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 LI B HAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVLR.5ITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 \
 
 Cc.y. J^lUc^.
 
 THAT ARTFUL VICAR 
 
 THE STORY OF WHAT A CLERGYMAN TRIED 
 
 TO DO FOR OTHERS AND DID 
 
 FOR HIMSELF 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 THE MEMBER FOR PARIS' 'FRENCH PICTURES IN ENGLISH CHALK 
 
 ETC. 
 
 ' Ambition wins not more than honesty 
 
 Shakspere, Hen. VIII 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 [A I rights reserved]
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/thatartfulvicars01murr
 
 8cLb 
 v 1 
 
 TO 
 
 HENRY DU PRE LABOUCHERE 
 
 A TOKEN OF LITERARY ADMIRATK'N 
 AND PERSONAL ESTEEM
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. ' LAY HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN ' 
 
 II. THE FULNESS OF JOY 
 
 III. THE VICAR'S MISSION . 
 
 IV. A FEAST DAY 
 
 V. A PENITENT ..... 
 
 VI. MARRIAGE BELLS .... 
 
 VII. BEFORE THE RACES 
 
 VIII. ' BLUEBELL ' 
 
 IX. MR. POTTINGER'S HOBBY 
 
 X. THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD . 
 
 XI. A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS 
 
 XII. VEXED QUESTIONS .... 
 
 XIII. FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER . 
 
 XIV. DISPUTATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 19 
 36 
 
 53 
 72 
 
 85 
 
 IOO 
 
 "3 
 
 128 
 140 
 
 i59 
 172 
 189 
 206
 
 CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XV. A soldier's COURTSHIP 
 
 XVI. ' WHEN GREEK MEETS CxREEK 
 
 XVII. LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR 
 
 XVIII. BOOTS .... 
 
 XIX. A SERMON ON MARRIAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 224 
 
 241 
 
 255 
 
 272 
 287
 
 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1 LAV HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN.' 
 
 Peace and concord were much talked about in 
 Stilborough on the occasion of the ratepayers 
 in the town being called upon to elect a new 
 vicar to their parish church of St. Barnaby. 
 This was no ancient privilege that was going to 
 be exercised, for the living was not in the gift 
 of the burgesses, but in that of Lord Hartleigh, 
 of Hazel wood, Lord of the Manor. This young 
 and excellent peer, however, having but just 
 come into his property, was more concerned 
 about the reorganisation of his stud and kennels 
 than about the bestowal of ecclesiastical pa- 
 tronage. He had been memorialised in most 
 earnest terms by one half of the parishioners 
 not to appoint a High Church man, and had 
 been adjured on his soul by the remaining half 
 not to collate any minister whose sordid spirit 
 
 VOL. I. B 

 
 2 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 should ' grudge the Almighty seemly worship ; ' 
 moreover, he had received written applications 
 from some three hundred of the greater and 
 lesser clergy. As much to rid himself of these 
 importunates as to insure himself against all 
 self-reproach in the event of an unsuitable 
 choice being made, he wrote and requested that 
 the inhabitants of Stilborough would select their 
 pastor for themselves ; and by this gracious 
 act he earned much popularity in the town, as 
 well as praise from enlightened newspapers in 
 London. 
 
 As the living of Stilborough was worth 
 iooo/. a year, with light parish work, and the 
 most charming of riverside residences, it ' will 
 readily be conceived that there should have 
 been no lack of candidates. A committee 
 deputed by the ratepayers spent six weeks 
 examining the mass of letters, circulars, and 
 testimonials despatched from all parts of the 
 country in reply to advertisements inserted in 
 the public press ; and when this had been done, 
 another eventful month was expended in win- 
 nowing the conflicting claims until but two 
 eligible postulants remained face to face. This 
 result was not arrived at without exciting a 
 good deal of piously bitter controversy and con- 
 scientious hostility between man and man. As 
 will already have been guessed, Stilborough 
 was a town where religious questions held the
 
 * LAY HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: 3 
 
 place of paramount importance that belongs to 
 them ; and this election furnished occasion for 
 those outspoken confessions of dogma and 
 vehement comminatory denunciations of one's 
 neighbour which distinguish the fervent Chris- 
 tian. Of course the ladies of the town were 
 not behindhand with their lords in religious 
 zeal, and imparted to the discussions those ele- 
 ments of genial warmth and uncompromising 
 spiritedness which are the usual outcome of 
 Woman's soothing influence. 
 
 However, it was a great point to have fas- 
 tened upon two ultimate candidates ; and these 
 they were — the Rev. Joel Fulmouth, M.A., and 
 the Very Rev. Noel Drinkdew, D.D. At the 
 invitation of Mr. Brindle, the Mayor, both 
 divines were requested to come down to Stil- 
 borough on Whit-Monday, and preach, in order 
 that the scale of their evenly-balanced merits 
 might be turned by the tongue of the most 
 eloquent. Some carping spirits did indeed urge 
 that to set two clergymen preaching about at each 
 other for a prize of 1000/. a year was an expe- 
 dient of questionable edification ; but the con- 
 tending parties themselves seemed to be troubled 
 with no questions on this head, and each arrived 
 at the ' Red Lion ' of Stilborough carrying a 
 carpet-bag, a carefully-written sermon, and a 
 lively confidence in his own success. 
 
 The turns of preaching having been ad 
 
 E 2
 
 4 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 judged by lot, it was the Rev. Joel Fulmouth 
 who ascended the pulpit at morning service, and 
 he made a good impression there. He was the 
 author of that much-read book, ' The Light of 
 the Soul,' and a tall, robust, full-blooded man, 
 whose florid cheeks were bordered with a thick 
 set of orange whiskers, and whose lusty voice 
 filled every corner of the church without effort, 
 and even reached half-way across the market- 
 place outside. He took for his text, ' Let your 
 light so shine before men,' &c, and entered 
 with all his lungs into long and feeling eulogy 
 upon his own work in the Great Vineyard, con- 
 trivine to make it known that he owed no man 
 anything, and was supporting a family of nine 
 children on a living of 300/. a year. The Rev. 
 Joel's delivery consisted mostly of violent 
 thumps on the pulpit cushion ; but these were 
 generally felt by his hearers to be spiritual 
 thumps, intended to rouse the consciences of 
 the sluggish ; and as the matter of the preacher's 
 discourse was dogmatically sound, and as, 
 furthermore, his allusion to his children had 
 touched the sensibilities of some of the feminine 
 part of the congregation, the belief prevalent in 
 "Stilborouofh from one o'clock until three was 
 that Mr. Fulmouth would very probably be 
 elected. 
 
 But the congregation had yet to hear the 
 Very Rev. Dr. Drinkdew, who lifted up his
 
 'LAY HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: 5 
 
 voice at the afternoon service. The prayers 
 being finished, and the hymn sung, there rose 
 into the pulpit a gaunt, dark-eyed man, with 
 features extraordinarily sunburnt, but with a 
 voice as exquisitely modulated as a well-tuned 
 barrel-organ. Dr. Drinkdew was the author of 
 that much-read work, ' The Lantern of the 
 Heart/ and offered in many respects, besides 
 the physical, a contrast to his rival, for he was 
 neither married, nor possessed of a benefice, 
 nor was he apparently troubled in any degree 
 about such material problems as the cost of 
 living. It was known that he had been dean to 
 some colonial cathedral in the tropics, and had 
 come home from ill-health ; and additional 
 celebrity attached to him owing to numerous 
 controversial works, essays, pamphlets, &c, 
 which he had published or contributed to high- 
 class reviews. The ex- Dean selected for his 
 text, ' I will tread the paths of peace,' and 
 having given a stirring, brilliantly-coloured ac- 
 count of some episodes in Ins colonial adven- 
 tures (not the least emotional among which 
 was an encounter with a eorilla whom he had 
 routed with a hymn-book), he hinted at his 
 yearning desire to abandon polemics, and to 
 spend the remainder of his days in peaceful 
 parish work, devoting his life, experience, and 
 worldly resources to the good of his parish- 
 ioners. This well-timed allusion to worldly
 
 6 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 resources was not without its effect on many, 
 especially among the fair portion of the congre- 
 gation, for after all it is something to have a 
 vicar in easy circumstances ; besides which the 
 matrimonial possibilities connected with a well- 
 to-do bachelor divine were not slow in su°-- 
 
 o 
 
 gesting themselves to mothers with grown-up 
 daughters, and to one or two widows sitting 
 disconsolate in their pews. But, in sum, 
 opinions remained pretty nearly as much divi- 
 ded after the sermons as before them. Dr. 
 Drinkdew was from Oxford, and Mr. Fulmouth 
 from Cambridge ; the former was a Conser- 
 vative and the latter a Liberal ; and as regards 
 doctrine, although both affected to be of the 
 Broad Church, it was patent that candles, vest- 
 ments, and censors might find more favour 
 with the author of the ' Lantern of the Heart' 
 than they were likely to do with the author of 
 the ' Light of the Soul.' The sworn partisans 
 of either Church sect abode steadfast, therefore, 
 each in the determination which he had taken 
 long time ago not to be swayed an inch from 
 his purpose ; and the electoral committee ad- 
 journed to the Town Hall, bristling and fuming 
 with such sentiments of mutual defiance as were 
 well calculated to ensure the peaceful discharge 
 of the business in hand. 
 
 Much trouble might have been saved, many 
 a day of strife and excitement might now have
 
 'LAV HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: 7 
 
 been spared to Stilborough, if the committee 
 had proceeded to vote at once without par- 
 leying, as Mr. Brindle, that most discreet of 
 mayors, besought them to do. But there are 
 always men in an assembly who believe in the 
 power of a word in season (when uttered by 
 themselves), and such a one was Mr. Pottinger, 
 grocer, churchwarden, town-councillor, and a 
 most active character in the borough. Bringing: 
 down one of his plump, moist hands with a 
 deliberate flap on the blotting-book before him, 
 and rolling a pair of eyes aglow with dicta- 
 torial fire, Mr. Pottinger exclaimed : — 
 
 1 Gem'men, I suppose, as men of sense, 
 we're all of one mind as to the propriety of 
 electing Mr. Fulmouth ? ' 
 
 ■ Oh, no, indeed,' protested Mr. Pettigrew, 
 a brother town-councillor and a draper, and Mr. 
 Pottinger's constant opponent in all things 
 temporal as well as spiritual. ' No, indeed. 
 I was about to propose that, sinking all differ- 
 ences of opinion, we should every one of us, as 
 men of understanding, bestow our votes on Dr. 
 Drinkdew, in order that the appointment might 
 bear the more grace from being unanimous.' 
 
 ' Aha ! I was prepared for that, Sir,' ejacu- 
 lated Mr. Pottinger, with an emphatic wag of 
 the head ; ' yes, Sir, I was prepared for it.' 
 
 ' So you might be, I should think, from long 
 habit,' remarked Mr. Whispie, horse-dealer,
 
 8 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 who passed for a man of humour in the 
 borough. 
 
 1 Aye, Sir, from long habit also,' reiterated 
 Mr. Pottinger, sardonically catching up the 
 words ; ' habit might have prepared me for the 
 suxumstance ' (the choleric churchwarden was 
 apt to stumble over a polysyllable when ex- 
 cited) ' that Mr. Pettigrew would miss no occa- 
 sion of trying to set up Rome in our midst!' 
 
 ' Rome's as good as Plymouth,' retorted the 
 Conservative draper, with laconic scorn. 
 
 ' Do you mean that for a hinsinuation, Sir ? ' 
 shouted Mr. Pettigrew, springing to his feet, 
 and leaning half across the table. ' Do you 
 mean to hinsinuate that I'm a Plymouth 
 Brother ? ' 
 
 1 Come, come, let's settle the election by 
 tossing up,' interposed Mr. Whispie, breezily ; 
 4 here's a sovereign. Heads it's Fulmouth ; 
 tails, Drinkdew.' 
 
 1 Order, order ! ' exclaimed a councillor who 
 took the proper view of such profanity. 
 
 1 I'm a-waiting for your reply, Sir,' screamed 
 Mr. Pottinger, shaking his head till the whitey- 
 brown furze on it stood up on end. ' Did you 
 or did you not say I was a Plymouth Brother ? ' 
 
 1 Plymouth, Portsmouth, Dartmouth, any- 
 thing you please, Sir,' answered Mr. Pettigrew, 
 desperately ; ' what I mean is, that your religion 
 is not ours, Sir ; it's what I call an un-English
 
 'LAY HAXDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: 9 
 
 religion. You hurried our late vicar into an 
 early grave ! ' 
 
 ' The doose I did ! Why, if I'd a-done that 
 I should have considered myself Providence's 
 instrument in so doing,' was the grocer's boldly- 
 flashed retort. ' But, as a fact, Sir,' added he, 
 1 you know as well as I do that your vicar died 
 by choking himself with a fish-bone, which he 
 ate on one of those precious fast-days that he 
 wanted to introduce amongst us. That's how 
 your vicar died. Sir ! ' 
 
 ' He wasn't my vicar an)' more than yours,' 
 responded Mr. Pettigrew, warmly resenting the 
 exclusive imputed ownership. 
 
 ' And he didn't die of a fish-bone, either/ 
 observed Mr. Finsole, the fishmonger, anxious 
 to repudiate what might seem like an aspersion 
 on the produce of his shop. ' Natural causes 
 is what the vicar died of, and nothing else. Ask 
 the undertaker.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay,' assented Mr. Cribbs, the gentle- 
 man appealed to ; ' but I'll tell yer what, if we 
 get flinging dead men's bones into one another's 
 teeth like this, I don't know when it'll stop.' 
 
 ■ It was he who began, when he called me a 
 Roman,' remarked Mr. Pettigrew, calmly. 
 
