With right on their side,' the curate said, 
 even to himself It is true, he had made no 
 second attempt to pry into tlie rector's secrets 
 or to bring home to him a knowledge of the 
 wrongfulness of his possession. But he did
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 209 
 
 still believe, or persuaded himself he believed, 
 that Lindo was a guilty man ; or why should 
 the young rector pension the old earl's 
 servant ? On this ground Clode justified to 
 himself the secret ill-turns he was doing him. 
 A month's intimacy with the rector would 
 probably have convinced an impartial mind 
 of his good faith. But the curate had not, it 
 must be remembered, an impartial mind ; and 
 we are all very apt to believe what suits us. 
 
 To return to the little doctor, whom we 
 left going on his way in a mood almost 
 hilarious. He saw with joy that this fresh 
 escapade of the rector's would wipe out the 
 memory of the fray in which he had himself 
 borne so inglorious a part. And the more he 
 thought of the rector's difficulties, the greater 
 was his admiration of the lawyer, whom he 
 had long patronised in a timid fashion, mucli 
 as a snu])-nosed King Charlie patronises a 
 butcher's mongrel. Now he began to feel a 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE WEW RECTOR 
 
 positive reverence for him. He began to 
 think it possible that, with all his drawbacks 
 of birth, Mr. Bonamy might become a person- 
 age in the town, and pretty Kate not so bad 
 a match. These musings quickly had their 
 effect on a mind already prepared to receive 
 them favourably ; so quickly that, by the time 
 he reached the lawyer's door, an idea which 
 he had first entertained on seeing the young 
 clergyman's admiration for Kate Bonamy, and 
 which he had since turned over more than 
 once in his mind, had become a settled pur- 
 pose. So much so that, as he rang the bell, 
 he looked at his hands. They were not 
 gloved, nor were they so clean as they might 
 have been, but he pished and pshawed, and 
 settled his light-blue scarf — which the next 
 minute rose again to the level of his collar — 
 and at length went in with a briskly juvenile 
 air and an engaging smile. 
 
 He found Daintry lying on the sofa in the
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 211 
 
 dining-room, her head on a white bed-pillow. 
 Kate was leaning over her. The room was in 
 some disorder — Uttered with this and that, a 
 bottle of eau de Cologne, Mr. Bonamy's papers, 
 some books, some sewing ; but it looked com- 
 fortable, for it was very evidently inhabited. 
 A fastidious eye might have thought it was 
 too much inhabited ; and yet proofs of refine- 
 ment were not wanting, though the sofa was 
 covered with horsehair, and the mirror was 
 heavy and ugly, and the grate, knee-high, was 
 as old as the Georges. There were flowers on 
 the table and on the little cottage piano ; and 
 by the side of the last was a violin-case. Not 
 many people in Claversham knew that Mr. 
 Bonamy played the violin. Still fewer had 
 heard him play, for he never did so out of his 
 own house. 
 
 Possibly a very particular suitor might 
 have preferred to find Kate attending on her 
 sister in a boudoir, or at least in a room free 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 from a lawyer's papers, furnislied in a less 
 solid and durable style, and with some livelier 
 look-out than through wire blinds upon a dull 
 street. But another might have thought that 
 the office in which she was engaged, and the 
 gentleness of her touch and eye as she went 
 about it, made up for all deficiencies. 
 
 Dr. Grregg was not of a nature to appre- 
 ciate either the deficiencies or the set-off; but 
 he had eyes for the girl's grace and beauty, 
 for the neatness of the well-fitting blue gown 
 and the white collar and cuffs ; and he shook 
 hands with her and devoted himself to Daintry 
 — who disliked him extremely and was very 
 fractious — ^with the most anxious solicitude. 
 ' It is only a sick headache ! ' he said finally, 
 with bluntness which was meant for en- 
 couragement. ' It is. nothing, you know.' 
 
 ' I wish you had it, then ! ' Daintry wailed, 
 burying her face in the pillow. 
 
 ' It will be gone in the morning ! ' he
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 213 
 
 retorted, rising and keeping his temper by 
 an unnatural effort. ' She will be the better 
 for it afterwards, Miss Bonamy.' 
 
 To this Daintry vouchsafed no answer, 
 unless a muttered ' Eubbish ! ' were intended 
 for one. He affected not to hear it. He was 
 all good -temper this morning ; the unfortu- 
 nate point about this being that his good- 
 nature was a shade more unpleasant than his 
 usual snappish manner. 
 
 At any rate Kate thought it so. She felt 
 the instinctive repulsion which the wrong 
 man's wooing awakens in an unspoiled girl. 
 She was conscious of an added dislike for him 
 as she held out her hand to him at the dininor- 
 room door. But she did not, divine the cause 
 of this ; nor for a moment conjecture his 
 purpose when he said in a low voice that he 
 wished to speak to her outside. 
 
 ' May we go in here a moment ? ' he 
 muttered, when the door was safely closed
 
 214 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 behind them. He pointed to the room on the 
 other side of the hall, which Mr. Bonamy used 
 in summer as a kind of office. 
 
 ' There is no fire there,' Kate answered. 
 ' I think it has been lighted upstairs, however, 
 if you do not mind coming up, Dr. Gregg. 
 Is there anything ' — this was when he had 
 silently followed her into the stiff drawing- 
 room, where the newly lit fire was rather 
 smoking than burning — ' serious the matter 
 with her, then ? ' 
 
 Her voice was steady, but her eyes be- 
 trayed the sudden anxiety his manner had 
 aroused in her. 
 
 ' With your sister ? ' he answered slowly. 
 He was really pondering how he should say 
 what he had come to say. But, naturally, 
 she set down his thoughtfulness to a profes- 
 sional cause. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said anxiously. 
 
 ' Oh, no — nothing, nothing. The truth is,'
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 215 
 
 the doctor continued, following up a happy 
 thought and smiling approval of it, ' the 
 matter is with me, Miss Bonamy.' 
 
 ' With you ! ' Kate exclaimed, opening her 
 eyes in astonishment. Her momentary anxiety 
 had put all else out of her head. She thought 
 the doctor had gone mad. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said jerkily, but with a grin of 
 tender meaning. ' With me. And you are 
 tlie cause of it. Now do not be frightened. 
 Miss Kate,' he continued hastily, seeing her 
 start of apprehension ; ' you must have known 
 for a long time what I was thinking of 
 
 ' Indeed I have not,' Kate murmured in a 
 low voice. Slie did not affect to misunder- 
 stand him now. 
 
 ' Well, you easily might have known it 
 then,' he retorted rather sharply, forgetting 
 his role for an instant. ' But the long and the 
 short of it is that I want you to marry me. 
 I do ! ' he repeated, overcoming something
 
 216 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 in his throat, and going on from this point 
 swimmingly. 'And you will please to hear 
 me out, and not answer in a hurry, Miss Kate. 
 If you like — but I should not think that you 
 would want it — you can have until to-morrow 
 to think it over.' 
 
 'No,' she replied impulsively, her face 
 crimson. And then she shut her mouth so 
 suddenly, it seemed she was afraid to let 
 anything escape it except that unmistakable 
 monosyllable. 
 
 ' Yery well,' he replied, comfortably set- 
 tling his elbow upon the mantelshelf, and 
 turning his hat in his hands, while he kept his 
 eyes on her, ' that is as you like. I hope it 
 does not want much thinking over myself. I 
 will not boast that I am a rich man, but I am 
 decently off. I flatter myself that I can keep 
 my head above water — and yours, too, for the 
 matter of that.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is not that,' she answered hurriedly.
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 217 
 
 'Now, do not be in a hurry,' he said jocu- 
 larly — his last remarks had put him into a 
 state of considerable self-satisfaction, and he 
 no more tliought it likely that she would 
 refuse him than that the sky would fall — ' do 
 not buy a pig in a poke ! Hear me out first, 
 Lliss Kate, and we shall start fair. You have 
 been in my house, and, if it is not quite so 
 large a house as this, I will answer for it you 
 will find it a great deal more lively. You will 
 see people you have never seen here, nor will 
 see while your name is Bonamy. You will 
 have — well, altogether a better time. Not 
 that I mind myself,' the doctor added rather 
 vaguely, forgetting the French proverb about 
 those who excuse themselves, ' what your 
 name is, not I ! So don't you think you could 
 say Yes at once, my dear ? ' 
 
 He took a step nearer, thinking he had 
 put it rather neatly and without any non- 
 sense. Possibly, from his point of view, he
 
 218 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 had. But Kate fell back, nevertheless, as he 
 advanced. 
 
 'Oh, no,' she said, flushing painfully. 
 ' I could not ! I could not indeed, Dr. Gregg ! 
 I am very sorry.' 
 
 ' Come, come,' he said, holding out his 
 hand, his tone one of pleasant raillery — he 
 had looked for some hanging back, some show 
 of coyness and bashfulness, and was prepared 
 to laugh in his sleeve at it — ' I think you can, 
 Kate. I think it is possible.' That it was in 
 woman's nature to say No to his comfortable 
 home and the little lift in society he had to 
 offer — it is only little lifts we appreciate, just 
 up the next floor above us — he did not 
 believe. 
 
 But Kate soon undeceived him. ' I am 
 afraid it is not possible,' she said firmly. 
 ' Indeed, I may say at once. Dr. Gregg, that 
 what you ask is out of the question ; though 
 I thank you, I am sure.'
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 219 
 
 His face fell ludicrously. His thick black 
 brows drew together in a very ominous 
 fashion. But he still could not believe that 
 she meant it. ' I do not think you under- 
 stand,' he said, exerting himself to be patient, 
 ' that the house is ready, and the furniture 
 and servants, and that there is nothing to 
 prevent you stepping into it in whenever you 
 please. I will take you away from this,' he 
 continued, darting a scornful glance round the 
 stiff chilly room — ' I do not suppose that ten 
 people enter this room in the twelvemonth — 
 and I will show you something like life. It is 
 an offer not many would make you. Come, 
 Kate, do not be a little fool! You are not 
 going to say No, so say Yes at once. And 
 don't let us shilly-shally ! ' 
 
 He had put out his hand as he spoke and 
 captured hers. But she snatched it from him 
 again almost roughly, and stepped back. The 
 right man might have used the words the
 
 220 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 doctor used, and might have scolded her with 
 impunity, but not the wrong one. Her face, 
 perplexed and troubled a moment before, 
 grew decided enough now. ' I am going to 
 say No, nevertheless. Dr. Gregg,' she replied, 
 raising her head and speaking with decision. 
 ' I thought I had already said it. I will be as 
 plain as you have been. I do not like you as 
 a wife should like her husband, nor otherwise 
 than as a friend.' 
 
 ' A friend ! ' he exclaimed, gasping as a 
 man does who has been plunged suddenly 
 into cold water. His face was red with 
 anger. His little whiskers bristled. His 
 black eyes glared at her banefully. ' Oh, 
 bother your friendship ! ' he added violently. 
 ' I did not ask you for that ! ' 
 
 ' I have nothing else to give you,' she 
 replied coldly. 
 
 He gasped again. Eefused by the Bonamy 
 girl ! It was incredible. He had never
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 221 
 
 thought of it as possible. He was beside 
 himself with astonishment and anger, with 
 disappointment and wounded pride. 'You 
 would not have said this a month ago ! ' he 
 sputtered at last. 'It was a pity I did not 
 ask you then ! ' 
 
 'I should have given you the same 
 answer.' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' he replied with savage irony, 
 swinging his hat to and fro. ' Oh, no, you 
 would not — not at all, Miss Bonaniy. You 
 would have sung to a very different tune if I 
 had whistled to you before this niminy-piminy 
 parson showed his face here ! Do not think 
 that I am such a fool as not to see which way 
 the wind is blowing.' 
 
 She stood looking at him in silence. But 
 her face was scarlet, and her hand shook with 
 rage. 
 
 He saw it. 'Pooh! do not think to 
 frighten me ! ' he said coarsely. ' When a
 
 222 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 man has offered to marry you he has a right 
 to speak his mind ! It will be a long time, I 
 warrant you, before your parson will have the 
 same right to speak. He was very great with 
 you once, but he has quite another set of 
 friends now, and I have not heard of him 
 offering to introduce you to them.' 
 
 ' Will you go. Dr. Gregg ? ' she cried 
 passionately, pointing to the door. His 
 taunts were torture to her, his every look 
 an insult. ' Will you go, or do you wish to 
 stay and insult me farther ? ' 
 
 ' I wish to say one thing, and I am going 
 to say it,' he replied, nodding triumphantly. 
 ' You are pretty proud of your capture, but 
 you need not be. He will not be much of a 
 match when we have stripped him of the 
 living he has no right to, and proved him the 
 detected swindler he is ! Wait ! Wait a little, 
 Miss Bonamy, and when your parson is ruined, 
 as he will be before three months are out,
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 223 
 
 high as he holds his liead now, jDerhaps you 
 will be sorry that you did not take my offer. 
 Why/ he added scornfully, ' I should say you 
 are the only person in the parish who does 
 not know he has no more right to be where he 
 is than I have.' 
 
 ' Go ! ' she said, pointing to tlie door. 
 Her face was white now. 
 
 ' So I will when I have said one more 
 word ' 
 
 'You won't say it! ' a sharp voice cried 
 behind him. ' You will go now ! ' 
 
 He shot round, and there was Daintry 
 with her hand on the door. Her hair was 
 in disorder, her cheeks were flushed, her 
 greenish-grey eyes were aglow with anger. 
 He saw that she had overheard something of 
 what had passed, and he began to tremble, 
 for he had said more than he intended. 
 'You will go now, as Kate tells you,' she 
 cried. ' I will not have '
 
 224 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 'Leave the room, child!' he snarled, 
 stamping his foot. 
 
 ' I shan't ! ' she retorted fiercely. ' And 
 if you do not go before I count three I will 
 fetch the dogs.' 
 
 Dr. Gregg made a movement as if he 
 would have put her out of the room. But 
 her presence had a little sobered him, and he 
 stopped. ' Look here,' he said. 
 
 ' One ! ' cried Daintry, who knew well 
 that the doctor had a particular dislike for 
 Snorum, and that the dog's presence was at 
 any time enough to drive him from the 
 house. 
 
 He turned and looked at Kate. She had 
 gone to the window and was gazing out, her 
 back to him, her figure proud and scornful. 
 ' Miss Bonamy,' he said. 
 
 ' Two ! ' cried Daintry. ' Are you going, 
 or shall I fetch Snorum ? ' 
 
 With a muttered oath he took up his hat
 
 THE DOCTOR SPEAKS 225 
 
 and went down the stairs. He passed out 
 into the street. Near the door he stood a 
 moment, grinding his teeth, as the full sense 
 of the calamity which had befallen him came 
 home to him. He had stooped and been 
 rejected. He had been rejected by Bonamy's 
 daughter. He walked away, and still his 
 anger did not decrease. But all the same he 
 began to be a little thankful that the child 
 had interrupted him. Had he gone on he 
 might have said too much. As it was, he had 
 an idea that perhaps he had said more than 
 was quite prudent. And this had presently a 
 wonderful effect in the way of sobering him. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 226 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 CHAPTEE XII 
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 
 
 Needless to say, tea-time at Mr. Bonamy's 
 was half-past five ; the lawyer knew nothing 
 of four o'clock tea. He would have stared 
 had he been invited into the drawing-room to 
 take it, or had his daughters produced one of 
 those dainty afternoon tea-tables which were 
 in use at the Town House, and asked him to 
 support his cup and saucer on his knee. 
 Compromises found no favour with him. Tea 
 was a meal — he had always so considered it ; 
 and he liked to have the dining-room table 
 laid for it. Possibly Kate, had she enjoyed 
 more of her own way, would have altered 
 this, as she would certainly have reformed
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 227 
 
 the drawing-room. But Mr. Bonamy, who 
 was in many things an indulgent father, was 
 conservative in some. Four o'clock tea, and 
 a daily use of the drawing-room, were refine- 
 ments which he had always regarded as 
 peculiar to a certain class ; and in his pride 
 he would not appear to ape its ways or affect 
 to belong to it. 
 
 Almost to the moment he came into the 
 room, which was as bright and cheerful as 
 gaslight and firelight could make it. Laying 
 some letters under a weiglit on the mantel- 
 shelf, he turned round, and stood with his 
 back to the fireplace. ' How is the child ? ' 
 he asked. ' Has she gone to bed ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' Kate answered, hfting the lid of the 
 teapot and looking in, ' I think she will be all 
 light after a niglit's rest.' 
 
 ' You do not look very bright yourself, 
 Kate,' he continued, as he sat down. 
 
 Her cheek flushing, she made the old 
 
 ft 2
 
 228 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 old woman's excuse. ' I have a little head- 
 ache,' she said. ' It will be better when I have 
 had my tea.* 
 
 He took a piece of toast and buttered it 
 deliberately. ' Gl^i'egg came and saw her ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 ' Yes. He said it was only a sick headache, 
 and would pass off.' 
 
 The lawyer made no comment at the 
 moment, but went on eating his toast. But 
 presently he looked up. ' What is the matter, 
 Kitty?' he said, not unkindly. 
 
 Her face burning, she peered again quite 
 unnecessarily into the teapot. Then she said 
 hurriedly, ' I have something I think I ought 
 to tell you, father. Dr. Gregg has asked me 
 — to marry him ! ' 
 
 ' The deuce he has ! ' Mr. Bonamy an- 
 swered. His surprise waf5 unmistakeable. 
 For a moment he did not know what to say, 
 or how to feel about it. If any one had
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 229 
 
 informed the Claversham people tliat the 
 lawyer's moroseness was not natural to tlie 
 man, but the product of many slights, the 
 informant would have lost his pains. Yet in 
 a great measure this was so ; and first among 
 the things which of late 3'ears had exercised 
 Mr. Bonam}^ a keen anxiety for his daughters' 
 happiness had place. He had never made 
 any move towards procuring them the society 
 of their equals ; nay, he had done many 
 things in his pride calculated rather to pro- 
 long their exclusion. Yet all the time lie had 
 bitterly resented it, and had spent many a 
 wakeful night in pondering gloomily over the 
 dull lives to which they were condemned. 
 Now — strange that he had never thought of 
 it before — as far as Kate was concerned, he 
 saw a way of escape opening. Gregg had a 
 fair practice, some private means, a good 
 house, a tolerable position in the town. In 
 a word, he was perfectly eligible. Yet Mr.
 