 1 And I expect I wasn't far wrong, either/ 
 responded Mr. Pottinger, in heat. ' I'll be 
 bound there 'ud be a fine blaze-up of stakes and 
 faggots in the town if he had his way.'
 
 io THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 Pooh ! there are some men who wouldn't 
 be worth the cost of burning,' sneered Mr. 
 Pettigrew, with magnificent epigrammatism. 
 
 ' I know some, though, whom it 'ud be well 
 worth while to whip by public subscription,' 
 howled Mr. Pottinger, almost beside himself. 
 
 ' Dear me, dear me ! I'm afraid we are stray- 
 ing dreadfully wide of the mark, gentlemen,' 
 moaned Mr. Brindle, the well-meaning little 
 Mayor. ' For my part I'm sure I wish we could 
 settle this election by appointing both the gen- 
 tlemen whom we have heard to-day. Nothing- 
 would be more gratifying to me personally than 
 that they should preach to us turn-about, and 
 divide the income of the living between them.' 
 
 ' Hear, hear ! ' chorussed a few councillors, 
 fascinated by this soothing suggestion, which 
 was, however, nothing new in Mr. Brindle's 
 mouth, for he was always emitting conciliatory 
 proposals, the only drawback to which was that 
 they were invariably impracticable. This mayor, 
 a stationer by trade, was of meek, diminutive 
 aspect, abhorring strife, and on the present oc- 
 casion he evinced the longanimity of a saint in 
 attempting to bring back the unruly debaters to 
 a spirit of concord. But in the grocer and the 
 draper he had to deal with a pair of Christians, 
 who were no more to be coaxed asunder than 
 a bull-dog and a sleuth-hound once they have 
 met over a bone. Clad in a grey shooting-coat
 
 'LAY HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: n 
 
 and a red tie, valiant Mr. Pottinger barked in- 
 coherent words of anathema against High 
 Church practices, and mopped the indignant 
 drops that were oozing by hundreds from his 
 purple face ; while spare, thin-faced, black- clad 
 Mr. Pettigrew brought to bear against this dis- 
 play of rage an attitude of taunting sarcasm and 
 cool sneers against Low Church that must have 
 been eminently galling to his opponent. Then 
 each champion had his band of clamorous 
 supporters, who, when the fight between the 
 principals seem to flag, hurried up to the rescue, 
 so that in a very little time, the original purport 
 of the debate having been entirely lost sight of, 
 it degenerated into a scene of grand mutual 
 shouting recrimination, wherein Tory and Libe- 
 ral heartily abused each other in connection with 
 all matters pertaining to local politics and rates, 
 road-mending, street-lighting, sewers, the man- 
 agement of trust funds, and even the quality of 
 the treacle supplied to children in the work- 
 house. How all this nwht have ended it is 
 really difficult to surmise, but certainly matters 
 appeared to be hastening towards a general de- 
 plorable scrimmage, when — 
 
 But what follows deserves to be recorded 
 less abruptly. 
 
 The room in which the election of a vicar 
 was beino- held was the Council Chamber of the 
 Town Hall, and through the open windows a 
 
 \
 
 12 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 view could be had by the meeting into the prin- 
 cipal market-place : to .the right stood the ancient 
 Red Lion Inn, to the left the new Bank, oppo- 
 site rose the venerable ivy-clad Church of St. 
 Barnaby, with the principal thoroughfare, the 
 High Street, branching away to the north of it. 
 Now, as Mr. Pottinger was on his legs roaring 
 for the twentieth time that he would rather 
 secede from the Established Church and found a 
 sect of his own than forego his Briton's privi- 
 lege of eating meat on a Friday, it suddenly 
 seemed to him as though his vision was ob- 
 
 o 
 
 scured. At first he thought that a film had 
 come over his eyes ; but a straining look con- 
 vinced him that the cause of his bedazzlement 
 was nothing less than a cloud of smoke and 
 flame curling in graceful spirals over the roof of 
 his grocery store in the High Street. At the 
 same time a shrill cry of 'Fire!' resounding 
 from some urchin's voice gave rise to an ani- 
 mated stampede of feet over the pavements 
 outside. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger stopped dead short and 
 aghast, and in an instant the meeting of whilom 
 obstreperous disputants had flown to the win- 
 dows like one man, and leaned craning out with 
 breath suspended. There was a moment's hope 
 that the alarm might be a false one ; but a 
 slight whiff of breeze having whirled a huge 
 column of smoke into the square, dispelled all
 
 'LAY HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: 13 
 
 doubts ; at the same time the cries of ' Fire ! ' 
 growing louder and louder, sashes were thrown 
 up by scared housemaids, and crowds flocked 
 up hurriedly from all parts of the town as if 
 they had been conjured up from underground. 
 
 Considering that most of the company 
 present at the Town Hall owned shops in the 
 High Street, it must not seem surprising that 
 they should have taken to their heels with 
 startling promptitude. They did indeed scamper 
 down the staircase so fast that they would have 
 done credit to the greatest master of gymnastics 
 that ever taught agility. Liberal and Conser- 
 vative, High Church and Low, the young and 
 the old, the fat and the lean, shoving and jost- 
 ling one another, off and away they rushed, 
 most of them hatless, into the dust and sun- 
 glare of a bright June afternoon — all panting 
 they were, but pale, having flung off" every 
 heed of ghostly matters, and being intent now 
 only on the rescue of their precious worldly 
 goods which might be crackling yonder. Mean- 
 while, the surging troops of townsfolks having 
 blocked up the mouth of the High Street, it 
 became difficult for the tradesmen immediately 
 to force themselves a passage towards their 
 homes ; so that, during several minutes, they 
 had to listen to the a^onisingf rumours now of 
 one shop being in a blaze, now of another. 
 
 Happily these reports were untrue, and the
 
 14 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 calamity turned out to be much less than had 
 been dreaded. It was not the shop of any re- 
 spectable tradesman that had caught fire, but 
 only the alley cottage of a poor widow who 
 owned seven children and supported them by 
 mangling. This satisfactory circumstance hav- 
 ing been ascertained, the tradesmen, feeling 
 much relieved, began to bustle officiously about, 
 marshal the crowd, and sing out for water. 
 
 As usual in country towns, the fire-engine 
 was not to be got at in a hurry ; and the 
 wretched mother, huddling on the pavement 
 with her progeny, was fain to look with dismal 
 eyes at the flames rapidly consuming her hum- 
 ble home and belongings. 
 
 Of a sudden, however, an appalling shriek 
 rose into the air. The widow, in looking round, 
 perceived that one of her children, who she 
 thought had followed her, was missing. It was 
 not the last born, but a sturdy little fellow four 
 years old, who had clung to her skirt as she fled 
 the cottage, and whom, for that reason, she had 
 considered safe. The distracted mother made 
 a plunge forward, but twenty hands restrained 
 her, and a hundred voices were uplifted to point 
 out the utter madness of seeking to penetrate 
 into the cottage, which was now roaring like a 
 furnace. Madness, alas ! the mother little 
 recked that, and it was a pitiable thing to see 
 her struggling for freedom, and adjuring Messrs.
 
 'LAY HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: 15 
 
 Pottinger, Pettigrew, Cribbs, Finsole, and the 
 rest, that if they would not let her go, one of 
 them at least should devote himself to recover 
 her lost little one, as if gentlemen so useful to 
 the public weal could afford to risk their bodies 
 and still more their valuable tongues in pulling 
 other people's children out of the fire ! 
 
 But at this seemingly hopeless juncture 
 there stepped out of the crowd a young man, 
 who was a stranger to the town, and wore 
 clerical attire. He -flashed upon the throng of 
 tradesmen like an apparition, and his clustering 
 auburn hair, large eyes, and earnest face left 
 upon them during the brief instant of their 
 beholding his face an impression as of an 
 angel's features. Pointing to the burning pile, he 
 moved his lips, apparently asking some question 
 that was inaudible because of the tumult ; then, 
 not obtaining an answer, he turned and darted 
 intrepidly up the alley, followed by the excla- 
 mations of a thousand spectators, who had not 
 divined his intention, and were electrified by 
 his courage. 
 
 Some minutes of awful anxiety now ensued. 
 The alley was so narrow that the black smoke 
 rushing out of it seemed to issue from the 
 mouth of a cannon. Above, the flames were 
 leaping up in forked sheaves, while myriads of 
 sparks flew hither and thither to the noise of 
 bursting window-panes and cracking rafters.
 
 16 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 A deep hush had fallen on the crowd ; assu- 
 redly every heart beat, and every eye was 
 strained, watching either for the stranger to 
 return, repelled by the smoke, or for the roof 
 to fall in and bury him in the ruins. Minutes 
 seem like hours in such cases, but at last a sort 
 of gasp from the crowd testified that the cata- 
 strophe most dreaded had occurred, and that the 
 roof had crashed down, making of the cottage a 
 shapeless heap of smouldering wood and bricks. 
 At this moment, however, there emerged from 
 the alley a man without hair, eyelashes, or eye- 
 brows, carrying in his arms a child wrapped in 
 a shawl. Tottering across the road with this 
 burden, he restored it living to the mother, for 
 by some miracle the child had remained un- 
 scathed, and had not even a singe on him. 
 
 Nobly deserved were the loud cheers which 
 now swelled on all sides, blending with the tear- 
 ful thanks of the overjoyed mother. English 
 crowds are prompt to kindle into enthusiasm at 
 the sight of plucky deeds unbraggingly accom- 
 plished, and scores of hands pressed forward 
 to grasp that of the large-hearted youth whose 
 name was unknown. He the while looked a 
 singular object, with every vestige of hair 
 scorched off him, and with broad blisters rising 
 perceptibly over his face and hands. But al- 
 though the smart of his burns must have been 
 
 o 
 
 intense, and although his very clothes peeled
 
 'LAY HANDS SUDDENLY ON NO MAN: 17 
 
 off in cinders under the touch of his admirers, 
 he did not faint nor let it be seen that he felt 
 pain, so that the worship begotten by his 
 bravery redoubled at the sight of his un- 
 common fortitude. 
 
 Now it was under these mind-exciting and 
 soul-stirrine circumstances that Mr. Pottineer, 
 churchwarden and grocer, was seized with one 
 of those luminous inspirations that are worth 
 a fortune to a man. Elbowing his way to the 
 front rank of the crowd, he laid a hand on the 
 strangers arm, brusquely enough to make this 
 latter wince, and stutteringly inquired — 
 
 1 May I ask what is your name, Sir ? ' 
 
 1 Paul Rushbrand,' faltered the young clergy- 
 man. 
 
 1 And you belong to the Church of Eng- 
 land ? Are you priest or deacon, rector or 
 curate ? ' 
 
 ' I have just taken priest's orders, but am 
 only a curate,' answered Mr. Rushbrand, look- 
 ing surprised. 
 
 'Well, then, listen to me, my fellow-towns- 
 men ! ' exclaimed Mr. Pottinger, raising his 
 voice till it cracked. ' Listen to me, I say. 
 I've a proposal to make. Here have we all 
 been a-discussin' together as to who should be 
 our vicar without bein' able to agree owing to 
 some parties that I needn't mention ; but here 
 the Lord has taken pity on us and sent us this 
 vol. 1. c
 
 1 8 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 young clergyman to find favour in our eyes by 
 saving a life from the fiery furnace. So I take 
 leave to move that this is a providential cir- 
 cumstance, and ought to be so regarded by all, 
 saving heathen souls ; and that, therefore, we 
 ought to take the hints given unto us by 'eaven, 
 and to elect this Mr. Rushbrand to be our 
 vicar. What do you say to that ? ' 
 
 For once even Mr. Pettigrew dared not 
 raise a dissentient voice amid the clamour of 
 approval with which his rival's unexpected pro- 
 posal was hailed. Perhaps, on the whole, the 
 two factions in Stilborough were not sorry to 
 avoid an electoral contest, which must have re- 
 sulted in placing one-half the parishioners in 
 permanent hostility to the new vicar, whoever 
 he might be ; and for those who belonged to no 
 faction, it was of course not a little relief to get 
 a pastor nominated on non-party grounds. So 
 the motion that Mr. Rushbrand should be vicar 
 having been formally put by Mr. Brindle, 
 standing on a kerbstone with an arm encircling 
 a lamp-post, it was unanimously carried, amid 
 the smoke, heat, and noise of the street, with a 
 splendid gust of cheers and hat-waving. And 
 thus it came to pass that a young curate who 
 had entered the town with an income of 80/. to 
 boast of, was suddenly promoted by plebiscitum 
 to one of the most desirable benefices in this 
 kingdom
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 
 
 While these things were being enacted in the 
 street, Mr. Fulmouth and Dr. Drinkdew were 
 waiting at the Red Lion in separate rooms, and 
 finding the time rather long. The tidings of 
 what had occurred were brought them by a 
 waiter, and each divine received the damping 
 news of his failure in a manner befitting" his 
 particular idiosyncrasy. Dr. Drinkdew simply 
 asked for his bill, consulted the time-tables, and 
 drove away in a fly, giving the waiter a shil- 
 ling ; Mr. Fulmouth sprang to his feet, and, 
 with features suffused to a point that threatened 
 apoplexy, exclaimed — 
 
 ■ They have elected Paul Rushbrand ! Why, 
 he's my curate ! ' saying which he made a grab 
 at his hat, as though he would instantly go and 
 warn the people of the preposterous mistake 
 they had committed in putting aside the master 
 for the man. 
 
 Second thoughts suggested that the incon- 
 gruity might not be so apparent to all as it was 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 to himself, for he checked the impulse that was 
 driving him towards the hat-peg, and began to 
 pace up and down the room. Presently he de- 
 scried through the window the new vicar, bare- 
 headed, semi-nude, and hardly recognisable, 
 being brought into the inn by a number of the 
 townsfolks. He then hurried downstairs, and, 
 the public eye being upon him, showed himself 
 paternal, clasping the exhausted sufferer to his 
 breast, extolling his gallant exploit, and con- 
 signing him to the landlady with the request 
 that every care should be taken of him, and 
 that there should be no delay in fetching a 
 doctor. This Mr. Fulmouth did in the sight of 
 mankind ; but an hour later, when he and his 
 ex-curate were left alone, the latter being in bed 
 and swathed in oiled bandages, then the bitter- 
 ness of his spirit overflowed — 
 
 1 Well, you've made a fine day of it, Rush- 
 brand,' he said, in a tone which struggled to 
 appear amicable. ' You see I was well inspired 
 when I brought you down here for a day's holi- 
 day, though at first you were so reluctant to come.' 
 