 230 THE Is^EW RECTOR 
 
 Bonamy was not altogether pleased. He had 
 no fastidious objection to the doctor. It did 
 not occur to him that the doctor was not a 
 gentleman. But he did know that he did not 
 like him. 
 
 So the lawyer, after one exclamation of 
 surprise, was for a moment silent. Then he 
 asked, ' Well, Kate, and what did you say ? ' 
 
 ' I said No,' Kate answered in a low 
 voice. 
 
 ' He is a well-to-do man,' Mr. Bonamy 
 remarked, slowly stirring his tea. ' Not that 
 you need think of that only. But you are 
 not likely to know many people who could 
 make you more comfortable. I believe he is 
 skilful in his profession. It is a chance, my 
 girl, not to be lightly thrown away.' 
 
 'I could not — ^I could not marry him,' 
 Kate stammered, her agitation now very 
 apparent. 'I do not like him. You would 
 not have me '
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 231 
 
 ' I would not have you marry any one you 
 do not like ! ' Mr. Bonamy replied, almost 
 sternly. ' But are you sure that you know 
 your own mind ? ' 
 
 ' Quite,' Kate said, with a shudder. 
 
 ' Hum ! Well, well ; there is no more to 
 be said, then,' he answered. ' Don't cry, girl.' 
 
 Kate managed to obey him. And in a 
 moment, bravely steadying her voice, she 
 asked, ' What is this about Mr. Lindo, father ? 
 I heard that he had turned the sheep out of 
 the churchyard.' 
 
 The lawyer thought she asked the ques- 
 tion in order to change the subject ; and he 
 answered briskly, with less reserve perhaps 
 than he might have practised at another time. 
 'It is quite true,' he said. 'He is making a 
 fool of himself, as I expected. You cannot 
 put old heads oq young shoulders. However, 
 what has happened has convinced me of one 
 thinf^.'
 
 232 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 ' What is that ? ' she asked in a low voice. 
 
 ' That he does not know himself that he 
 has no right here.' 
 
 ' No right here ? ' she murmured, in the 
 same tone. ' But has he none ? ' Her father 
 noticed that her manner was conscious and 
 embarrassed ; but naturally he set this down 
 to the former topic. He thought she was 
 trying to avoid a scene, and he admired her 
 for it. 
 
 'Well, I doubt if he has,' he answered, 
 ' though I am not quite sure that people have 
 not happened upon a mare's nest. It is the talk 
 of the town that there was some mistake in his 
 presentation, and there is a disreputable fellow 
 hanging on his heels, and apparently living on 
 him, who is said to be in the secret, and to be 
 making the most of it. I do not believe this 
 last, however,' the lawyer continued, falling 
 into a brown study and speaking as much to 
 himself as to her. ' For if he knew he were
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGEATEFUL 283 
 
 insecure lie would live more quietly than lie 
 does. All the same, he is likely to learn a 
 lesson he will not forget.' 
 
 ' How ? ' she asked, her spoon tinkling 
 tremulously against the side of the cup, and 
 her head bent low over it, as though she saw 
 something interesting in the lees. 
 
 Mr. Bonamy laughed in his out-of-door 
 manner. ' How ? ' he said grimly. ' Well, if 
 there be any mistake he is going the right 
 way to suffer by it. If he kept quiet, and 
 went softly, and made no enemies, very little 
 might be said and nothing done when the 
 mistake came out. But as it is — well, he has 
 made a good many enemies, and the chances 
 are that he will lose the best berth he will 
 ever get into. It will be bad for him, but the 
 better for the parish.' 
 
 ' Don't you think,' said Kate very gently, 
 ' that he means well, papa ? ' 
 
 Mr. Bonamy grunted. ' Perhaps so, but
 
 234 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 he does not go the right way to do it,' he 
 rejoined. 'His good fortune has turned his 
 head, and he has put himself into the hands 
 of the Hammond set. And that does not do 
 at Claversham.' The lawyer closed his speech 
 with a harsh laugh, which said more plainly 
 than any words, that it never would do while 
 John Bonamy was churchwarden at Claver- 
 sham. 
 
 ' It seems a pity,' Kate ventured, almost 
 under her breath. She had never raised her 
 eyes from the tea-tray since the subject was 
 introduced, and if her father had looked 
 closely he would have seen that her very ears 
 were scarlet. ' Could you not give him a 
 word of warning ? ' 
 
 ' I ! ' said the lawyer, with asperity. 
 ' Certainly not ; why should I ? What busi- 
 ness is it of mine ? ' 
 
 Kate did not say, and her father, with 
 another impatient word or two, rose from the
 
 THE KECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 235 
 
 table, and presently went out. She rang the 
 bell mechanically and had the table cleared, 
 and in the same mood turned to the fire and, 
 putting her feet on the fender, began to brood 
 over the coals, which were burning red and 
 low in the grate. 
 
 Five times — five times only, counting the 
 Oxford escapade as one, she had spoken to 
 him; and they — 'they' meant Claversham, 
 for it was her chief misery to believe that the 
 whole town was talking of her — had made 
 this of it ! They had noticed his attentions, 
 and had seen them scornfully withdrawn 
 when he learned who she was. Oh, it was 
 cowardly of him. And yet, had he ever — 
 had he really ever said a word or cast a 
 glance at her which meant anything — which 
 all the world might not have heard and seen ? 
 No, never, never, as far as she could re- 
 member. And then her an^^er chancred its 
 course and ran against Gregj?. She felt that
 
 286 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 she could never forgive him. It was his evil 
 imagination, his base suspicions, w^hich had 
 built it all up ; and Mr. Lindo was no more 
 to blame — though she a httle despised him 
 for his weakness and conventionality— than 
 she w^as herself. 
 
 It seemed most sad that he should be 
 ruined because no one would say a word to 
 warn him. Brooding over the fire, she felt a 
 girl's pity for the man's ill-fortune. She for- 
 got the last month, during which she had 
 spoken to him but once — and then he had 
 seemed embarrassed and anxious to be gone 
 — and remembered only how frank and gay 
 he had been in the first blush of his hopes at 
 Oxford, how pleasantly he had smiled, how 
 w^ell and yet how quaintly his new dignity 
 had sat upon him, and how naively he had 
 shaken it off at times and shown himself a 
 boy, witli a boy's love of fun and mischief. 
 Or, again, she remembered how thouglitful
 
 THE EECTOR IS UXGRATEFUL 2o7 
 
 he had been for them, how considei'ate, how 
 much at home in scenes new to them, with 
 how lordly an air he liad provided for their 
 comfort. Oh, it was a pity — a grievous 
 pity, that his hopes should end in such a 
 disaster as Mr. Bonamy foretold ! And all 
 because no one would say a friendly word to 
 him ! 
 
 The next day was a wet day — a sleety, 
 blusterous winter day, and she did not go 
 out. But on the following one, as the rector 
 crossed the churchyard after reading the 
 Litany, he saw Miss Bonamy passing his 
 door. He fancied, with a little astonishment 
 — for she had constantly evinced the same 
 avoidance of intimacy with him which had at 
 first piqued him — that, on seeing him, she 
 slightly checked her pace so as to meet him. 
 And, to tell the truth, the rector was half 
 pleased and half annoyed. He had hardened 
 his heart and set his face to crush Mr.
 
 238 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 Bonamy. He had in his pocket a letter from 
 the lawyer, warning him that, unless he 
 altered his course, a writ would be served 
 upon him. And a dozen times to-day he had 
 in his mind called the churchwarden hard 
 names. Yet he was not absolutely ill pleased 
 to see Miss Bonamy. He felt a certain 
 excitement in the rencontre under the cir- 
 cumstances. He would meet her magnani- 
 mously ; and of course she would ignore the 
 quarrel. He hated Mr. Bonamy for a puri- 
 tanical old pettifogger ; but that was no 
 reason why he should be rude to the lawyer's 
 daughter. 
 
 He saw, when he was a few paces from 
 her and had raised his hat, that her face 
 expressed more embarrassment than seemed 
 to be called for by tlie occasion. And natur- 
 ally this communicated itself to him. 'I 
 have not seen you for a long time,' he said 
 mechanically, as he shook hands. Perhaps
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 289 
 
 the worst thing he could have said under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 She assented, however. ' No,' she said, 
 sloping her umbrella behind her so as to keep 
 off the wind and a half-frozen drizzle with 
 which it was laden. And, as she did tliis, 
 her eyes met his gallantly. 'But I am glad, 
 Mr. Lindo,' she went on, ' that I have met 
 you to-day, because I have something I want 
 to say to you.' 
 
 On the instant he vowed within himself 
 that it would be in bad taste, in the worst 
 taste, if slie referred to the quarrel or to 
 parish matters. And he answered very 
 frigidly, ' What is that, Miss Bonamy ? Pray 
 speak on.' 
 
 She detected the change of tone, and for 
 a second her grey eyes flashed. But she had 
 come to say something. She had counted the 
 cost, and nothing he could do should prevent 
 her saying it. She had lain awake all night,
 
 240 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 torturing herself with imagining the things he 
 would think of her. But she was not to be 
 deterred by the reaUty. 'Do you know, Mr. 
 Lindo,' she said steadily, ' what is being said 
 of you in the town ? ' 
 
 ' A good many hard things,' he answered 
 half hghtly and half bitterly. 'So I have 
 reason to believe. But I do not think that 
 they will affect me one way or the other, Miss 
 Bonamy.' 
 