 1 It must truly have been Providence that 
 moved me to accept your invitation.' 
 
 ' Providence — h'm — yes. Certainly the 
 Lord's ways are past finding out, and He may 
 have some inscrutable purpose in depriving a 
 father of nine children of a benefice which would 
 have enabled him to bring them all up suitably.'
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 21 
 
 4 He exalteth the humble,' said Paul Rush- 
 brand, faintly, while physical pain contracted his 
 features. 
 
 'And He putteth down the proud — that is 
 what you mean to say ? Well, Rushbrand, I 
 don't know that I ever gave you occasion to tax 
 me with being unduly puffed up. It seems to 
 me that in all my dealings with you I ' 
 
 1 Oh, certainly ; you misapprehend my mean- 
 ing,' protested Rushbrand, quickly. ' I was al- 
 luding only to myself.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Rushbrand ; but I think irony 
 towards the fallen ill becomes a man in the 
 hour of his triumph,' ejaculated Mr. Fulmouth, 
 in an injured tone, and making the best of 
 the peg on which he was hanging this quarrel. 
 1 Although, heaven knows, I do not grudge you 
 your success, yet you know how much I had 
 set my heart on this living, which, but for what 
 happened this afternoon, would doubtless have 
 been mine ; and I will even add that if you had 
 explained when this office was so strangely 
 thrust on you that you were my curate, and 
 had travelled down here as my guest and at 
 my expense — I think, I say, that the electors 
 might have taken more time to consider the 
 propriety of a scheme most hastily proposed to 
 them.' 
 
 ' And do you hold that it was my duty to 
 impart to them the information you specify ? •
 
 22 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 inquired Rushbrand, propping himself on an 
 elbow. 
 
 ' Oh, this is not a question of duty, but of 
 good taste, Mr. Rushbrand ! ' answered Mr. 
 Fulmouth, with a wave of the hand. * I pro- 
 fess to be a judge of no man's duty ; but I 
 suspect there are some men who would have 
 thought they were possibly transgressing one 
 of the unwritten laws of tact and kindliness in 
 accepting an office which they knew to have 
 been ardently desired — for family reasons — by 
 one who had been their friend, patron, and 
 benefactor.' 
 
 ' I am sorry to hear that,' replied the new 
 Vicar, in whose cavernous eyes the lustre of 
 fever was beginning to gleam, and who, with 
 his bound head and pain-distorted features, 
 looked, on his bed of anguish, much like the 
 pictures of an early Christian martyr on the 
 rack. ' I am sorry to hear that, for you seem 
 to be offended that I should have accepted this 
 living ; but at the risk of angering you further, 
 I must say I had no right to refuse, for the 
 Lords finger is plainly perceptible in this great 
 thing. Who was I an hour aor> but the lowliest 
 
 o o 
 
 among His servants, yet He took me by the 
 hand as He took Joseph, Samuel, David, and 
 all His prophets when He had work for them 
 to do. And should I, like Jonah, say " Nay " 
 to His commands ? It may be that there is a
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 23 
 
 people whom He would warn through my voice 
 of the wrath to come . . .' 
 
 ■ Hut-tut, Sir ! who are you preaching to, 
 and who envies you your living?' exclaimed 
 Mr. Fulmouth, now fairly huffed. ' Keep your 
 honours to yourself, Mr. Rushbrand. I wish 
 you joy of them, and I wish the people who 
 have chosen you joy of their bargain. Against 
 one thing, however, I would warn you in your 
 ministry, and that is the habit of attributing to 
 God's grace unhallowed successes which are 
 often but due to our own worldly ingenuity.' 
 
 1 Ingenuity ! Why, do you mean that I 
 sought this thing ? ' stammered Paul Rush- 
 brand, in utter astonishment. 
 
 ' I mean to say, Sir, that you time your 
 afternoon walks very adroitly,' replied Mr. 
 Fulmouth, in excitement. 
 
 ' Why — why — it was you yourself who sent 
 me out that I might try to influence the inhabit- 
 ants of this town in your favour by spreading 
 your praises among them — a trust I faithfully 
 discharged.' 
 
 ' Enough said, Sir ; the pride of office is 
 already turning your head,' responded Mr. Ful- 
 mouth, loftily, and without heeding the agonised 
 glance which his late curate was bending on 
 him from the bed. ' I must now begone to my 
 parish and to my family, to bear them the news 
 of my disappointment. I shall cherish no ill-
 
 24 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 will against you, but I trust your first days in 
 your new post will not be embittered by the 
 thought that you have made sport of a man 
 who had some claim, I think, to your respect.' 
 
 With this parting and unmerited shot the 
 author of the ' Light of the Soul ' flustered out 
 of the room, paid his bill, and strode out of the 
 inn, carpet-bag in hand, without giving the 
 waiter anything. 
 
 It was now evening, but the Town Council 
 of Stilborough, unwilling to lose any time in 
 securing the ratification of the choice they had 
 made, deputed Mr. Pottinger to write a letter 
 to Lord Hartleigh, the patron of the living, to 
 inform him of what had taken place. As the 
 fire-engine had at last arrived, and was drench- 
 ing the widow's cottage with its waterspouts, 
 all fear lest the flames should spread was dis- 
 pelled, and the churchwarden proceeded to 
 write the letter in a composed frame of mind. 
 When he had sealed it, he sallied forth to drop 
 it into the box, and on his way met Mr. Ful- 
 mouth near the railway station. The Rev. 
 Joel, having forgotten in his hurried exit from 
 the inn to ascertain when the next train started, 
 found himself with two spare hours on his 
 hands, and was mooning about dejectedly — not 
 so much now on account of his loss of the 
 living, as because he had given way to temper 
 in the presence of his curate, and made himself
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 25 
 
 (as he was beginning poignantly to feel) both 
 mean and ridiculous. He had half a mind to 
 go back to the inn, apologise, and efface the 
 quarrel. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger accosted him with civility, for 
 he felt that some excuses were owing to the 
 clergyman for the rather unceremonious way in 
 which he had been treated. Having explained 
 that the whole town had been carried away by 
 a torrent of enthusiasm, the source of which was 
 assuredly Divine, and having seen Mr. Ful- 
 mouth nod concurringly at that remark, he 
 availed himself of the opportunity to gather 
 what information he could about the new vicar ; 
 and the Rev. Joel, too much on his guard now 
 to let aught of his chagrin be seen, spoke of his 
 late curate in terms of unmixed praise. But 
 to Mr. Pottinger s surprise it turned out that 
 Mr. Rushbrand was no gentleman-scholar, fresh 
 from the universities, as he imagined would be 
 the case, but a man sprung from the very dregs 
 of the people, and who had never been to 
 school, much less to Oxford and Cambridge. 
 His father was a good-for-nothing seaman in 
 the merchant service, who had married twice 
 and died from the effects of a drunken revel, 
 and Paul himself had begun life as a ship's 
 boy. 
 
 ' Well, but where did he pick up his learn- 
 ing ? ' asked the grocer-churchwarden, who had
 
 26 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 no idea that instruction could be acquired else- 
 where than on school benches. 
 
 1 He taught himself,' answered Mr. Ful- 
 mouth, secretly enjoying his interlocutor's be- 
 wilderment. ' He was engine-boy on board 
 the ferry steamboat plying between Portsmouth 
 and Gosport, his duty consisting in the crying 
 "Ease 'eH" "Stop 'er ! " &c. In the short 
 intervals he could snatch between one trip 
 across and another, in the evenings, on Sundays, 
 and in fact at all odd moments, he would draw 
 out a book or pen, and thus he learned to read 
 and write and to reckon, and by-and-by mas- 
 tered Latin and mathematics.' 
 
 ' What, Latin without a tutor ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but he only took to Latin later, when 
 he had risen to be steward on board. He had 
 more leisure then, and gave up his whole mind 
 to study. In fact he taught himself Greek as 
 well, also mechanics, and the rudiments of 
 chemistry. French he had already learned 
 from his step-mother, who had been a Boulogne 
 fish-girl. He was altogether a wonderful boy, 
 not a genius, but an indomitable, persevering 
 worker/ 
 
 ' He must have been, indeed. But how did 
 he become a clergyman ! ' 
 
 1 By preaching on Southsea Common and 
 attracting the notice of the Bishop of Win- 
 chester, who heard him one Sunday night.
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 27 
 
 Paul Rushbrand was always a well-conducted 
 lad, but his mind was, I believe, never seriously 
 awakened to religious faith until he was three- 
 and-twenty, when he went out to China as 
 steward on board a ship that carried a mis- 
 sionary. The influence of this good man, and 
 various impressive events in the journey, pro- 
 duced a marked influence on Paul's mind, so 
 that when he returned two years later he began 
 to preach the Gospel among the sailors, police- 
 men, and dockyard workmen of Portsmouth, by 
 ail of whom he was much respected. Indeed, 
 his eloquence was of such a powerful, manly 
 sort, and so well adapted to the comprehension 
 of his audience, that the Bishop decided at 
 once, after hearing him, that he would make an 
 admirable minister to carry the doctrines of the 
 Church among the poor. Accordingly he took 
 him in hand, put him at a private theological 
 college under his own superintendence and at 
 his own expense, and in due time admitted him 
 into holy orders. I am persuaded he would 
 have done much for him had he lived.' 
 
 'All this is very interesting,' remarked Mr. 
 Pottinger, as he walked by the Rector's side ; 
 1 but do you mean that Mr. Rushbrand has no 
 friends ? Has he been living entirely on his 
 salary as a curate ? ' 
 
 1 He has both lived, and supported his step- 
 mother, the Frenchwoman, on 60/. a year, for,
 
 28 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 with characteristic pride, he used to lay by 20/. 
 of his income in order to repay the Bishop's 
 executors the money which his Lordship dis- 
 bursed for him at the theological college.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! And I need hardly ask — Mr. 
 Rushbrand is a sound Churchman ? ' 
 
 ' Well, he is a staunch Protestant ! ' was Mr. 
 Fulmouth's rather evasive reply. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger's mind was not of a size to 
 grasp the immense grandeur of a life such as 
 Paul Rushbrand's — a career of sturdy, patient 
 wrestling with, and virile triumph over, all the 
 difficulties that beset a youth of low station who 
 seeks to climb unaided the steeps of learning 
 and self-culture. Nevertheless, all that he 
 heard pleased him well. In proposing a perfect 
 stranger for the vicarship he had been moved 
 by no calculating impulse ; but once the election 
 had been accomplished, it had naturally oc- 
 curred to him that he had done a good stroke 
 of business in laying the new Vicar under such 
 a great personal obligation to himself; and now 
 that he discovered his nominee to be a man of 
 such humble origin, he made doubly sure of 
 being able to act towards him the part of 
 patron and monitor. It would be a great deal 
 to have the new Vicar, so to say, under his 
 thumb, to enjoy the free run of the parsonage, 
 to be the great Church authority in the town, 
 and who knows but that by-aad-by, when Miss
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 29 
 
 Martha Pottinger was a year or two older, 
 some closer tie might bind together the im- 
 portant churchwarden and his affluent but sub- 
 missive protdgdt So with his mind already 
 filling with the first haze of a golden dream, 
 Mr. Pottinger took his leave of the Rev. Joel, 
 posted his letter, and then hied him back to the 
 Red Lion, with a view to commencing ingra- 
 tiatory proceedings by installing himself at the 
 Vicars bedside, and having a lone chat with 
 him. Unfortunately when he arrived the pa- 
 tient was delirious, the doctor was engaged in 
 pressing handfuls of broken ice to his burning 
 head, and grave fears were being expressed 
 lest his sickness should terminate fatally. 
 
 The injuries which he had received were in- 
 deed much graver than had at first been sup- 
 posed, and, coupled with the excitement of the 
 scenes through which he had passed, had 
 brought on brain fever. During many days 
 the erst hardy life trembled in the balance ; the 
 strong limbs were wasting away, and the sci- 
 ence of the local physician was sorely tried to 
 devise alleviations for the torments which his 
 patient suffered. Throughout this period of 
 probation, the Pottingers were most commend- 
 able in their devotion. The churchwarden, his 
 wife, his daughter were continually running 
 between the shop and the inn ; and they con- 
 tinued their affectionate ministrations even after
 
 3 o THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 the arrival of Pauls -mother-ift4aw, a curious 
 little old Frenchwoman, who, after stating that 
 she was a Protestant, greatly shocked the grocer 
 and his family by telling her beads, hanging a 
 crucifix over the bedside, and burning tapers 
 by it ; ' for,' said she, coolly, to account for this 
 heterodoxy, ' plain prayers may be good enough, 
 Messieurs, when we have nothing much to 
 ask, but, when there is anything urgent, God 
 requires something better.' 
 
 It was touching enough to see this homely 
 alien woman, with her odd manners and quick, 
 sparkling eyes, that spoke of bygone beauty, 
 tending with a mother's care the couch of one 
 who was not her son. She evidently loved him 
 with a love equal to that which women bestow 
 on their first-born, and, in her broken English, 
 more than corroborated all that Mr. Fulmouth 
 had said in Paul's favour. His behaviour to 
 her had been one long, beautiful tale of filial 
 dutifulness, protection, and kindness, so that he 
 had consoled her for her husband's misconduct, 
 consoled her even for being childless, and it 
 was out of love for him that she had remained 
 in England after becoming a widow instead of 
 returning, as she would otherwise have done, 
 to her own land and kindred. All these things 
 o-etting bruited about through the agency of 
 the Pottingers, much enhanced public interest 
 in the patient, and in particular stimulated the
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 31 
 
 churchwarden's hopes for his recovery to an in- 
 tense degree ; for, thought this worthy man, so 
 tender-hearted and dutiful a son must assuredly 
 be easy to manage. 
 