 ' And so,' she answered, with spirit, ' you 
 will not thank any one for telling you of 
 them ? That is what you mean ? ' 
 
 He was very sore, and her interference 
 annoyed him excessively — possibly because he 
 valued her good opinion. He would not 
 deny the feeling she imputed to him. ' Pos- 
 sibly I do mean something of that kind,' he 
 said stiffly. ' Where ignorance is bliss — you 
 know.' 
 
 'Yet there is one thing,' she replied,
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 241 
 
 ' being said of you in the town, which I 
 tliink you should be told, Mr. lindo. Your 
 friends probably Avill not hear it, or, if 
 tliey do, they will not venture to tell you 
 of it.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' he answered. ' You pique my 
 curiosity.' 
 
 ' It is being commonly said,' she rejoined, 
 looking down for the first time, ' that you 
 have no right to the living, and were ap- 
 pointed by some mistake, or — or fraud.' 
 
 He did not answer her at once. He was 
 so completely taken b}" surprise that he stood 
 looking at her with his mouth open. His 
 first and better impulse was to laugh heartily. 
 His second, and the one he acted upon, was 
 to say in a very quiet way, ' Indeed ! That is 
 being said, is it ? It is quite true I had not 
 heard it. May I ask. Miss Bonamy, if you 
 had it from your father ? ' 
 
 If his tone had been cold before, it was 
 
 VOL. L R
 
 242 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 freezing now. But she was not to be daunted, 
 and she answered with presence of mind, ' I 
 heard from my father that that was the 
 report in the town, Mr. Lindo. But I also 
 heard him express his disbehef in the greater 
 part of it.' 
 
 ' I am much obliged to him,' the rector 
 said through his closed teeth. ' He did not 
 think I had been guilty of fraud, then? ' 
 
 ' No, he did not,' Kate muttered, her voice 
 faltering for the first time. 
 
 ' Indeed. I am much obliged to him.' 
 He had received it even worse than she 
 had expected. It was terrible to go on in 
 the face of such scorn and incredulity. But 
 to stop there was to have done only evil, as 
 Kate knew, and she went on. ' I have one 
 more thing I wish to say, if you will permit 
 me,' she continued, steadying her voice ahd 
 striving to speak in as indifferent a manner as 
 possible.
 
 Tin: RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 243 
 
 He bowed, his face hard and con- 
 temptuous. 
 
 The wind had shifted shghtly, and, to 
 protect herself from the small rain which was 
 falling, she changed her position, so as to face 
 the churchyard. He saw only her profile 
 now. If he looked proud, involuntarily he 
 remarked how proud she looked also — how 
 pure and cold was the line of her features, 
 softened only by the roundness of the chin. ' I 
 am told,' she said in a low voice, ' that the 
 fewer enemies you make, and the more 
 quietly you proceed, the greater will be the 
 chance of your remaining when the mistake is 
 found out. Pray,' she said more sharply, for 
 he had raised his hand, as if to interrupt, 
 ' have patience for a moment, Mr. Lindo. I 
 shall not trouble you again. I only wish you 
 to know that those w^ho have cause to dis- 
 like you — I do not mean my father, there 
 are others — feel that you are playing into 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 their hands, and consider every disagreement 
 between you and any part of the parish as a 
 weapon to be used when the time comes.' 
 
 ' When the mistake is found out ? ' he said, 
 grimly repeating her words. ' Or the fraud ? 
 But I forgot — Mr. Bonamy does not beheve 
 in that ! ' 
 
 ' You understand me, I think,' she said, 
 ignoring the latter part of his speech. 
 
 ' And may I ask,' he continued, his eyes on 
 her face, ' who my ill-wishers are ? ' 
 
 ' I do not think their names are material,' 
 she answered. 
 
 ' Then, at least, why I am indebted to you 
 for this warning ? ' 
 
 His tone as he asked the question was as 
 contemptuous as before. Yet Kate felt that 
 this she must answer. To refuse to answer it, 
 or to evade it, would be to lay herself open to 
 surmises of all kinds. 
 
 ' I thought it a pity that you should fall
 
 THE RECTOR IS UNGRATEFUL 245 
 
 into a trap unwarned,' she answered, looking 
 steadily away at the yew-trees. 'And it 
 seemed to me that, for several reasons, your 
 friends were not likely to warn you.' 
 
 ' There, I quite agree with you,' he re- 
 torted quickly. * My friends would not have 
 believed the story.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' she said, outwardly un- 
 moved. 
 
 ' I am astonished that you did ! I am 
 astonished that you should have believed any- 
 thing so absurd. Miss Bonamy ! ' he said, look- 
 ing at her severely. And then he stopped, for 
 at that moment, as it happened, two people 
 came round the flank of tlie church. The one 
 was the curate ; the other was Dr. Greyer, 
 Kate looked at them, and her face flamed. 
 The rector looked, and felt only rehef. They 
 would afford him an excuse to be cfone. 
 ' Ah, there is Mr. Clode,' he said, lapsing into 
 cool indifference. ' I was just looking for him.
 
 246 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 I thiok, if you will excuse me, Miss Bonamy, 
 I will seize the opportunity of speaking to him 
 now.' And raising his hat w^ith a formality 
 which the doctor took to be a pretence and a 
 sham, he left her and walked across to them.
 
 247 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 Laura's proviso 
 
 When a mine has been laid, and the fuse ht, 
 and the tiny thread of smoke has begun to 
 curl upward, it is apt to seem a long time — so 
 I am told by those who have stood and 
 watched such things — before the stones and 
 earth fly into the air. So it seemed to 
 Stephen Clode. The curate looked to see an 
 explosion follow immediately upon the rector 
 taking the decisive step of turning out the 
 sheep. But week after week elapsed, until 
 Christmas was some time gone, and nothing 
 happened. Mr. Bonamy, with a lawyer's 
 prudence, wrote another letter, and for a 
 w^hile, perhaps out of regard to the season,
 
 248 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 held his hand. There was talk of Lord 
 Dynmore's return, but no sign of it as yet. 
 And Dr. Gregg snapped and snarled among 
 his intimates, but in public was pretty quiet. 
 
 It was noticeable, however, that the rector 
 was invited to none of the whist-parties which 
 were a feature of the town life at this season ; 
 and to those who looked closely into things 
 and listened to the gossip of the place it was 
 plain that the breach between him and the 
 bulk of his parishioners was growing wider. 
 The rector was much with the Hammonds, 
 and carried his head high — higher than ever, 
 one of his parishioners thought, since a talk 
 she had had with him in the churchyard. 
 The habit of looking down upon a certain 
 section of the town, because they were not 
 quite so refined as himself, because they were 
 narrow in their opinions, or because the 
 Hammonds looked down upon them, was 
 growing upon him. And he yielded to it
 
 Laura's proviso 249 
 
 none tlie less because he was all the time dis- 
 satisfied with himself. He was conscious that 
 he was not acting up to the standard he had 
 set himself on coming to the town. He was 
 not living the life he had hoped to live. He 
 visited his poor and gave almost too largely in 
 the hard weather, and was diligent at services 
 and sermon-writing. But there was a flaw in 
 his life, and he knew it ; and yet he had not 
 the strength to set it right. 
 
 All this Mr. Clode mic^ht have observed — 
 he was sagacious enough. But for the time 
 his judgment was clouded by his jealousy, and 
 in his impatience he fancied that the rector's 
 troubles were passing away. Each visit 
 Lindo paid to the Town House, each time his 
 name was coupled with Laura Hammond's, as 
 people were beginning to couple it, chafed 
 the curate's sore afresh and kept it raw. So 
 much so that even Stephen Clode's self- 
 restraint and command of temper began to fail
 
 250 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 him ; and more than once he said sharp 
 things to his commanding-officer, which made 
 Lindo open his eyes in unaffected surprise. 
 
 Clode began to feel indeed that the posi- 
 tion was becoming intolerable ; and though 
 he had long ago determined that the waiting- 
 game was the one he ought to play, he pre- 
 sently — in the first week of the new year — 
 changed his mind. 
 
 Lindo had announced his intention of de- 
 voting the afternoon — it was Wednesday — to 
 his district ; and, taking advantage of this, the 
 curate thought he might indulge himself in a 
 call at the Town House without fear of un- 
 pleasant interruption. He would not admit 
 that he had any other motive in going there 
 than just to pay a visit ; which he certainly 
 owed. But in truth he was in a dangerous 
 humour. And, alas, when he had been 
 ushered along the thickly carpeted passage 
 and entered the drawing-room, there, comfort-
 
 Laura's proviso 251 
 
 ably seated in the half-light before the fire, 
 the tea-things gleaming beside them, were 
 Laura and the rector ! 
 
 The curate's face grew dark. He almost 
 felt that Lindo, who had really been driven in 
 by the rain, had betrayed him ; and he shook 
 hands with Laura and sat down in complete 
 silence, unable to trust himself to answer the 
 rector's cheery greeting by so much as a 
 word. It was all he could do to say ' Thank 
 you,' when Miss Hammond asked him if he 
 would take tea. She, of course, saw that 
 something was amiss, and felt not a little awk- 
 ward between her two friends. The rector 
 alone of the party remained ignorant and at his 
 ease. He saw nothing, and went on talking. 
 It was the best thing he could have done, 
 only, unfortunately, he had to do with a man 
 whom nothing in his present mood could 
 please. 
 