 At last the well-wishers saw their desires 
 realised ; for a strong constitution, bred of 
 temperance, soberness, and chastity, prevailed 
 against disease, and the critical period was 
 passed through in safety. But even after the dan- 
 ger of death was gone, many more days elapsed 
 before the mind re-awoke to consciousness, and 
 fully two months had sped before the patient 
 could understand the causes of his illness, which 
 had been clean blotted out of his memory, or 
 his rise in the world, which appeared like a 
 dream. Meanwhile, public fame had been 
 making a hero of him. The circumstances of 
 his election had been so romantic that they had 
 been seized and commented upon by all the 
 newspapers from end to end of the country. 
 When the strange tale of his boyhood and 
 youth had come out, illustrated journals pub- 
 lished portraits of him ; the Royal Humane 
 Society voted him a medal; the Press teemed 
 with letters from persons who had known him 
 during the seafaring part of his career, and bore 
 testimony to his worth of character ; and hereat 
 scores of gushing young ladies and budding 
 poets despatched to his address congratulatory 
 odes and sonnets, or albums, with the request
 
 32 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 that he would sign his name in them. When 
 it was feared that the illness was about to take 
 a fatal turn these tokens of admiration were 
 multiplied ; even Royalty did not disdain to 
 send messages of inquiry as to his progress ; 
 and of course all the neighbouring countfry 
 families left cards at the Red Lion — from Lord 
 Hartleigh and his mother, the leading mag- 
 nates, down to Sir Peter Carew and his noisy 
 brood of grown-up sons and daughters from 
 Royster Hall. 
 
 No man can be insensible to such tokens of 
 spontaneous, genial worship from his fellows, and 
 though for awhile Paul Rushbrand continued 
 to think by moments that all the wondrous things 
 he heard and saw were hallucinations from 
 which he would at some time be aroused, yet 
 as the conviction gradually worked itself upon 
 his strengthening brain that he was living amid 
 realities, an immense emotion of humility and 
 thankfulness possessed him and bowed his head 
 before the goodness of the Creator. 
 
 It was a beautiful warm afternoon in the 
 latter days of August when, at length, the doc- 
 tors pronounced Paul Rushbrand strong enough 
 to be conducted to the vicarage, which was 
 thenceforth to be his home. Mr. Pottinger had 
 determined that the occasion should be one of 
 public festival. Most of the shops put forth 
 bunting, the church bells rang out a merry peal,
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 33 
 
 and the school-children, who had been given a 
 half-holiday, were marshalled on either side of 
 the way in holiday garb and with baskets of 
 flowers in their hands. No gladder or more 
 moving sight could have met the Vicar's eyes as 
 he emerged from the inn leaning on his step- 
 mother's arm and supported on the other side 
 by the trusty churchwarden. Loud and hearty 
 were the cheers that greeted him from the 
 assembled townspeople ; the school -children 
 burst into a hymn of praise and scattered their 
 flowers on his path ; while the little mite whose 
 life he had saved toddled forward and held up 
 to him a large nosegay, the which brought a 
 gush of tears into his eyes when he had ascer- 
 tained who the donor was, and had lifted him in 
 his arms to kiss him. And so, amid singing and 
 blessings and joyful chimes, the humble servant 
 of God, for the nonce a people's darling, walked 
 slowly on his triumphal way, till at the first 
 street corner his dimmed eyes encountered the 
 lovely figure of a girl on horseback who was 
 gazing at him with looks full of pity and 
 interest. 
 
 She appeared to be about eighteen, and was 
 of a type of beauty at once maidenly and bold. 
 Erect and graceful on her prancing bay, she 
 looked as though she could take part fearlessly 
 in any field sports, but in the soft glance of her 
 clear hazel eyes, in the openness of her pure 
 vol. 1. D
 
 34 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 brow arching under clusters of rich black hair, 
 one could read stainless candour, bright wit, 
 and sweetness. She and her groom had been 
 stopped by the street throng, and with one of 
 her small, gloved hands she was patting the 
 curved neck of her horse, who, startled at the 
 tumult of bells and voices, was tossing his head 
 and pawing the ground. But while thus engaged 
 she remained quite at her ease, and lost not a 
 glimpse of the sight before her — the which evi- 
 dently excited her curiosity, and to some extent 
 stirred her sensibilities, for as the Vicar ap- 
 proached she smiled with a slight blush, to 
 intimate that he and his deeds were known to 
 her, and, plucking a brilliant carnation that 
 glowed in the bosom of her habit, threw it 
 among 1 the other floral offerings that were al- 
 read) 7 littering the ground. The homage was so 
 prettily rendered and so marked, that the Vicar 
 could not forbear to lift his hat ; while Mrs. 
 Rushbrand stooped to pick up the flower, and 
 stuck it into the button-hole of his coat, Mr. 
 Pottinger explaining as she did so, ' That's Miss 
 Amy Carew, one of Sir Peter's daughters.' 
 
 A few more steps now, and the Vicar had 
 reached his home, where a new surprise awaited 
 him, for Mr. Pottinger had caused a feast to be 
 spread on the lawn of the garden that sloped 
 down to the river. And what a garden it was, 
 with its width of mignonette, geraniums, moss,
 
 THE FULNESS OF JOY. 35 
 
 blush, and tea roses ; and what a vicarage, with 
 the old ruddy brick walls covered here with 
 ivy, here with honeysuckles and white roses. 
 Fragrance teemed in the warm, balmy air, and 
 whichever way the eye looked it found glad- 
 some things to rest on — whether to the right, 
 where the garden walls were covered with clus- 
 ters of scarlet cherries and ripening peaches, or 
 to the left, in the orchard, where many a shapely 
 tree was bowed under its weight of tawny pears 
 or purple plums ; or straight ahead, where the 
 broad, glistening river purled by in a sheet of 
 silver between banks of smooth turf and beds 
 of drooping willows. And over all this fair 
 landscape, which eyes could feast on without 
 ever being sated, the glorious summer sun was 
 pouring its flood of vivifying light, tipping all 
 things that glittered with rays of gold ; so 
 that the Vicar as he surveyed his earthly para- 
 dise felt his bosom heave, and raising his 
 glance to the blue dome of the paradise above, 
 murmured : ' Lord, Thou hast dealt bountifully 
 with Thy servant ; but what is man that Thou 
 art mindful of him ? ' 
 
 And somehow, as he said this, Paul Rush- 
 brand thought of the girl on horseback who had 
 
 o o 
 
 thrown him the carnation. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 
 
 The Vicars of Stilborough had always been a 
 very easy-living set of divines, as the size of 
 their parsonage and the excellent condition of 
 its stables and coach-house, as well as the 
 roominess of its wine-cellar, abundantly proved. 
 Generally connected by blood or marriage with 
 the House of Hartleigh, they had been gentle- 
 men of the sort who, after passing through 
 some aristocratical public school and the uni- 
 versities, ride down the road to ecclesiastical 
 preferment in swift, pleasant stages. Several 
 of them had become deans or archdeacons ; one 
 or two had been raised to bishoprics ; but even 
 to those who had lived and died in the vicar- 
 ship, life had been as a cup full of sweetness. 
 Justices of the peace, rural deans, husbands of 
 well-born, comely wives, fathers of ruddy 
 children, great givers and receivers of hospi- 
 tality, they had prided themselves upon riding 
 straight to hounds, setting good wine before 
 their friends, and preaching short sermons, and
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 37 
 
 for all such meritorious doings had garnered 
 the blessings of their contemporaries. Paul 
 Rushbrand's immediate predecessor was the 
 only one who had broken through the easy- 
 going tradition by showing himself earnest in 
 Church matters, but this he had done rather as 
 an archaeologist than as a minister. Being a 
 scholar and a diligent porer over Dugdale's 
 1 Monasticon/ he had set his heart on restoring 
 his church to the exact condition in which it 
 had flourished as an abbey church previously 
 to the Dissolution, and, by disbursing some 
 15,000/. out of his own pockets, had succeeded 
 in his ambition, despite the vigorous opposition 
 of Mr. Pottinger and other haters of ' Popish 
 things.' 
 
 It now became a very interesting matter to 
 speculate how Paul Rushbrand would deal with 
 the crucifixes, candlesticks, and brazen images 
 which his predecessor had set up. There were 
 enough of such to stock a fair-sized museum, 
 and the pagan effect of them was much height- 
 ened by rich stained glass windows which shed 
 over nave and aisles a mellow tint of purple 
 and blue. On the day when the grocer took 
 Paul to inspect the church he threw open its 
 doors and made a gesture that seemed to say, 
 ' There ! did you ever see such a collection of 
 foolish things as that ? ' and, strutting towards 
 the chancel, he expatiated on the trying times
 
 5S THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 which he and other devout souls had passed 
 through under a regime of choral services, 
 matins, and vespers, so that ' yonder big 
 painted organ was blowing all day fit to burst 
 itself.' 
 
 To his mortification Paul expressed no dis- 
 approval. He said nothing in direct appro- 
 bation either, but walked about examining, and 
 when remarks were made he answered by nods. 
 The fact is he was as yet too shy to commit 
 himself to any opinion that might involve con- 
 troversy. He was by temper peaceful, and felt 
 a natural wish to live on eood terms with all 
 of his parishioners, so that for a time he not a 
 little disappointed those who, judging by his 
 past career of energy, had expected him to 
 signalise his accession by striking acts. His 
 very sermons were tame, and pleased only the 
 alms-women and other uninteresting paupers in 
 the draughty free seats near the porch. The 
 shopkeeping part of the congregation disliked 
 his delivery, which was deficient in cushion- 
 thumping ; as for the local gentry, they smiled 
 at the number of misplaced /is that tingled on 
 their ears ; and if the preacher had looked down 
 into Sir Peter Carew's pew, he would have been 
 hurt to see even Miss Amy exchange more 
 than one amused smile with her brothers and 
 sisters in the course of his sermons. 
 
 Ah, luckless letter H ! cabalistic sign, riddle,
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 39 
 
 masonic token by which those who belong to 
 the ranks of gentility recognise one another, 
 and detect those who do not ! There is nothing- 
 like it in any other language. The French or 
 German mechanic learns by education to talk 
 like the Duke, and this immediately, without 
 any trouble ; but what years of self-observation 
 and keeping of good company are requisite 
 before the low-born Englishman gets to master 
 those tiresome aspirates, and to pitch his voice 
 in the quiet, well-modulated key peculiar to the 
 frequenters of polished society ! 
 
 Paul Rushbrand could manage an h well 
 enough in conversation, and when he talked 
 slowly ; but the moment he became excited 
 and spoke fast, he seemed to treat this letter as 
 a foolish and needless ornament to his words, 
 and he discarded it as a colonel might tell his 
 men to throw away the cumbersome plumes 
 from their head-dresses for the practical work 
 of battle. At such moments he also indulged 
 recklessly in double negatives : ' We didnt 
 ought' ' We haven't no need,' &c. t and also 
 sounded his yoics as yers, ' Now, I'll tell yer 
 what, ofc. All this was the habit of his early 
 years cleaving to him as tar sticks to good 
 rope — almost ineffaceably. 
 
 He was conscious of his failing, however ; 
 strove daily and hourly to correct it ; and this 
 being so, no wonder that his promotion should
 
 40 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 have stricken him with diffidence. He still felt 
 as powerfully as in his ship-boy days reverence 
 for the gentleman — a belief in him as the em- 
 bodiment of all good and gracious qualities and 
 social niceties ; and his notions about gentle- 
 women had something of exaggerately romantic 
 worship, for the reason that he had never en- 
 joyed the intimate acquaintance of a genuine 
 lady. It puzzled him to reflect that he now 
 stood on a footing of equality with persons at 
 whom he had always been wont to look up. 
 Every time that he came into his vicarage, re- 
 plete with the luxurious furniture which the late 
 incumbent had placed there, every time that he 
 was waited upon by the neat-handed servants 
 whom his step-mother had hired, every time that 
 hats were lifted to him in the street, there was a 
 flutter at his heart as under the touch of exces- 
 sive honour ; and he was in a manner stunned 
 when he received a kindly notification from the 
 Lord Lieutenant that his name had been put 
 on the Commission of the Peace, that he might 
 serve as magistrate, as all previous holders of his 
 benefice had done. Of course, Paul Rushbrand's 
 sentiments of diffidence, though they proceeded 
 from a spirit of true humility, were such as it 
 was certain time would wear away, but while 
 they lasted they raised incessant whisperings in 
 his conscience that Heaven could only have ex- 
 alted such a one as himself for the accomplish-
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION, 41 
 
 ment of some arduous, perhaps perilous labours, 
 which would be shown forth in due season. 
 
 He repeated this to his step-mother, not for 
 the first time by man)', one day that he noticed 
 her exceeding care to surround him with crea- 
 ture comforts. The honest little lady had never 
 found herself at the head of such pecuniary 
 resources as she was now disposed of, and with 
 the luxury-loving instincts of her country, she 
 was doing her best to convert the parsonage 
 into a palace of sybaritish ease. 
 
 ' Well, I may avail myself of your good 
 things whilst I am able,' said Paul, with a smile. 
 1 I expect the day will soon come when I shall 
 be roused from my sloth.' 
 
 ' Why, what do you call sloth ? ' exclaimed 
 the little Frenchwoman, cheerily. ' You're 
 abroad most of the day visiting the poor, and, 
 when you do get a minute's leisure, you spend 
 it burrowing into musty books. I call that hard 
 work enough for a saint.' 
 
 ' It is not hard work, for it is a pleasure ; but 
 I doubt not I shall soon have work that will be 
 hard. And if God measure the difficulty of my 
 mission by my willingness to undertake it, my 
 cominof tasks will be severe indeed.' 
 
 1 Why, what nonsense that is, my dear Paul ! ' 
 exclaimed Mrs. Rushbrand, almost impatiently, 
 and speaking all the while in French. ' Why, 
 what "mission'' can God be reserving you ?
 
 42 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 You have been a good son, a good lad, a good 
 man, and Heaven has sent you your reward. 
 That is the whole of the matter.' 
 
 ' The harvest does not come in spring,' re- 
 joined Paul, gently. ' I am too young to have 
 earned my rest, much less my reward.' 
 
 ' Too young at thirty ! Why, plenty of men 
 contrive to ruin themselves and break their 
 parents' hearts by that age ! But I'll tell you 
 what, Paul, your fears for the future seem to me 
 to be ungrateful, for it is as though you had 
 said God could make us no good present with- 
 out there being something unpleasant behind it. 
 God's grift-horses will bear looking into the 
 mouth, my lad.' 
 
 ' No doubt,' answered Paul, somewhat hum- 
 bled. 
 
 ' And the best way you can take of proving 
 your thankfulness is to enjoy what He sends 
 you,' continued she, following up her advantage. 
 ' And, by the way, there's that tailor has brought 
 home your new suit of clothes to-day. I hope 
 you will put them on to-morrow to call on Mi- 
 lord Hartleigh, who has been so kind. I hear 
 he has returned from London.' 
 
 ' Will you come with me to Hazelwood ? I 
 rather dread going alone,' remarked Paul, win- 
 cing. 
 
 ' I go with you, mon ami ? ' exclaimed the 
 old lady, and laughed a gay laugh that brought
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 43 
 
 a sparkle to her eyes. ' Oh, nenni, my junket- 
 ting days are over, if so be that I really ever 
 had any (here she heaved a short sigh). All 
 I'm good for now is to be your old housekeeper, 
 and see that you spend some of your money on 
 yourself instead of giving it all away, as you 
 certainly would do if I wasn't there to keep 
 order. No, no, make yourself smart, my good 
 Paul. Go and see your fine friends alone, and, 
 if you can pick up a pretty, well-dowered wife 
 from among them, I'll give up my cupboard- 
 keys to her with a blessing ! ' 
 
 ' I do wish I could avoid going,' replied 
 Paul, turning off the last remark with a smile. 
 
 ' And why ? ' inquired his vivacious step- 
 mother, preparing to ladle soup out of the 
 smoking tureen before her. ' Heigho ! here is 
 a great aoostle who five minutes aer> was ask- 
 ing Heaven for more work, and who now hesi- 
 tates at that which lies in his very path ! Why, 
 it is part of your duty to see Milord Hartleigh, 
 my son. How do you know that the " mission" 
 of which you were speaking does not in some 
 way concern him ? ' 
 
 ' To be sure,' answered Paul, rousing at the 
 thought. ' Thank you for reminding me of my 
 duty, mother.' 
 
 1 Yes, dear ; but be careful of what you 
 say to the Milord,' observed the shrewd little 
 Frenchwoman, holding out a hand coaxingly
 
 44 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 to him across the table, as if she were afraid 
 she had urged him on too far. ' Remember, 
 it's not preaching that will be wanted at Hazel- 
 wood, for there is a great difference between 
 the rich and poor. The poor are often so 
 ignorant as not to know why they deserve 
 going to hell ; but the rich sin with their eyes 
 open, being prepared to pay the cost before- 
 hand ; so that it's of no use to tease them 
 about it.' 
 
 To which profoundly wise remark Paul 
 answered nothing, for he was accustomed to 
 the occasional mundane philosophy of his 
 father's widow. 
 
 He would still have been glad of any truth- 
 ful excuse for deferring his visit to Hazel wood 
 until he had at least nerved himself a little 
 more for facing fine company ; but as no such 
 excuse was vouchsafed him, he hired a dog-cart 
 next day at the Red Lion, and was driven in 
 his new clothes along three miles of lovely 
 scenery to one of the most picturesque and 
 splendid country mansions in England. He 
 had timed his visit so as to arrive when 
 luncheon was over, but the shooting season 
 having just commenced, Lord Hartleigh had 
 gone out into the turnip fields with a party of 
 friends, and the only person left at home was 
 his mother. Paul was conducted by a gorgeous 
 domestic in plush and powder through a sue-
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 45 
 
 cession of apartments the like of which he had 
 never seen for magnificence, and so into a 
 boudoir, where Lady Hartleigh was reading a 
 book of sermons, with a couple of plump pug- 
 dogs curled up on the sofa beside her. 
 
 She was a handsome lady of fifty, who con- 
 trived to look ten years younger. The glossy 
 chestnut hair, so tastefully dressed up under 
 her tiny lace cap, was scarcely streaked with 
 silver ; her complexion was still fresh ; her 
 brow smooth ; her teeth white ; her blue eyes 
 clear and nearly exempt from crowsfeet. Her 
 manners were most engaging, for she was one 
 of that delightful order of womanhood who 
 would rather be fascinating a cat on a post than 
 nothing at all. Holding out a jewelled hand to 
 Paul, and smiling with the utmost cordiality, 
 she told him she was delighted to receive his 
 visit ; and with a few pleasant chatty words 
 succeeded in putting him very nearly at his 
 ease. A good hours gossip came to her Lady- 
 ship just like a godsend at that moment, and 
 she prepared for it by taking up a piece of 
 tapestry to keep her fingers employed whilst 
 her sprightly tongue wagged. First she touched 
 on some London topics — opera, picture-exhi- 
 bitions, and so forth ; but finding them terra 
 incognita to the bashful Vicar, she ascertained, 
 with a woman's prompt wit, with what subjects 
 he was familiar, and descanted upon Ports-
 
 46 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 mouth, Cowes, sea, and shipping (the late Lord 
 Hartleigh had kept a yacht), in such wise as to 
 make him pass an hour most agreeably. He 
 was abashed to perceive how rapidly time had 
 slipped by, and would have risen to go ; but 
 she would not hear of it, and assured him that 
 Lord Hartleigh must be back very soon now. 
 He had set out with the Carews, Sir Giles 
 Taplow, and some other neighbours as early 
 as five o'clock, and several ladies, among them 
 the Misses Carew, had afterwards gone to join 
 them at luncheon. As gentlemen seldom did 
 much shooting after luncheon, and it was now 
 four, the whole party might be expected home 
 any minute. 
 
 1 They are charming girls, the Misses Ca- 
 rew,' added her Ladyship. ' Do you know 
 them, Mr. Rushbrand ?' 
 
 1 By sight,' answered Paul, colouring, as he 
 always did at the name. ' I purposed calling- 
 one day this week at Royster Hall.' 
 
 ' You will find them all very nice and hos- 
 pitable ; and Sir Peter is a most amiable old 
 man, who wears his heart on his sleeve.' 
 
 ' There is no Lady Carew, I believe ? ' 
 
 ' No, she died more than ten years ago, and 
 it was a sad pity, for Sir Peter was hardly fitted 
 to bring up children, and he allowed all his 
 boys and girls to run wild. Some consider that 
 the girls are terribly fast ; as for the brothers,
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 47 
 
 they are of course up to their necks in extrava- 
 gance of every sort, but this is only natural in 
 spirited young men, so much spoiled as they 
 have been at home and still are now by Society. 
 I sometimes have my misgivings, however, as 
 to whether they are the companions best suited 
 to my son.' 
 
 The Vicar couched. ' Lord Hartlei^h has 
 been so well trained that I should think he 
 would be impervious to any bad example.' 
 
 1 Well, let us hope so ' — but here Lady 
 Hartleigh sighed. ' Ah, Mr. Rushbrand, there 
 you have touched a sore point. I am at present 
 in the deepest distress about my son.' 
 
 ' I am truly sorry to hear that,' answered 
 Paul, feeling uncomfortable at what he had 
 done. 
 
 1 Yes, and I feel inclined to make a con- 
 fidant of you,' added her Ladyship, dropping 
 her hands into her lap, and looking trustfully at 
 him. ' Indeed, I had half made up my mind 
 to write to you had you not come, for I felt it 
 necessary to see you, as you may be of con- 
 siderable assistance to me in this matter. I 
 am grieved to say, Mr. Rushbrand, that my son 
 has contracted a liaison with a person in every 
 way his inferior in rank, education, and cha- 
 racter.' 
 
 'A clandestine marriage?' suggested Paul, 
 dismayed.
 
 48 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 No ! Heaven be praised, it has not come 
 to that yet, although there is no telling what 
 may happen through the wiles of an unscru- 
 pulous and designing person. You see, Mr. 
 Rushbrand, my son lost his father five years 
 ago, so that he came into all his large property 
 as soon as he was of age. He is only two-and- 
 twenty now, and when a man is so young and 
 so rich he becomes a butt for the schemes of 
 adventurers of both sexes.' 
 
 ' I suppose that must unfortunately be the 
 case.' 
 
 ' Add to this that my son is of a sweet and 
 gentle disposition, easy to manage, which must 
 account for the hold that has been taken upon 
 him by this person, a certain Helen or Nelly 
 Lees. I believe she was a governess, and my 
 son met her whilst on a fishing excursion with 
 two friends in the North. As she is a creature 
 of prepossessing features, he appears to have 
 been quickly attracted towards her, and the 
 usual consequences followed. My son seduced 
 the girl, as they call it, though the term is ab- 
 surd in a case where all the seduction was on 
 her side, and they have been together ever 
 since. I am informed that she is residing in 
 your town at the present moment.' 
 
 4 You don't say so ! ' murmured Paul, in the 
 same tone as if he had been apprised that the 
 Gorgon had taken up her abode in Stilborough.
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 49 
 
 1 Wherever my son is, there she goes,' said 
 Lady Hartleigh, with a little shrug, and taking 
 up her work again. ' Now of course you 
 understand, Mr. Rushbrand, that if this were 
 an ordinary liaison I should not feel much con- 
 cern about it. Those things are very improper, 
 no doubt, but young men will be young men, 
 and in certain cases I have known youths be 
 much benefited as regards development of 
 character by a liaison with some disinterested, \ 
 sensible girl at the outset of their lives ; such 
 partnerships may often be termed the prepa- 
 ratory schools to marriage. But when there 
 is any danger of a nobleman of great estates 
 giving his name and fortune to his mistress, 
 and introducing her under the roof where his 
 mother has lived, then there is cause for the 
 worst alarm ; and unfortunately I have reason 
 to dread that the person to whom I am al- 
 luding is employing all the arts of her depraved 
 nature to induce my son to marry her.' 
 
 1 Is she a person utterly devoid of educa- 
 tion ? ' inquired Paul. 
 
 1 No ; I think I mentioned that she was a 
 governess, and her father, who is still living, is, 
 I understand, a poor country clergyman/ 
 
 'And is he aware of his daughter's goings- 
 on ? ' asked Paul, with a pang of fellow-feeling 
 for his afflicted clerical colleague. 
 
 ' I do not know, I am sure,' said Lady 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 59 
 
 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Hartleigh ; ' but it signifies little, for the girl 
 is of age, and consequently her own mistress. 
 No, Mr. Rushbrand, neither laws nor parental 
 authority have any power over these persons, 
 who are free to prey upon Society, stealing 
 away both the fortunes and honour, of those 
 who fall into their toils ; and, therefore, it is 
 of more importance that honest people should 
 band together against them for self-protection. 
 I am persuaded that you look at this matter in 
 the same light as I do, and, therefore, I must 
 ask you in the event of any rumour of marriage 
 coming to your ears — as, for instance, if you 
 were requested to solemnise a marriage pri- 
 vately — at once to communicate with me, in 
 order that my misguided boy may be rescued 
 in time from his infatuation. May I rely on 
 you to do this ? ' (Here a glance of polite 
 appeal.) ' Thank you ; and perhaps you will 
 not be offended if I ask you kindly to call on 
 the girl, who is at present one of your parish- 
 ioners, and expostulate with her secretly on 
 the state of deadly sin in which she is living. 
 Those persons who do not fear God have often 
 a wholesome terror of the Devil, and possibly if 
 you earnestly explained to her what sort of a 
 place she would immediately go to were she 
 to die under present circumstances, you might 
 startle her into accepting a sum of money from 
 
 me and £oin£ about her business.
 
 THE VICAR'S MISSION. 51 
 
 Her Ladyship continued to prattle on in 
 this style, and in the course of her remarks 
 pointed to the handsomely bound volume of 
 sermons she had laid down, and dwelt on the 
 comfort which she had derived from them in her 
 hours of trial. There was one particular ser- 
 mon on \ Sudden Death ' which had produced a 
 most powerful impression on her, and perhaps 
 it would rouse similar emotions in the breast of 
 sinful Miss Lees ; if Mr. Rushbrancl thought so, 
 she should be happy to lend him the book. All 
 this while Paul sat with his hat between his 
 knees, dumbfoundered and almost doubting the 
 sanity of his hostess ; for to hear her descant 
 on the deadly sinfulness of Miss Lees, whilst 
 she seemed utterly unmindful of the equal guilti- 
 ness of her son, and to see her so well versed 
 in the penalties that overtake sinners after sud- 
 den death, and yet so apparently oblivious of 
 the fact that she herself, judging her by her 
 sentiments, might have as much cause to dread 
 these penalties as anyone else — all this was 
 bewildering to a simple mind that had not estab- 
 lished two sets of weights and measures for the 
 gauging of sin. However, Paul was spared the 
 trouble of answering any of Lady Hartleigh's 
 remarks, for, as she stretched out her hand 
 towards the volume of sermons, she caught 
 sight through a window of her son returning 
 from sport, and called the Vicar's attention to 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY
 
 52 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 him. In effect, Paul's glance following hers, he 
 perceived a gay cavalcade dashing up the mile- 
 long avenue of poplars and elms that led to the 
 Hall. There was a smart break, freighted with 
 a party of gentlemen all smoking and holding 
 guns between their knees, and behind a cloud 
 of young horsewomen, cantering merrily, among 
 whom Paul recognised Amy Carew. Soon 
 the mirthful sounds of laughter and pleasant 
 banter arose as the party were heard alighting 
 at the door and streaming into the house, while 
 the leashed pointers and spaniels, sniffing at the 
 game-bags, barked their good-night, and were 
 answered in yelps by Lady Hartleigh's pug- 
 dogs, who leaped off the sofa and ran to thrust 
 their black muzzles under the door. A few 
 minutes more and the door opened, admitting a 
 comely youth, whom Lady Hartleigh introduced 
 as her son.
 