 ' I am glad you have turned up at this
 
 252 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 particular moment,' he said. Tor I want 
 your opinion. Miss Hammond says that I am 
 pauperising the town by giving too much 
 away.' 
 
 ' If you are half as generous at our bazaar 
 on the lOth,' she retorted, ' you will do twice 
 as much good.' 
 
 ' Or half as much evil ! ' he said lightly. 
 
 ' Have it that way if you like.' she answered, 
 laughing. 
 
 The curate set his teeth together in im- 
 potent rage. They were so easy, so uncon- 
 strained, on such excellent terms with one 
 another. When Laura, who was secretly 
 quaking, held out the toast to him and let her 
 eyes dwell for an instant on his, he looked 
 away stubbornly. 'Were you asking my 
 opinion ? ' he said in a voice he vainly strove 
 to render cold and dispassionate. 
 
 ' To be sure,' said the rector, stirring his 
 tea and enjoying himself. * Miss Hammond is
 
 Laura's proviso 253 
 
 not impartial, you see. She is biassed by her 
 bazaar.' 
 
 If lie had known the strong passions that 
 were at Avork on the other side of the tea- 
 table ! But the curate had his back to the 
 shaded lamp, and only a fitful gleam of fire- 
 light betrayed even to Laura's suspicious eyes 
 that he was not himself. Yet, when he spoke, 
 Lindo involuntarily started, so thinly veiled 
 was the sneer in his tone. ' Well, there is one 
 pensioner, I think, you would do well to strike 
 off your list,' he said. 'He does not do you 
 much credit.' 
 
 'Who is that? Old Martin at the Gas 
 House ?' 
 
 ' Xo, the gentleman at the " Bull and 
 StajQT" !' replied the curate bluntly. 
 
 ' At the " Bull and Staff" ? Who is that ? ' 
 
 ' Felton.' 
 
 For a moment the rector looked puzzled. 
 He had almost forgotten the name of Lord
 
 254 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 Dynmore's servant. Then he coloured shghlly. 
 VYes, I know whom you mean,' he said, taken 
 aback as much by the other's unlooked-for 
 tone as by the mention of the man. ' But I 
 did not know he lived at the " Bull and Staff." 
 It is not much of a place, is it ? ' 
 
 ' 1 should say that it was very nearly the 
 worst house in the town ! ' retorted the curate. 
 
 * Indeed ! I will speak to him about it.' 
 
 * I would speak to him about getting drunk 
 too, if I were you ! ' Clode replied, with a 
 short laugh. ' He is drunk six days in the 
 week ; every day except Saturday, when he 
 comes to you and pulls a long face over a clean 
 neckcloth. He is the talk of the town ! ' 
 
 The rector stared ; naturally wondering 
 what on earth had come to the curate to induce 
 him to speak so strongly. He was rather sur- 
 prised than offended, however, and merely 
 answered, ' I am sorry to hear it. I will speak 
 to him about it.'
 
 Laura's proviso 255 
 
 ' Who is this person ? ' Miss Hammond 
 asked hurriedly, turning to him. ' I do not 
 think that I know any one in the town of that 
 name.' The subject seemed to be a dangerous 
 one, but anything was better than leaving the 
 curate free to conduct the discussion. 
 
 The curate it was, however, who answered 
 her. ' He is 3, protege of the rector ! ' he said, 
 with a laugh which was openly offensive. 
 ' You had better ask him, if you want to know.' 
 
 ' He is a servant of Lord Dynmore,' Lindo 
 explained, speaking to her with studious pohte- 
 ness, and otherwise ignoring Clode's interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 ' But why you find him board and lodging 
 at the "Bull and Staff" free, gratis, and for 
 nothing,' interposed the curate again and with 
 the same rudeness, 'passes my comprehension ! ' 
 
 ' Perhaps that is my business,' said the 
 rector, losing patience at last. 
 
 Both men stood up. Laura rose, too, with
 
 256 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 a scared face, and stood gazing at thera, amazed 
 at the storm which had so suddenly arisen. 
 The curate's height, as the two stood confront- 
 ing one another, seemed to give him the advan- 
 tage ; and his dark rugged face, kindhng with 
 long-repressed feelings, wore the provoking 
 smile of one who, confident in his own powers, 
 has wilfully thrown down the glove and is deter- 
 mined to see the matter through. The rector's 
 face, on the other hand, was red ; and, though 
 he faced his man squarely and threw back his 
 head with the haughtiness of his kind, his 
 anger was mixed with wonder, and it was plain 
 that he was at a loss to understand the other's 
 ebullition or to know how to deal with it. 
 There was a moment's silence, which Laura 
 had not the presence of mind, nor the curate 
 the will, to break. Then the rector said, 
 ' Perhaps we had better let this drop for the 
 moment, Mr. Clode.' 
 
 ' As you will,' replied the curate recklessly.
 
 Laura's proviso 257 
 
 ' Well, I do will,' Lindo rejoined, with some 
 hauteur. And he waited, still standing erect 
 and expectant ; as if he thought that Clode 
 could not do otherwise than take his leave. 
 
 But that was just what the curate had not 
 the slightest intention of doing. Instead, with 
 a cynical smile, he sat down again. His 
 superior's eyes flashed with redoubled anger 
 at this, which seemed to him, after what had 
 passed, the grossest impertinence ; but Mr. 
 Clode in his present mood cared nothing for 
 that, and made it very plain that he did not. 
 ' Will you think me exacting if I ask for another 
 cup of tea. Miss Hammond ? ' he said quietly. 
 
 That was enough to make the rector's cup 
 run over. He did not wait to hear Laura's 
 answer, but himself said, ' Perhaps I had better 
 say good-evening, Miss Hammond.' 
 
 ' You will not forget the bazaar ? ' she 
 answered, making no demur, but at once hold- 
 ing out her hand. 
 
 VOL. L S-
 
 258 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 There was a faint note of appeal in her 
 voice which begged him not to be angry, and 
 yet he was angry. ' The bazaar ? ' he said 
 coldly. ' Oh, yes, I will not forget it.' 
 
 With that he took up his hat and went, 
 feeling much as a man does who, walking along 
 a well-known road, has put his foot into a 
 hole and fallen heavily. He was almost more 
 astonished and aggrieved than hurt. 
 
 When he was gone there was silence in the 
 room.. I do not know whether Laura had 
 been conscious, while the two men wrangled 
 before her, that she was the prize of the strife, 
 and so, like the maidens of old, had been con- 
 tent to stand by passive and expectant, satisfied 
 to see the best man win ; or whether she had 
 been too much alarmed to interpose. But 
 certain it is that, when she was left alone with 
 the curate, she felt almost as uncomfortable 
 as she had ever felt in her life. She tried to 
 say something indifferent, but for once she was
 
 Laura's proviso 259 
 
 too nervous to frame the words. And Mr. 
 Clode, instead of assisting her, instead of 
 bridging over the awkwardness of the moment, 
 as he should have done, since lie was the per- 
 son to bLame for it all, sat silent and morose, 
 brooding over the fire and sipping his tea. 
 At last he spoke. ' Well,' he said abruptly, 
 turning his dark eyes suddenly on hers, 
 ' v\diich is it to be, Laura P ' 
 
 He had never spoken to her in that tone 
 before ; and had anyone told her that morning 
 that she would submit to it, she would have 
 laughed her informant to scorn. But there 
 was a new-born masterfulness in the curate's 
 manner which cowed her. ' I do not know 
 what you mean,' she murmured, her face liot, 
 her heart beating. 
 
 ' I think you do,' he answered sternly, 
 without removing his eyes from her. 'Is it 
 to be the rector, or is it to be me, Laura ? 
 You must choose between us.' 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 She recovered herself with a kind of gasp. 
 ' Are you not going a httle too fast ? ' she said, 
 trying to smile, and speaking with something 
 of her ordinary manner. 'I did not know 
 that my choice was limited to the two you 
 mention. Or that I had to choose one at all.' 
 
 ^ I think you must,' was his only answer. 
 ' You must choose between us.' Then, with 
 a sudden movement, he rose and stood over 
 her. ' Laura ! ' he said in a different tone, in 
 a low, deep voice, which thrilled through her 
 and awoke feelings and emotions hitherto 
 asleep. ' Laura, do not play with me 1 I am 
 a man. Is he more? Is he asmuch ? I love 
 you with all my being ! He cares only to kill 
 time with you ! Will you throw me over be- 
 cause he is a little richer, a little higher for 
 the moment, because I am the curate and he 
 is the rector.^ If so — well, tell me, and I 
 shall understand you ! ' 
 
 It was not the way she had thought he
 
 Laura's pkoviso 261 
 
 would end. Tlie force, the abruptness, the 
 almost menace of the last four words took her 
 b}' surprise and subdued her afresh. If she 
 had had any doubt before which of the two 
 men had her liking, she had none now. She 
 knew that Clode's little finger was more to her 
 than Lindo's whole hand ; for, like most women, 
 she had a secret admiration for force, even 
 when exercised without much regard to good 
 taste. ' You need not speak to me like that,' 
 she said, in gentle deprecation of his manner. 
 
 He stooped over her. ' Laura,' he said, 
 ' do you really mean it ? Do you mean you 
 will ' 
 
 ' Wait, please ! ' she answered, recovering 
 a little of her ascendency. ' Give me a little 
 time. I want to think something out.' 
 
 But time to think was just what he feared 
 — ignorant as yet of his true position — to give 
 her ; and his face grew dark and sullen again. 
 ' No,' he said, ' I will not ! '
 
 262 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 She rose suddenly. ' You will do as I ask 
 you now,' she said, asserting herself bravely, 
 ' or I shall leave you.' 
 
 He gave way silently, and she sat down 
 again. ' Sit down, please,' she said to him. 
 He obeyed her. ' Now,' she continued, raising 
 her hand so as to shade her eyes from the fire, 
 ' I will be candid with you. If I had no other 
 alternative than the one you have mentioned 
 — to choose between you and Mr. Lindo — I — 
 I should certainly prefer you. No ! ' she con- 
 tinued sharply, bidding him with her hand 
 to keep his seat, ' hear me out, please. You 
 have not stated the case correctly, you see. 
 In the first place — well, you put me in the 
 awkward position of having to confess that 
 Mr. Lindo has made no such proposal as you 
 seem to fancy. And, secondly, there are others 
 in the world.' 
 
 ' I do not care,' the curate exclaimed, 
 his deep voice trembling with exultation- —
 
 Laura's proviso ?-G3 
 
 ' I do not care though there be millions — 
 now ! ' 
 
 She moved her hand, and for a second her 
 eyes, full of a tenderness such as he had never 
 seen in them before, met his. The look drew 
 liim from his seat as^ain, but she waved liiin 
 back to it with an imperious gesture. ' I said 
 I would be candid,' she continued, ' and I in- 
 tend to be so, tliough until a few minutes ago 
 I never thought that I should speak to you as 
 I am speaking.' 
 
 ' You shall never repent it,' he answered 
 fondly. 
 
 ' I hope not,' she rejoined. But then she 
 paused and was silent. 
 
 He sat waiting patiently for awhile ; but, 
 as she still said nothing, he rose. ' Laura,' 
 he said. 
 
 ' Yes, I know,' she answered, almost 
 abruptly. ' But candour does not come very 
 easily, sir, under certain circumstances. Don't
 
 264 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 you know you have made me afraid of 
 you?' 
 
 He stepped forward, showing that he would 
 have reassured her in a most convincing 
 manner. But, notwithstanding her words, she 
 had regained her power and presence of mind, 
 and she repelled him. ' Wait until you have 
 heard what I have got to say,' she continued. 
 'It is this. I would not marry Mr. Lindo 
 because he is a rector with a living and a posi- 
 tion — not though he were six times a rector ! 
 But all the same I will not marry a curate ! 
 No,' she added in a lower tone, and with a 
 glance which intoxicated him afresh — 'not 
 though he be you ! ' 
 
 He stood silent, looking down at her, wait- 
 ing for more. Neither by word nor gesture 
 did he express dissent. It is possible he already 
 understood, and felt with her. 
 
 ' To marry a curate,' she continued in a 
 low voice, ' is, for a girl such as I am, failure.
 
 Laura's proviso 265 
 
 I have held my head rather high, and I have 
 stood by and seen other givls married. There- 
 fore to marry a curate, after all, would be the 
 worst of failures. Are you very angry with 
 me ? ' she continued quietly, ' or do you under- 
 stand ? ' 
 
 ' I think I understand,' he answered, with 
 just a tinge of bitterness in his tone. 
 
 ' And despise me ? Well, you must. I 
 told you I was going to be candid, and perhaps 
 it is as well — as well, I mean, that you should 
 know me,' she added, apparently unmoved. 
 
 ' I am content,' he answered, catching her 
 spirit. 
 
 ' And so am I,' she said. ' To no one else 
 in the world would I have said as much as I 
 have said to you. To no other man would I 
 say, "Win a Hving, and I will be yours ! " But 
 I say it to you. Do as much as that for me 
 and I will marry you, Stephen. If you cannot, 
 I cannot.'
 
 266 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 ' You are very prosaic/ he replied, lapsing 
 into bitterness again. 
 
 'Oh, if you are not content -' she re- 
 torted. 
 
 He did not let her finish the sentence. 
 ' You will marry me on the day I obtain a 
 living .^ ' he asked. 
 
 ' I will,' she answered bravely. 
 
 She was standing up now, and he too — 
 standing where the rector had stood an hour 
 before. She let him pass his arm round her 
 waist, but when he would have drawn her 
 closer to him, and bent his head to kiss her, 
 she hung back. ' No,' she said, blushing hotly, 
 ' I think ' — with a shy laugh — ' that you are 
 making too certain, sir.' 
 
 * Do you wish me not to succeed ? ' he 
 replied, looking down at her ; and it must be 
 confessed the lover's role became him better 
 than nine-tenths of those who knew his dark, 
 rugged face would have believed.
 
 LAURAS PROVISO 267 
 
 She sliook lier head, smiling. 
 
 'Then if you wish me success,' lie replied, 
 ' you must send me out with some guerdon of 
 your favour.' And this time she did not resist. 
 lie drew her to him and kissed her thrice. 
 Tlien she escaped from him and took refuge 
 on the other side of the fireplace. 
 
 'You must not do that again,' she said, 
 biting her lip and trying to look at him re- 
 proachfully. ' At any rate, you have had 
 your guerdon now. When you come back a 
 victor I will crown you, but until then we are 
 friends only. You understand, sir ? ' 
 
 And, though he demurred, he presently 
 said he understood.
 
 268 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE LETTERS IN THE CUPBOARD 
 
 When Clode left the Town House after his 
 interview with Laura, he was in a state of 
 exaltation — lifted completely out of his ordi- 
 nary cool and calculating self by what had 
 happened. It was raining, but he had gone 
 some distance before he remarked it ; and 
 even then he did not at once put up his 
 umbrella, but strode along through the dark- 
 ness, his thoughts in a whirl of triumph and 
 excitement. The crisis had come suddenly, 
 but he had not been found unequal to it. He 
 had gone in through the gates despondent, 
 and come out in joy. He had pitted himself 
 against his rival, and had had the best of it.
 
 THE LEITERS IN THE CUPBOAIID 269 
 
 He had wooed, and, almost in spite of his 
 mistress, had won ! 
 
 He did not for the first few moments con- 
 sider the consequences. His altercation with 
 the rector might have, he knew, unpleasant 
 results, but he did not yet trouble himself 
 about them, or about the manner in which he 
 was to do Laura's bidding. Such considera- 
 tions would come later — with the reaction. 
 For the present they did not occur to him. 
 It was enough that Laura might be his — that 
 she never could be the rector's. 
 
 He felt the need, in his present excited 
 mood, of some one to speak to, and instead of 
 turning into his own lodgings he passed on 
 to the reading-room, a large barely furnished 
 room, looking upon the top of the town, and 
 used as a club by the leading townsfolk and 
 a few of the local magnates who lived near. 
 He entered it, and, to his surprise, found 
 the archdeacon seated under the naked gas-
 
 270 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 burners, interested in the ' Times.' The sight 
 filled him with astonishment, for it was seldom 
 the county members used the room after 
 sunset. 
 
 * You are the last person I expected to 
 see,' he said — his tongue naturally hung loose 
 at the moment, and a bonhomie^ difficult to 
 assume at another time, came easily to him 
 now. ' What in the world brings you here at 
 this hour ? ' 
 
 The archdeacon laid down his paper. 
 ' Upon my word I think I was half asleep,' 
 he said. ' I am here for the " Free Foresters' " 
 supper. I thought the hour was half-past six, 
 and came into town accordingly, whereas I 
 find it is half-past seven. I have been here 
 the best part of three-quarters of an hour 
 killing time.' 
 
 ' But I thought that the rector always 
 said grace for the " Free Foresters," ' the 
 curate answered, in some surpris3.
 
 THE LETTERS IX THE CUPBOARD 271 
 
 ' It has been the custom for them to ask 
 him,' the archdeacon repHed cautiously. ' By 
 the way, you did it last year, did you not ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, for Mr. Williams. He was confined 
 to his room.' 
 
 ' I thought so. Well, this year these 
 foolish people seem to have taken a fancy 
 not to have the rector, and they came to me. 
 I tried to persuade them to have him, but 
 it was no good. And so,' the archdeacon 
 added, lowering his tone, ' I thought it would 
 look less like a slight if I came than if any 
 other clergyman — you, for instance — were the 
 clerical <zuest.' 
 
 ' To be sure,' the curate said warmly. ' It 
 was most thoughtful of you.' 
 
 The archdeacon hitched his chair slightly 
 nearer the fire. He felt the influence of 
 the curate's sympathy. The latter had said 
 little, but his manner warmed the old gentle- 
 man's heart, and his tongue also grew more
 
 272 THE ^"EW RECTOR 
 
 loose. ' I wonder whether you know,' he 
 said genially, rubbing his hands up and down 
 his knees, which he was gently toasting, and 
 looking benevolently at his companion, ' how 
 near you were to having the living, Clode ? ' 
 
 'Do you mean Claversham?' the curate 
 replied, experiencing a kind of shock at this 
 reference to the subject so near his heart. 
 
 ' Yes, of course.' 
 
 ' I never thought I had a chance of it ! ' 
 
 ' You had so good a chance,' the arch- 
 deacon answered, nodding his head wisely, 
 * that only one thing stood between you 
 and it.' 
 
 ' May I ask what that was ? ' the curate 
 rejoined, his heart beating faster. 
 