 53 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A FEAST DAY. 
 
 Lord Hartleigh looked more like a boy come 
 to ask his mother for pocket-money than like a 
 lawgiver with 50,000/. a year. He had evi- 
 dently not finished growing. He had no face- 
 hair, but a slight shade of down on the upper 
 lip. His complexion was pink and full of 
 laughing dimples as a girl's ; and the juvenility 
 of his general appearance was enhanced by the 
 brown velvet knickerbocker suit which he was 
 wearing. But such as he stood, Lord Hartleigh 
 was a peer who had already given undoubted 
 promise of future worth, and who had nothing 
 soft or foolish in his composition. Not reckon- 
 ing his proficiency in the saddle and with the 
 breech-loader — qualities which English squires 
 inherit from that kind Providence which endows 
 us all with gifts suitable to our callings — he had 
 shown himself industrious at school and college, 
 so that he had come away from Cambridge 
 with a good degree ; and now he was learning 
 the management of his estate at a pace which
 
 54 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 augured that he would soon be an expert in the 
 science of renewing leases, selling cattle, and 
 disputing with a prevaricating tenant about 
 cottage improvements. His demeanour was full 
 of aristocratical self-possession, and his manners 
 were graced by a dignified courtesy that had 
 considerable charm in one of such youthful as- 
 pect. It might be that Lord Hartleigh felt 
 most at home in field or covert, or with a bat 
 in his hands hitting loose balls to leg ; but what- 
 ever might be the duty which he was called 
 upon to perform, whether he was seconding the 
 reply to the Queen's Speech in the House of 
 Peers, or presiding at an agricultural dinner,, or 
 doing the honours of his hospitable home, he 
 bore himself as beseemed his rank, in a manner 
 equally free from shyness or arrogance. 
 
 Shaking hands with Paul Rushbrand, he 
 expressed great pleasure at making his ac- 
 quaintance, and invited him to stay to dinner. 
 Paul reflected that if he remained for dinner he 
 should be obliged to pay an extra sovereign for 
 his dog-cart ; but as his mother had instantly 
 recommended that he should accept any invita- 
 tion that seemed given in earnest, he consented 
 on being pressed a second time. Lord Hart- 
 leigh forthwith relieved him of all qualms about 
 the dog-cart by remarking that he would send 
 him home in company with the Carews, whose 
 way back to Royster lay through Stilborough ;
 
 A FEAST DAY. 55 
 
 and this point settled, took him downstairs to 
 introduce him to the Carews and other persons 
 of note in the count)'. 
 
 All these distinguished people were con- 
 ferring as to how they could beguile the three 
 hours intervening before dinner, and mean- 
 while were refreshing themselves with tea and 
 cakes, or sherry and bitters. The entrance of 
 Paul, tall, solemn, crop-headed, and still ema- 
 ciated from his illness, operated at first as a 
 damper ; but, when it became known who it 
 was, he was welcomed, and a disposition was 
 evinced to make a lion of him. Such ^ood-will 
 could not have endured long in any ordinary 
 assembly, owing to the Vicar's awkward man- 
 ner of receiving the compliments addressed to 
 him, but the present company seemed the 
 freest and liveliest under the sun, so that Paul 
 was at no loss to perceive that whether he re- 
 mained grave or joined in the general merriment 
 was a matter that would soon concern himself 
 more than anyone else. He was introduced to 
 Lady Ambermere, a pretty, fluffy-haired widow 
 of twenty-six, possessor of broad acres ; to 
 Colonel Pounceforth, of the Blues, a tall, hand- 
 some, dark-moustached soldier, who was dan- 
 cing attendance on her Ladyship ; to Captains 
 Warrener and Hunt, types of muscular, manly 
 beauty, too, the one a Hussar, the other a Lan- 
 cer ; to Sir Giles Taplow, an exceedingly fat
 
 56 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 landowner, not more than thirty years old, but 
 blear-eyed and already half bald ; and, last, to 
 Sir Peter Carew, M.P. for Stilborough, and his 
 family, or rather to as many of its members as 
 were present, for the full effective strength of 
 Sir Peter's household amounted to six sons and 
 five daughters. 
 
 All the daughters were there, with two of 
 the sons, and no finer progeny ever swelled 
 the breast of a father with pride. Well might 
 any childless man who had beheld the bloom- 
 ing loveliness of the daughters, and the stal- 
 wart limbs and brave faces of the sons have 
 murmured, ' Happy is he that hath his quiver 
 full of them.' Unfortunately, they were most 
 expensive children to support, and had poor 
 Sir Peter's quiver been filled with a few more 
 of them he must have marched towards the 
 workhouse. As it was, those best acquainted 
 with the state of his private affairs averred that 
 his course was already steadily on the drift 
 towards that parochial institution, for he had 
 inherited but 5,000/. a year from his father on 
 coming into his estate a quarter of a century 
 before, and ever since that time he had done 
 nothing but spend without ever increasing his 
 income by a sixpence. Nor had his children 
 ever added to the paternal store, but, on the 
 contrary, drained from it with unanimous regu- 
 larity. The eldest son, Oswald, was in the
 
 A FEAST DAY. 57 
 
 Blues, the second in the Lancers, the third a 
 barrister without briefs, the fourth a naval 
 lieutenant, the fifth and sixth were Government 
 clerks, the one in the Foreign and the other 
 in the War Office. None of these fashionably 
 occupied young men could of course by any 
 possibility live within their earnings ; all the 
 less so as when not attending to their profes- 
 sional duties they were (with the exception of 
 the sailor) to be found driving four-in-hands, 
 riding steeplechases, shooting pigeons, or play- 
 ing cricket matches at Lord's and Prince's. 
 They all belonged to first-rate clubs, and 
 dressed in such wise that it was a treat to look 
 at them ; they kept a valet apiece, a groom, 
 and at least one hunting horse ; they dined at 
 the tables of the great during the season, passed 
 the autumn and winter in a round of country 
 visits, and never missed a race meeting of any 
 importance, or a grand ball worth going to. 
 Everybody was glad to know them, to bet with 
 them, or to have them as guests ; for not only 
 were they good-looking, cheerful, thoroughly 
 gentlemanlike young fellows, but they carried 
 into all they did an amount of healthful energy 
 most invaluable to those who hunted pleasure 
 in their company. 
 
 It was much the same with the daughters 
 as with the sons. They were general favourites, 
 but had never done anything to bring grist to
 
 58 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 the family mill. The two eldest, who might 
 have married rich peers had they pleased, had 
 made love-matches, and were wedded to Cap- 
 tain Warrener and Captain Hunt — two military 
 Adonises, who, after sale of their commissions 
 and payment of their bachelor debts, had an 
 income of about 400/. a year apiece to meet 
 expenditure of at least four times that amount. 
 The three younger daughters, Isabel, Amy, 
 and Georgina, were unmarried ; but they had 
 never evinced the slightest disposition towards 
 setting traps for wealthy husbands, and seemed 
 quite content to continue for ever as they were 
 doing — that is, go into Society under . the 
 chaperonage of their married sisters, dance, hunt, 
 skate on rollers, flirt a little, dress expensively, 
 and be made love to with more or less warmth 
 and sincerity by men of all ages and conditions. 
 Worthy Sir Peter doted on all his children 
 alike, and could not bring it to his heart to re- 
 fuse anything that they begged of him in reason 
 or out of it. To be sure he would now and then 
 growl that it was high time his sons-in-law, 
 Hunt and Warrener, did something to support 
 themselves and their wives ; and he would fly 
 out into hot bursts of an^er when his sons 
 overdrew their allowances so as to leave him in 
 debt to his bankers. But whenever his married 
 daughters wanted money they had only to twine 
 their white arms round his neck, sitting on his
 
 A FEAST DA Y. 59 
 
 knees, and talking of their babies, and he then 
 felt as though he would sell his last pair of boots 
 to please them ; whilst as to his sons, he was 
 easily pacified about their extravagance by read- 
 ing the newspapers which chronicled their ex- 
 ploits as gentleman-riders or batsmen. A large, 
 lion-headed, woman-hearted giant of a patriarch 
 was Sir Peter, who never felt so happy as when 
 he saw all his children, married and single, 
 gathered together under his roof and eating of 
 the huge joints which he loved to carve with 
 his own hands in the ancestral hall where his 
 fathers had feasted for ten generations. And 
 his children on their side repaid the old man's 
 affection with interest, and were all, as brothers 
 and sisters, heartily fond of one another, so 
 much so that if one amonof them got into a 
 
 o o 
 
 scrape, the rest would labour with combined 
 wits, hearts, and diligence to pull him out, nor 
 ever reproach him afterwards for the trouble 
 they had incurred on his account. Such union 
 in large families is too rare not to be note- 
 worthy ; and yet what a pitiful waste of homely 
 virtues and generous qualities was there to 
 be observed ! Surely any moralist who had 
 watched the Carews could not have helped re- 
 flecting on what great things so much cheerful- 
 ness, energy, courage, and family concord could 
 have achieved if directed towards a worthy ob- 
 ject. Had the Carew family been transplanted
 
 60 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 to some desert tract of Australia, they would 
 soon have founded a strong and prosperous 
 colony ; and had any one of the sons been 
 forced from early life to work for his bread, he 
 must rapidly have carved his way to inde- 
 pendence, perhaps to wealth and dignity. But 
 fortune and paternal indulgence having cast in 
 the lot of the Carews with the drones instead 
 of the bees, they could only labour after their 
 kind, and ate the honey of life instead of fur- 
 nishing it. 
 
 Paul had not seen Amy Carew, save at a 
 distance, since the day when she had thrown 
 the carnation to him, and, presentations being 
 now over, she reminded him laughingly of the 
 fact. In her close-fitting black habit, and with 
 the coquettish silk hat tilted forward on her 
 dark hair, she looked enchanting ; and Paul 
 could scarcely take his eyes off her as she sat 
 on a low chair stirring her tea and ' drawing 
 him out ' to talk. 
 
 ' I hope you kept the pink I threw you the 
 other day, Mr. Rushbrand,' she said, archly. 
 ' I saw you put it into your button-hole.' 
 
 'Yes, I have kept it,' for he could not tell a 
 lie, though he reddened to the roots of his hair. 
 
 1 Oh, how very gallant ! But I'm sure you 
 only say that to spoil me. Do you know it was 
 very brave of you to rescue that little boy as 
 you did from the fire ; and they say you have
 
 A FEAST DA Y. 61 
 
 been so kind to the family since, giving them 
 money and all sorts of things.' 
 
 1 They lost all they had, for the cottage was 
 completely destroyed,' replied Paul. 
 
 1 Yes, and all because of that wretched fire- 
 engine, which didn't come in time ! But there's 
 always something wrong with engines. We 
 have one at Royster, which doesn't work at all, 
 so that if ever a fire breaks out we shall be 
 burned up like chips, as I've told papa twenty 
 times. But, by the way, Mr. Rushbrand, why 
 haven't you yet come to see us at Royster ? ' 
 
 ' It was my intention to call this week. I'm 
 afraid I have to apologise.' 
 
 1 Well, we shall be very glad to see you at 
 any time, and there are so many of us that you 
 may always be sure of finding some one at 
 home to do you the honours of the hall, a dear 
 old place, full of " windows that exclude the 
 light, and passages that lead to nothing." But 
 you must mind and come in ten days' time for 
 the races ; we shall be very gay then.' 
 
 1 Races at Stilborough ! ' ejaculated Paul, as- 
 tonished. 
 
 1 Yes ! haven't you heard of them ? ' said 
 Amy, raising her eyebrows. 'Why, the course 
 runs through papa's grounds, so that during 
 three days we are regularly invaded. Thou- 
 sands of people come down from London, and 
 our house is always full of country neighbours.
 
 62 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 I hope you don't disapprove of racing, Mr. 
 Rushbrand ? ' 
 
 ' I have never seen a horse-race,' was Pauls 
 answer. 
 
 ■ But you must have seen yacht races. Well, 
 it's much the same thing, only different, livelier, 
 and with more betting,' 
 
 ' I am sorry for the betting,' remarked Paul, 
 gravely. ' I have always enjoyed a yacht race 
 well enough without it.' 
 