 'A promise. The earl promised his old 
 friend that he should have this living. Lord 
 Dynmore told me so himself, the last time I 
 saw him. That would be nearly a year ago, 
 when poor Williams was already ailing.'
 
 THE LETTERS IN THE CUrBOAED 273 
 
 ' Well, I supposed that to be the case,' 
 Clode answered, his tone one of disappomt- 
 Hient. He had expected to hear more than 
 this. ' But I do not quite see how I was 
 affected by it — more, I mean, than others, 
 archdeacon,' he continued. 
 
 ' That is what I was going to tell you, only 
 it must not go farther,' the archdeacon an- 
 swered genially. ' Lord Dynmore told me of 
 this promise in connection with a resolution 
 he had just come to — namely, that he would 
 in future give his livings (he has seven in all, 
 you know) to the curate, wherever the latter 
 had been two years at least in the parish, and 
 stood well with it. I am not sure that I 
 agree with him ; but lie is a conscientious 
 man, tliough an odd one, and he had formed 
 the opinion that that was the right course. 
 So, now, if anything should happen to Lindo, 
 you would drop into it. And I am not sure,' 
 the arclideacon added confidentially, ' though 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE NEW EECTOR 
 
 no one likes Lindo more than I do, that 
 yours would not have been the better ap- 
 pointment.' 
 
 The curate disclaimed this so warmly and 
 loyally that the archdeacon was more than 
 ever pleased with him ; and, half-past seven 
 striking, they parted at the door of the read- 
 ings-room on the best of terms with one 
 another. The archdeacon crossed to his 
 supper and speech, and the curate turned 
 into his rooms, and, throwing himself into the 
 hm leather chair before the fire, fixed his 
 eyes on the glowing coals, and began to think 
 — to apply what he had just heard to what he 
 had known before. 
 
 A living ? He was bound to get a living. 
 And without capital to invest in one, or the 
 favour of a patron, how was it to be done ? 
 The bishop ? He had no claim there. He 
 had not been long enough in the diocese, nor 
 did he know anything of the bishop's wife.
 
 THE LETTERS IX THE CUPBOARD 275 
 
 There was only one living he could get, only 
 one living upon which he had a claim, and 
 tliat was Claversham. It all came back to 
 that — with tliis added, that he had now a 
 stronger motive than ever for ejecting Lindo 
 from it, and the absolute knowledge to boot 
 that, Lindo ejected, he would be his suc- 
 cessor. 
 
 Stephen Clode's face grew dark and gloomy 
 as he reached this stage in his reflection's. He 
 believed, or thought he believed, that the 
 rector was enjoying what he had no right to 
 enjoy, but still he would fain have had no 
 distinct part in depriving him of it. He 
 would have much preferred to stand by and, 
 save by a word here and there — by little acts 
 scarcely palpable, and quite incapable of 
 proof — do nothing himself to injure him. He 
 knew what loyalty was, and would fain have 
 been loyal in big things at least. But he did 
 not see how it could be done. He fancied 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 tliat the stir against the rector was dying out. 
 Bonamy had not moved, Gregg was a coward, 
 and of this matter of the ' Free Foresters ' he 
 thought nothing. Probably they would re- 
 turn to their allegiance another year, and 
 among the poor the rector's liberality would 
 soon make friends for him. Altogether, the 
 curate, as he rose and walked the room rest- 
 lessly and with a knitted brow, was forced to 
 the conviction that, if he would be helped, he 
 must help himself, and that now was the 
 time. The iron must be struck before it 
 cooled. Something must be done. 
 
 But what? Clode's mind reverted first 
 to the discharged servant, and he considered 
 more than one way in which he might be 
 used. There was an amount of danger, how- 
 ever, in tampering with him which the 
 thinker's astuteness did not fail to note, and 
 which led him presently to determine to leave 
 Felton alone. Perhaps he had made as much
 
 THE LETTERS IN THE CUPBOARD 277 
 
 capital out of liim as could be made with 
 safety. 
 
 From him the curate's thoughts passed 
 naturally to the packet of letters in the cu])- 
 board at the rectory, the letters which lie had 
 once held in his hand, and which he per- 
 suaded himself would prove the rector's know- 
 ledge of the fraud he was committing. Those 
 letters I They haunted the curate. Walking 
 up and down the room, pishing and pshawing 
 from time to time, he could not disentangle 
 his thoughts from them. The narrow chance 
 which had prevented him reading them 
 before somehow made him feel the more cer- 
 tain of their value now — the more anxious to 
 hold them again in his hands. 
 
 Were they still in the cupboard, he won- 
 dered. He had retained, not with any pur- 
 pose, but in pure inadvertence, the key which 
 he had mentioned to the rector ; and he had 
 it now. He took it from the mantelshelf,
 
 278 THE NEW KECTOR 
 
 toyed with it, dropped it into his pocket. 
 Then he took up his hat, and was going 
 abruptly from the room when the little ser- 
 vant who waited on him met him. She was 
 bringing up his simple dinner. The curate's 
 first impulse was to order it to be taken down 
 and kept warm for him. His second, to re- 
 sume his seat and eat it hastily. When he 
 had finished — he could not have said an hour 
 later what he had had — he took his hat 
 again and went out. 
 
 Two minutes saw him arrive at the rectory 
 door, where he was just in time to meet the 
 rector going out. Lindo's face grew red as 
 he saw who his visitor was, and there was 
 more than a suspicion of haughtiness in his 
 tone as he greeted him. ' Good-evening,' he 
 said. ' Do you want to see me, Mr. Clode? ' 
 
 ' If you please,' the curate answered 
 simply. ' May I come in ? ' 
 
 For answer, Lindo silently held the door
 
 THE LETTERS IX THE CUPBOAKD 279 
 
 open, and Clode passed throngh the hall into 
 the library. He was in the habit of entering 
 this room a dozen times a week, but he never 
 did so after leaving his own small lodgings 
 without being struck by its handsome propor- 
 tions, by the grave harmonious colour of its 
 calf-lined walls, and the air of studious quiet 
 which always reigned within them. Of all 
 the rector's possessions he envied him this 
 room the most. The very sight of the shaded 
 lamp standing on the revolving bookcase at 
 the corner of the hearth, and of the little 
 table beside it, which still bore the rector's 
 coffee-cup and a tiny silver ewer and basin, 
 aroused his spleen afresh. But he gave no 
 outward sign of this. He stood with his hat 
 in one hand, his other leaning on the table, 
 and his head sliglitly bent. ' Eector,' he 
 said, ' I am afraid I behaved very badly this 
 afternoon.' 
 
 ' I certainly thought your manner rather
 
 280 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 odd,' replied the rector shortly; and he 
 stood erect and expectant. But he was half 
 disarmed already. 
 
 ' I was annoyed, much annoyed, about a 
 private matter,' the curate proceeded in a low, 
 rather despondent tone. ^It is a matter 
 about which I expect I shall presently have 
 to take your opinion. But for the present 
 I am not at liberty to name it. However, 
 I was in trouble, and I foolishly wreaked 
 my annoyance upon the first person I came 
 across/ 
 
 ' That was, unfortunately, myself,' . Lindo 
 said, smihng. 
 
 ' It would have been very unfortunate 
 indeed for me if you were as some rectors I 
 could name,' the curate replied gravely, still 
 with his eyes cast down. ' As it is — well, I 
 think you will accept my apology.' 
 
 ' Say no more about it,' the rector 
 answered hastily. There was nothing he
 
 THE LETTERS IX THE CUPBOARD 281 
 
 hated so mucli as a scene. ' Have a cup of 
 coflee, my dear fellow. I will ring for a cup 
 and saucer.' And before the curate could 
 protest his host was at the bell and had rung 
 it, his manner the manner of a boy. ' Sit 
 down, sit dow^n ! ' he continued. ' Sarah, a 
 cup and saucer, please.' 
 
 ' But you were going out,' protested the 
 curate, as he complied. 
 
 ' Only to the post with some letters,' the 
 rector explained. ' I will send Sarah in- 
 stead.' 
 
 Clode sprang up again, a peculiar flush on 
 his cheek, and a flicker as of excitement in 
 his eye. ' jSTo, no,' he said, ' lam putting you 
 to trouble. If you were going to the post, 
 pray go. You can leave me here and come 
 back to me, if that be all.' 
 
 The rector hesitated, his letters in his 
 hand. He might send Sarah. But it wanted 
 a few minutes only of nine o'clock, and he
 
 282 THE NEW HECTOR 
 
 did not approve of the maids going out so 
 late. ' Well, I think I will do as you say,' he 
 answered, feeling that compliance was perhaps 
 the truest politeness ; ' if you are sure that 
 you do not mind/ 
 
 ' I beg you will,' the curate said warmly. 
 
 The cup and saucer being at that moment 
 brought in, the rector nodded assent. ' Very 
 well ; I shall not be two minutes,' he said. 
 ' Take care of yourself while I am away.' 
 