 1 Oh, I am afraid you will think me very 
 wicked, then, for I delight in betting,' laughed 
 Amy. ' Why, I made a bet this very afternoon 
 aeainst the favourite in the Town Plate — a 
 money bet, too ! Ask Sir Giles Taplow if I 
 didn't make a money bet with him. But he will 
 answer, "No!" for I made him promise not to 
 tell anybody. Didn't I, Sir Giles ?' But here, 
 perceiving a rather shocked expression on the 
 Vicar's face, she merrily handed him her cup 
 to put down, and, jumping up, proposed a game 
 of croquet. ' Here, Maud ! Alice ! Bella ! Sir 
 Giles ! and you, Lord Hartleigh ! Mr. Rush- 
 brand is going to play croquet with us ! We 
 shall have time for a game before the first bell, 
 and I can play in my habit' 
 
 The party sallied out on the lawn, and a 
 mallet was put into the Vicar's hands. He 
 was an adept at the game, from having played 
 with Mr. Fulmouth's children ; but, whilst attend-
 
 A FEAST DAY. 63 
 
 ing to his red-ringed ball, he kept his eyes about 
 him for the purpose of observing the manners 
 of this company, and for so doing was rewarded 
 by one or two facts that came under his notice. 
 First he took mental note of the circumstance 
 that pretty Lady Ambermere was not only a 
 great gossip, but a flirt, for while accepting the 
 attentive service of Colonel Pounceforth, she 
 cast frequent glances towards Oswald Carew, 
 and did her best to inveigle him into her train 
 by asking him to take charge of her handker- 
 chief and gloves, hold up the skirts of her riding- 
 habit while she croquetted, and so forth ; all this 
 to the Colonel's evident chagrin and to Captain 
 Carew's satisfaction. Next he perceived with 
 some astonishment that Lord Hartleiofh was 
 very sedulous in making himself agreeable to 
 Isabel Carew, who was a replica picture of her 
 sister Amy, and who met the young peers ad- 
 vances in the same spirit in which they were 
 made — that is, not too coyly ; but from this 
 couple the Vicars attention was soon directed 
 towards Amy herself, who was being frequently 
 whispered to and joked with by Sir Giles Tap- 
 low. From that moment Paul Rushbrand 
 hated this fat baronet. He remembered having 1 
 seen him loafing through the streets of Stil- 
 borough in a suit of velveteens, with a bull-dog 
 at his heels, and having taken him for a cadger ; 
 and now that he had an opportunity of studying
 
 64 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 him closer, it seemed to him that he had made 
 even too fair an estimate of him. Sir Giles 
 divided his time between dogs, horses, and beer 
 tankards, and not only did his clothes reek of 
 the effluvium of kennels and stables, but his 
 sayings did too. He was a great utterer of 
 broad jests, and would relate in the presence of 
 ladies anecdotes to make decent men's ears 
 redder — his grinning maxim being that ' the 
 other sex liked it.' Having given vent to one 
 of these highly-spiced narratives and caused 
 Lady Ambermere to titter whilst all the other 
 ladies cried ' Oh ! ' Sir Giles was for his 
 transgression pelted with rose-leaves by Amy ; 
 whereat the Vicar mused that if some harder 
 missiles could have been substituted for rose- 
 leaves, the evil would not have been great. 
 
 But now the ringing of the first dinner-bell 
 caused playthings to be put aside, and a general 
 adjournment was made towards dressing-rooms. 
 With a host's courtesy Lord Hartleigh escorted 
 Paul to the chamber prepared for him, and 
 mentioned that the next bell would ring in half 
 an hour. Paul was glad to have that interval 
 for solitary reflection, for much of what he had 
 seen and heard that day troubled him ; and yet, 
 endeavour as he would to bring his meditations 
 to bear on what Lady Hartleigh had told him 
 concerning her son, and what he himself had 
 observed in his host, his thoughts glided away
 
 A FEAST DAY. 65 
 
 from the points on which he would have fas- 
 tened them, and returned ever towards Amy. 
 The window was open, and he stepped out on 
 to a balcony that commanded a view of Hazel- 
 wood Park, then bathed in the last rosy rays of 
 the setting sun. The sweet piping of a night- 
 ingale arose from a neighbouring tree, trans- 
 cending the last twitters of lesser birds calling 
 to one another from their roosts ; herds of 
 fallow deer who had finished browsing were 
 trooping slowly towards a glinting lake to slake 
 their thirst before retiring for the night to the 
 shelter of stately oaks and leafy chesnuts ; a 
 few bats were beginning to hover in erratic 
 flight ; and a faint breeze that stirred the 
 branches caused some autumn leaves to fall 
 with a rustline murmur and litter the sward 
 with waifs of many a sere tint, from the pale 
 gold of the acacia to the blood-red of the maple. 
 It was a prospect well fitted to expand the 
 breast with soft emotions, and as the Vicar 
 stood and gazed, admiring and pensive, he was 
 conscious of something flowing within him and 
 quickening his pulses, as it were a new life 
 and hope. The sensation was undefinable and 
 strange, as it always appears to those who 
 experience it for the first time — this sensation 1 
 which grows but once in a man during life, 
 when the heart which has till then lain fallow 
 begins to put forth its first flowers. 
 vol. 1. F 
 
 J
 
 66 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Several minutes had Paul stood wrapped in 
 contemplation, when the sound of voices broke 
 on his ear close to him, and he became aware 
 that two persons were conversing- in the room 
 next his, which looked out on to the same 
 balcony. He was about to retire when he 
 recognised the voices to be those of Amy's 
 two brothers, Oswald and Philip ; and curiosity 
 tied him to the spot, so irresistible was the 
 attraction he now felt towards anything or 
 anyone connected with her who reigned in his 
 thoughts. 
 
 The younger brother, the Lancer, while 
 splashing water in his basin, was speaking to 
 Oswald — him in the Blues. 
 
 1 I say, old man, I hope w r e shall be able to 
 make decent books on this Stilborough meet- 
 ing I was awfully hard hit at Goodwood. 
 Do you believe in Bluebell for the Town 
 Plate ? ' 
 
 'No. I noticed something queer in her off 
 hind fetlock to-day when Hartleigh showed her 
 to us in the stables. My belief is she'll go 
 lame before the race, so I laid Hartleigh twenty 
 to twelve against her in monkeys, and got 
 Taplow to take the same odds, for he' doesn't 
 know a horse from a tea-kettle, though he 
 thinks he does.' 
 
 ' Have you noticed how he's spooning on 
 Amy?'
 
 A FEAST DAY. 67 
 
 ' Yes ; I wish to goodness she'd marry him, 
 for he's not such a brute as he looks ; and I 
 wish Bella would play her cards well with 
 Hartleigh. A couple of marriages like that 
 would set us all square.' 
 
 ' H'm ! we want it very bad, don't we ? 
 The family 'bus seems going down hill with 
 all brakes up. The Hebrews won't take my 
 paper at cent, per cent.' 
 
 ' Nor mine at any price.' 
 
 1 Ah, but you've a petticoat-string to your 
 bow. How are matters progressing with Louise 
 Ambermere ? ' 
 
 ' Pounceforth is cutting me out, for he's in 
 earnest,' was Oswald's careless answer, ' I 
 don't like her, and would only make a dash for 
 her if every other stick and stone failed.' 
 
 Paul had heard enough, and retreated with 
 a weight at his heart. Disgust at the cynicism 
 (for to him it appeared cynicism) with which 
 the brothers talked of marrying their sister to 
 an ill-bred rake in order to repair their own 
 extravagant embarrassments, was overshadowed 
 in him by the fear lest Amy herself should be a 
 party, actively or passively, to such an arrange- 
 ment ; and he resolved to watch her closely. 
 But nothing that he observed during dinner 
 gave the slightest colour to his fears ; on the 
 contrary, Amy seemed much more taken up 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 with himself than with the Baronet, for she 
 frequently asked him, smiling, questions across 
 the table, whereas she barely exchanged half- 
 a-dozen sentiments with her neighbour. The 
 repast was most convivial and unceremonious, 
 for all the ladies, excepting Lady Hartleigh, 
 who presided, were in their habits and the 
 gentlemen in shooting-coats. Sir Giles alone, 
 being on a week's visit to Hazelwood, had 
 donned evening clothes, and perhaps it was the 
 starchedness of his collar and white tie that 
 acted as a clog on his jocularity, for he kept his 
 tongue within bounds, and devoted himself to 
 the tranquil mastication of his host's viands, and 
 the copious drinking of his wines. Altogether 
 Paul felt his spirits much revive by the sight 
 of Amy's conduct, and he managed to enjoy 
 his dinner, enlivened as it was by the versatile 
 conversation of Lady Hartleigh, by whose 
 side he sat. After dessert he did not join in 
 the cigar-smoking and coffee-drinking which 
 took place on the garden-terrace (for in the 
 way of smoking his seafaring habits had made 
 him contract the habit of a solitary pipe before 
 going to bed) ; but he took a seat beside white- 
 headed, bushy-whiskered Sir Peter Carew, and 
 made a friend of that veteran by the respectful 
 way in which he listened to oft-told tales of 
 doings in the Parliament lobbies, and of hair-
 
 A FEAST DAY. 69 
 
 breadth divisions, wherein if it had not been 
 for his — Sir Peter's — timely vote the Consti- 
 tution of this realm might have been put in 
 sore peril ! 
 
 A diamond moon was shimmering high 
 above the trees of the park, when a signal was 
 made for starting homewards, and an order was 
 given for bringing round the horses of the 
 ladies and the break for the gentlemen. As 
 preparations for departure were being made, 
 Lady Hartleigh drew the Vicar aside, and, 
 thanking him again for his visit, repeated her 
 request that he would kindly, if possible, call on 
 1 that ill-regulated girl' adding, ' You have seen 
 my son, Mr. Rushbrand, and can understand 
 what distress a mother must feel at the thought 
 of a young man so good and so full of promise 
 being ruined.' A minute later Lord Hartleigh 
 himself, as he wished his guest good-bye, 
 begged him to renew his visits frequently, and 
 to apply to him (Lord H.) whenever any help 
 should be wanted for church, schools, or chari- 
 ties, ' for,' said his Lordship, gravely, ' I take 
 a great interest in Church matters, and in all 
 institutions for moralising the people.' 
 
 Sir Peter, who had got on to the box of the 
 break, now beckoned to Paul to climb up beside 
 him ; Colonel Pounceforth, with Sir Peter's sons 
 and sons-in-law, clambered in behind ; Lady
 
 7 o THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Ambermere and the five sisters, all mounted, 
 circled round like a body-guard of Amazons ; a 
 pair of grooms brought up the rear ; and the 
 gallant procession dashed off at a swinging trot 
 in the silvery light of the cloudless evening, and 
 with the tinkling laughter of the ladies forming 
 an accompaniment like the music of bells. For 
 many and many a day afterwards did Paul re- 
 call that glorious three-mile ride, so brisk, so 
 inspiriting, and the ' good-night ' given him at 
 his own gate when, after he had been set down 
 and was lifting his hat, the horsewomen — Amy 
 amongst them — gaily waved their hands to him, 
 and wished him pleasant slumbers. 
 
 There was a light in the Vicars usually 
 serious eyes as he entered the parlour, where 
 his stepmother sat up waiting for him, and 
 darning stockings, so that the old lady, looking 
 up through her spectacles, instantly exclaimed — 
 
 ' Ah, mon ami, tu as passe ta journee avec 
 Dame Jeunesse, on en voit le reflet sur ta 
 bonne fiooire ! ' 
 
 And for the next hour Paul had to sit and 
 answer a hundred affectionately inquisitive que- 
 ries as to whom he had seen, what he had done, 
 what he had eaten — the good little French- 
 woman reminding him at every moment of how 
 rieht she had been to advise him to cultivate 
 1 le monde ou Ion sanitise.' When at last bed-
 
 A FEAST DAY. 71 
 
 time came she gave him in a very few words 
 an account of her own day's honest doings, and 
 said, ' Only one person called — a young lady 
 who has left her card, and said she would come 
 again to-morrow.' 
 
 Paul took the card and read the name — 
 ' Miss Helen Lees!
 
 72 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A PENITENT. 
 
 The pretty river Still, from which Stilborough 
 derived its name, was bordered by many a 
 pleasing villa inhabited by people who were in 
 easy circumstances without being rich. In one 
 of these, that belonged to the Hartleigh pro- 
 perty, a lady had taken up her residence. She 
 kept a footman in livery, two women-servants, 
 and a groom to look after a showy pair of grey 
 ponies which she drove in a chaise. Nobody 
 knew her, and she took no steps to cultivate 
 anybody's acquaintance ; the tradesmen with 
 whom she dealt were paid weekly, and she had 
 no business relations either with the bank or 
 the house-agents in the borough. Her servants 
 were well-trained and discreet, and did not mix 
 with the servants of the neighbours. 
 
 On the morning after Paul's visit to Hazel- 
 wood, this lady, who was Miss Helen Lees, 
 dressed herself with great care in black silk, 
 with gloves and bonnet of the same colour, and 
 a veil ; and thus attired stood grimacing for a
 
 A PENITENT. 73 
 
 few minutes opposite the looking-glass in her 
 room, evidently trying to compose her face into 
 an expression of dolefulness. She was unde- 
 niably pretty, and would have enthralled any 
 lover of the petit style in women, for she was 
 of the daintiest build, having hands and feet 
 exquisitely small, and a mouth so tiny that a 
 cherry could hardly have been thrust into it. 
 Her hair was fair as ears of corn ; the voice 
 with which she called to her maid to come and 
 help her fasten her veil was sweet as a child's ; 
 and there would have been in her whole face 
 the innocent expression of a baby's if it had not 
 been for a lurking fire in her small grey eyes, 
 and one or two lightly-pencilled lines between 
 her brows, which spoke to frequent frowns and 
 a quick temper. She was several minutes drill- 
 ing her features into the appearance that was 
 required of them, and only succeeded at last by 
 the aid of a powder puff, which spread an arti- 
 ficial pallor over her cheeks. Then she took up 
 an ivory-bound prayer-book, lowered her veil, 
 and walked out of the house. It was a Wed- 
 nesday morning, and the bells of St. Barnaby's 
 were ringing for the Litany service, which al- 
 ways took place on that day and on Fridays. 
 
 Very depressing services these were as re- 
 gards externals, for no more than a dozen 
 people ever attended them. The late Vicar, 
 who disliked officiating before empty pews, had
 
 74 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 stipulated for the attendance of the parish 
 school-children and alms-folks ; but Mr. Pot- 
 tinger, who thought that church-going, save on 
 Sundays, smacked of Popery, had taken advan- 
 tage of Paul's accession to get these paupers 
 manumitted, and none of them now came of 
 their own accord. The minister's voice would 
 ring hollow under the vaults of the fine church 
 which could hold a thousand worshippers with- 
 out being full ; and his eye, as it roamed over 
 the expanse of unoccupied seats, would rest for 
 relief on the monumental tombs in the lateral 
 chapels and aisles, where the stone present- 
 ments of many a departed Hartleigh and Carew 
 crossed their mailed legs, or rested them upon 
 couchant hounds. 
 