 The curate, left alone, muttered to him- 
 self, ' No, no, my friend. You will be at least 
 four minutes I ' and he waited, with his cup 
 poised, until he heard the outer door closed. 
 Then he set it down. Assuring himself by a 
 steady look that the windows were shuttered, 
 he rose and, quietly crossing the room, as a 
 man might who wished to examine a book, he 
 stood before the little cupboard among the 
 shelves. Perhaps because he had done the 
 thing before, he did not hesitate. His hand
 
 THE LETTERS IN THE CUPBOARD 283 
 
 was as steady as it had ever been. If it shook 
 at all, it was witli eagerness. His task was so 
 easy and so devoid of danger, under the cir- 
 cumstances, that he even smiled darkly, as he 
 set the key in the lock, at the thought of the 
 more clumsy burglar whom he had detected 
 there. He turned the key and opened the 
 door. Nothing could be more simple. The 
 packet he wanted lay just where he expected 
 to find it. He took it out and dropped it 
 into his breast-pocket, and, long before the 
 time which he had given himself was up, 
 was back in his chair by the fire, with his 
 coffee-cup on his knee. 
 
 He might have been expected to feel some 
 surprise at his own coolness. But, as a fact, 
 his thoughts were otherwise employed. He 
 was longing, with intense eagerness, for the 
 moment when he might take the next step — 
 when he might open the packet and secure 
 the weapon he needed. He fingered the
 
 284 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 letters as they lay in their hiding-place, and 
 could scarcely refrain from taking them out 
 and examining them there and then. When 
 Lindo returned, and broke into the room with 
 a hearty word about the haste he had made, 
 the curate's answer betrayed no self-conscious- 
 ness. On the contrary, he rather under- 
 played his part, his eye and voice displaying 
 for a moment an absence of mind which sur- 
 prised his host. The next instant he was 
 aware of this, and he conducted himself so 
 warily during the half-hour he remained that 
 he entirely erased from the rector's mind the 
 unlucky impression of the afternoon. 
 
 By half-past nine he was back in his own 
 room, at his table, his hat thrown this way, 
 his umbrella that. It took him but a feverish 
 moment to turn up the lamp and settle himself 
 in his chair. Then he took out the packet of 
 letters, and, untying the string which bound 
 them together, he opened the first- — there
 
 THE LETTERS IN THE CUPBOARD 285 
 
 were only six of them in all. This was tlie 
 one whicli he had partially read on the former 
 occasion — Messrs. Gearns & Baker's first 
 letter. He read it through now at his leisure, 
 without interruption, once, twice, tlirice, and 
 with a loner breath laid it down ai]^ain, and sat 
 gazing, with knitted brows, into the shadow 
 beyond the lamp's influence. There was not 
 a word in it, not an expression, which helped 
 liim ; nothing to show the recipient of the 
 letter that he was not the Reginald Lindo for 
 whom the living was intended. 
 
 The curate sat awhile before he opened 
 the second, and that one he read more 
 quickly. He dealt in the same way with the 
 next, and the next. When, in a short minute 
 or two, he had read them all and they lay in 
 a disordered pile before him — some folded and 
 some unfolded, just as they had dropped from 
 his hands — he leaned back in his chair, and, 
 folding his arms, sat frowning darkly int'>
 
 286 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 vacancy. There was not a word to help him 
 in any one of them, not a sentence which even 
 tended to convict the rector. He had been at 
 
 all his pains for nothing. He had 
 
 The sound of a raised voice asking for him 
 below roused him with a start — roused him 
 from the dream of disappointment. The 
 hasty tread of a foot mounting the stairs two 
 at a time followed ; and so quickly that he 
 had scarce time to move. In a second, never- 
 theless, he was erect, motionless, listening, his 
 hand upon and half covering the letters. A 
 hasty knock on the outside of his door, and 
 the touch of fingers on the handle, seemed at 
 the last moment to nerve him to action. 
 Then it was all but too late. As the rector — 
 for the rector it was — came hurriedly into 
 the room, the curate, his face pallid, and the 
 drops of perspiration standing on his brow, 
 swept the letters aside and drew a newspaper 
 partly over them. 'What — what is it?' he
 
 THE LETTERS IN TUE CUPBOARD 287 
 
 muttered, stooping forward, his hands on the 
 table, his eyes set in terror. 
 
 Lindo was too full of the news he had 
 brought to observe the otlier's agitation, the 
 more as the lamp was between them, and his 
 eyes were dazzled by the hght. ' What is the 
 news ? Why, what do you think Bonamy 
 has done ? ' he answered excitedly, as he 
 closed the door behind him. He was breathing 
 quickly with the haste he had made, and, 
 uninvited, he dropped into a chair. 
 
 ' What ? ' said the curate hoarsely. He 
 dared not look down at the table lest he 
 should direct tlie other's eyes to what lay on 
 it, but he was racked as he stood there by the 
 fear lest some damning corner of the paper, 
 some scrap of the writing, should still be 
 visible. He felt, now it was too late, what he 
 had done. The shame of possible discovery 
 poured like a flood over his soul. ' What is 
 it ? ' he repeated mechanically. He had not
 
 288 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 yet recovered enough presence of mind to 
 wonder why the rector should have paid this 
 untimely call. 
 
 'He has served me with a writ ! ' Lin do 
 replied, his face hot with indignation, his lips 
 curling. ' At this hour of the night, too ! A 
 writ for trespass in driving out the sheep from 
 the churchyard.' 
 
 ' A writ ! ' the curate echoed. ' It is very 
 late for serving writs.' 
 
 ' Yes. His clerk, who handed it to me — 
 he came live minutes after you left — apolo- 
 gised, and took the blame for that on himself, 
 saying he had forgotten to deliver it on leaving 
 the office.' 
 
 ' For trespass ! ' repeated the curate stu- 
 pidly. What a fool he had been to meddle 
 with those letters under his hand ! Why had 
 he not had a little patience ? Here, after all, 
 was the catastrophe for which he had been 
 longing.
 
 THE LETTERS IN THE CUPBOARD 289 
 
 ' Yes, in the Queen's Bencli Division 
 of tlie High Court of Justice, and all the 
 rest of it ! ' the rector replied ; and then 
 he waited to hear what the curate had to 
 say. 
 
 But Clode had nothing to say, except 
 ' What shall you do ? ' And that he said 
 n}3chanically, and without interest. 
 
 ' Fight ! ' replied Lindo briskly, getting 
 up and approaching the table. ' That of 
 course. It was about that I came to you. 
 I do not think there is any lawyer here I 
 should like to employ. Did not you tell me 
 the other day you knew the archdeacon's 
 lawyers ? Some people in Birmingham, I 
 fancy ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I know them,' the curate answered 
 with an effort. He had overcome his first 
 fear, and, as he spoke, he looked down at tlie 
 table, on which he was still leaning. His 
 hasty movement had disordered his own 
 
 VOL. 1. u
 
 290 THE NEW RECTOR 
 
 papers, but none of the tell-tale letters were 
 visible so far as he could see. What, how- 
 ever, if the rector took up the newspaper ? 
 Or casually put it aside ? The curate grew 
 hot again and felt his knees shake, despite his 
 great self-control. He felt himself on the edge 
 of a precipice down which he dared not cast 
 his eye. 
 
 ' Then can you give me their address ? ' 
 the rector continued. 
 
 ' Certainly ! ' Clode answered. Indeed he 
 leapt at the suggestion, for it seemed to offer 
 some chance of escape — a way by which he 
 might rid himself speedily of his visitor. 
 
 ' Just write it down, that is a good fellow, 
 then,' said the rector, uilconscious of what 
 was passing in his mind. 
 
 The curate said he would, and tore off at 
 random — the rector was pressing his hand on 
 the newspaper, and might at any moment be 
 taken with a fancy to raise it — the back sheet
 
 THE LETTERS IX THE CUPBOARD 291 
 
 of the first stray note tliat came to his fingers, 
 and wrote the address npon it. ' There, that 
 is it,' lie said ; and as lie gave it to Lhido — he 
 had written it standing up and stooping — he 
 almost pushed him away from the table. 
 ' That will serve you, I think. They may be 
 trusted, I am told. The best thing you can 
 do, I am sure,' lie continued, advancing so as 
 to get between the other and the table, ' will 
 be to place the matter in their hands at 
 once.' 
 
 ' I will write before I sleep ! ' the younger 
 clergyman answered heartil}^ ' You cannot 
 think how the narrowness and malice of these 
 people provoke me ! But I will not keep you 
 now. I see you are busy. Come round 
 early in the morning, will you, and talk it 
 over ? ' 
 
 ' I will come the moment I have had 
 breakfast,' the curate answered, making no 
 attempt to detain his visitor.
 
 0^ 
 
 292 THE JS^EW EECTOR 
 
 And then at last the rector went. Clode 
 stood eyeing the newspaper askance until the 
 other's footsteps died away on the pavement 
 outside. Then he swept it off and stood 
 contemplating the half-dozen letters with 
 abhorrence. He loathed and detested them. 
 They had suddenly become to him the incubus 
 which his victim's body becomes to the 
 murderer. The desire which had tempted 
 him to the crime was gone, and he felt them 
 only as a burden. They were the visible 
 proof of his shame, his disloyalty, his dis- 
 honour. To keep them was to become a 
 thief, and yet he shrank with a nervous terror 
 quite new and strange to him from the task of 
 returning them — of going to the study at the 
 rectory and putting them back in the cup- 
 board. It had been easy to get possession of 
 them ; he had thought nothing of the risk of 
 that. But to return them now seemed a task 
 so thankless, and withal so perilous, that he
 
 oo-^ 
 
 quailed before it. With shaking liancls he 
 bundled them toi^ether and locked them in 
 the lowest drawer of his writing-table. He 
 would return them to-morrow. 
 
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