 But on the morning in question the Vicar 
 had one more worshipper than usual, and when 
 the service was over she remained in her pew 
 with her head buried in her hands — nay, as 
 Paul went by on his way to the vestry, she 
 suddenly burst into audible sobs. Surprised, he 
 passed on, not daring to intrude on her grief ; 
 but when, having taken off his surplice, he 
 returned to the church and saw the beadle 
 waiting to close the doors until this lady had 
 finished her weeping, he motioned to him to 
 withdraw, and walked noiselessly down the 
 chancel, taking up a position where the mourner 
 could perceive him, and address him if she
 
 A PENITENT. 75 
 
 chose. She soon raised her eyes, and, seeing 
 him, made an attempt to rise ; but her strength 
 apparently failed her, and she sank back ex- 
 hausted into her seat. Paul at once stepped 
 forward. 
 
 1 You are in distress ? ' he said gently ; ' but 
 in seeking God's house you have come to the 
 fount of all true consolation. Is there anything 
 I can say to comfort you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, you of all men in the world. I 
 wished to see you : I called on you yesterday,' 
 she wailed. 
 
 1 Is it so?' said Paul, starting. 'You are 
 Miss Lees then ? ' 
 
 ' Helen Lees, yes — how did you know my 
 name ? ' 
 
 1 You left a card at my house.' 
 
 1 To be sure : I had forgotten it,' she fal- 
 tered in broken accents. ' Conscience makes 
 such a coward of me that I fancied my shame 
 was written on my face so that all could see it. 
 Oh, Mr. Rushbrand, is there any hope of par- 
 don for a woman who has fallen as low as 
 she can fall, and who prays to God day and 
 night ? ' 
 
 ' For those who seek Him with tears of 
 true repentance there is every promise of par- 
 don,' answered Paul gravely ; ' but will you 
 come into the vestry ? I, too, desired to see 
 you.'
 
 76 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 She seemed so weak that he gave her his 
 hand to assist her in walking ; and when she 
 reached the vestry she dropped into one of the 
 high-backed leather chairs and broke out sob- 
 bing afresh. Paul closed the door and stood 
 by the table, embarrassed and a little agitated. 
 He had seen that she was pretty, but had not 
 yet obtained a full view of her features, owing 
 to her keeping her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 When, at length, she let fall her hands help- 
 lessly into her lap and he saw her, by the 
 sunlight that streamed on her, to be so fair, 
 childlike, and frail, he was stricken with com- 
 passion, and thought he would spare her the 
 pain of a confession by stating that he was 
 acquainted with her history. This he did as 
 delicately as possible. 
 
 ' I think I know a great deal of what you 
 would tell me, Miss Lees/ he said in a low tone ; 
 4 and I have felt the more concern in your case 
 from learning that your father is a clergyman. 
 He must be feeling great anxiety about you at 
 this moment ? ' 
 
 1 Oh, it would break his heart if he knew 
 how I was living/ said she pitifully. 
 
 * But have you not considered that he might 
 hear of it at any moment ? Your name might 
 be mentioned in his hearing ' 
 
 1 Yes he might learn, I know ; but I have 
 done my best to prevent it by changing my
 
 A PENITENT. 77 
 
 name, so as not to disgrace him. My real 
 name is not Lees, but Truman.' 
 
 1 Truman ! ' echoed Paul. ' Can it be that 
 you are the daughter of William Truman who 
 went out to China some years ago as a mis- 
 sionary ? ' 
 
 The alarmed tone in which he put this 
 question caused Helen Lees to turn genuinely 
 pale and look a little frightened, as she mur- 
 mured an affirmative reply. Then Paul uttered 
 a moan : — 
 
 1 Oh, Miss Truman, I have no sister, but if 
 you were my mother's child, you could have no 
 greater claim upon me than you have now, 
 being William Truman's daughter. Know that 
 it was your father who first impressed upon my 
 soul the truths of Christianity. We travelled 
 to China in the same ship ; and he converted 
 me from the state of religious heedlessness in 
 which I was living ; I am indebted to him for 
 all that I am now, perhaps I shall owe him my 
 salvation in another life.' 
 
 ' What must you think of me, then ? ' mut- 
 tered Helen, hanging her head in shame. 
 
 ' If blood of mine could have saved you, 
 you should have had it/ continued Paul ex- 
 citedly ; ' and if any effort or sacrifice on my 
 part can now rescue you and lead you to repent- 
 ance, you may be sure I shall not fail you.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' she answered, as if in deep
 
 7S THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 gratitude. ' Thank you more than I can ex- 
 press. I have not sought to hide from you my 
 sinfulness, which is, alas, past hiding, and yet, 
 God knows, I sinned only through love — love 
 which makes us women so weak ! ' 
 
 Paul, in grievous distress, was resting his 
 brow on his hand ; and if Helen's emotion had 
 been as sincere as she wished it to seem, she 
 must have been bereft of speech at seeing him 
 so overcome. It was now, however, that she 
 began, unasked, to tell her history, speaking 
 in a low but clear voice, broken occasionally by 
 a quaver that served to carry her words all the 
 deeper into the heart of her hearer. She was 
 one ol a numerous family who had had many 
 privations to surfer. Through ill-health her 
 father had been obliged to resign a curacy 
 which just enabled him to support himself and 
 his children ; and doctors had advised him to go 
 the long sea-voyage to China as his only chance 
 of recovering strength. She (Helen) had then 
 been sent to live with an aunt ; but this relation 
 had not been kind to her. She had made her 
 do drudgery as a servant ; had even maltreated 
 her ; so that eventually Helen had been glad to 
 leave her roof and accept a situation as nursery 
 governess, discharging, for a wretched salary, 
 duties that were almost menial. It was then 
 that she became acquainted with Lord Hart- 
 leieh, the first bein^, save her father, from whom
 
 A PENITENT. 79 
 
 she had ever heard a gentle word. She loved 
 him at first sight, and he seemed deeply attached 
 to her ; but he had concealed his rank, and gave 
 her to believe that he was nothing more than 
 a medical student who had come to the North 
 for a holiday. Carried away by her passion for 
 him, and believing that he would marry her, 
 Helen had yielded to his solicitations that she 
 should elope with him ; and since then they had 
 been travelling together, the truth as to her 
 lover's wealth gradually breaking on her as she 
 noticed the amount of money he spent on their 
 journeys, till at length, on his bringing her to 
 live at Stilborough, she had learned that he was 
 not only immensely rich, but a peer. Naturally 
 this discovery had filled her with grief and 
 despair. She was soon about to become a 
 mother, and what should she do, characterless 
 and homeless, with a child to support ? — for she 
 could no longer accept the bounty of a man 
 who could never be her husband — no, she would 
 not bring up her child with money which would 
 be the waee of dishonour ! 
 
 At this point of her narrative Helen's voice 
 became inarticulate from sobs again, and she 
 continued to weep in a desponding way, while 
 she faltered through the remainder of what she 
 had to say, explaining the reasons that had 
 induced her to call on the Vicar. She had 
 come to pray for advice. It was impossible
 
 So THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 that she should continue to live under Lord 
 Hartleigh's protection, and she could not bear 
 to return to her father's roof, bringing to her 
 family the tidings of her own shame and sin- 
 fulness. Under such circumstances could Mr. 
 Rushbrand counsel her as to what she ought 
 to do ? If he could procure her a situation 
 where there was the most repulsive of work 
 to do — ay, if she had to toil all day on her 
 knees, she would accept it with gratitude. She 
 would accept anything that would enable her 
 to support her child by honest means, for all 
 pride was dead in her, and her sole desire 
 for the future was to lead a life of labour and 
 atonement. Saying which she clasped her 
 hands and turned towards the Vicar a suppli- 
 cating- look that would have melted a stone. 
 
 Paul w r as very much affected. His heart 
 being predisposed in Helen's favour, his mind 
 was thrown off its guard, and he brought to 
 bear no penetration on the probing of what 
 he heard. The more we feel, the less we 
 reason. Paul considered only that he had 
 before him the daughter of a benefactor, who 
 had been wronged and was in need of his 
 succour, so that all that was good and manly 
 in him yearned towards her. 
 
 1 But why cannot Lord Hartleigh marry 
 you ? ' he inquired after a pause. 'Has he 
 positively refused to do so ? '
 
 A PENITENT. Si 
 
 ' Oh ! how could he marry me, Mr. Rush- 
 brand ? Just reflect how much above me he is. 
 What would his family say to his marrying the 
 daughter of a poor clergyman ? ' 
 
 1 But he is of age, and consequently has only 
 himself to consult.' 
 
 ■ Yes, but I do not blame him. I know 
 I am not good enough for him ; he must marry 
 some lady of his own station who will be a 
 pride and strength to him, which I could never 
 be. . . . And yet I feel that if he could over- 
 look the difference in our ranks I should be 
 such a loving wife to him — so obedient and 
 true ! . . . But I know it cannot be.' 
 
 ' And why can it not be ? ' exclaimed Paul. 
 1 Lord Hartleigh thought you good enough 
 for him when he stole away your young heart ; 
 and he is the father of your child. Shall he 
 look down on his own flesh and blood ? ' 
 
 'He would not do so,' said Amy, fervently ; 
 ' for all his instincts are kind and generous, but 
 there is the pride of his House.' 
 
 1 Pride ! ' cried Paul, ' such pride is accursed ; 
 it comes from the Devil, not from God ; ' and 
 as he spoke these words, wrath was kindled 
 within him. It was an anger that sprang in 
 part from that innate, ever-slumbering hatred 
 of the plebeian for the noble, which Macaulay 
 has so finely expressed in the words which he 
 puts into the mouth of Icilius calling upon the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Roman crowd to avenge the outrage offered 
 to Virginia. Paul measured with his mind's eye 
 all the distance that separated an English 
 peer from the degraded daughter of a curate ; 
 he thought of Lady Hartleigh's contemptuous 
 vituperation of Helen ; and then he recalled 
 the Prophet Nathan's parable of the rich man 
 who spared to take of his own flocks and herds, 
 and seized the poor man's one little ewe lamb. 
 Dark was his brow, and full of determination 
 was the expression of his closed lips as he 
 asked of Helen when she next expected to 
 see Lord Hartleigh. She answered that he 
 would probably call on her that evening, and 
 named the hour. 
 
 \ Very well, when he comes I shall stand on 
 his way to meet him,' said Paul. ' For the 
 present come with me, Miss Truman, and let us 
 pray God together for help.' 
 
 He opened the vestry door ; they returned 
 into the chancel, and he led her to the altar- 
 rails, where they both knelt. The church was 
 quite empty, and every word of Paul's rose with 
 striking distinctness, as with uplifted face and 
 hands he cried : — ■ 
 
 ' Oh God, who despisest not the sighing of 
 a contrite heart nor the desire of such as be 
 sorrowful, mercifully hear the prayer of this Thy 
 servant, who confesseth her sins to Thee and 
 appealeth to Thy fatherly compassion. Send
 
 A PENITENT. 83 
 
 her not forth among" the outcasts of this world, 
 soften towards her the heart of the man who 
 has wronged her, that he may take her to him, 
 cherish, comfort her, and put away her fault 
 from men's remembrance. And let her so find 
 favour in Thy sight, O God, that being cleansed 
 by Thy divine pardon, she may henceforth, as 
 a wife and mother, lead a life of virtuous ex- 
 ample, glorifying Thy holy name. This we 
 beg through the intercession of Thy Son, Jesus 
 Christ, the advocate of all who mourn and re- 
 pent ' 
 
 Helen should have answered 'Amen,' but 
 when Paul turned to hear her response, he found 
 her in a swoon, and had only time to put out his 
 arm to prevent her from falling back on the flags. 
 
 That evening, towards six, Lord Hartleigh, 
 riding from Hazel wood with Sir Giles Taplow, 
 reined in within bow-shot of Stilborough Bridge, 
 and gave his horse in charge to a groom, or- 
 dering him to be in waiting for him at that same 
 place at ten o'clock. Then he turned to speed 
 his companion, who was bound onwards for 
 Royster Hall : ' Remember me kindly to Sir 
 Peter, and say how sorry I was at not being 
 able to go and dine.' 
 
 ' Trust to me : I'll paint him your grief, and 
 — give your love to Bella Carew,' laughed Sir 
 Giles, and he rode on. 
 
 g 2
 
 84 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 On the bridge he crossed Paul and nodded 
 to him. A few minutes later, Lord Hartleigh, 
 coming the same way, saw the Vicar leaning 
 on the parapet and watching some urchins fish 
 for minnows. He could have dispensed with 
 meeting him at such a time : nevertheless, he 
 accosted him : — 
 
 1 Good evening, Mr. Rushbrand. Come out 
 to enjoy the view of our lazy Still ? ' 
 
 • No, my lord, I came out to meet you. I 
 have something of great urgency to say, and 
 should be glad if you could accompany me to 
 the Vicarage.' 
 
 'Some good work to do, I'll be bound,' 
 smiled Lord Hartleigh, but meeting no respon- 
 sive smile, he looked uneasy. ' Well, you see, 
 I have an appointment in a quarter of an hour ; 
 but I'll come if your business positively won't 
 keep ? ' 
 
 1 It won't keep for a single hour,' was the 
 Vicar's forcible answer. So the young peer 
 walked on beside him.
 
 S5 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 
 
 Two hours had passed since Mrs. Rushbrand 
 had seen her son enter his study in the company 
 of a stranger, and still the two remained closeted 
 together. The Vicar's evening repast had long 
 grown cold, then been re-warmed in the oven, 
 till, getting gradually burned, it consumed the 
 patience of the little Frenchwoman, who re- 
 garded good cooking as the eighth cardinal 
 virtue. She resolved to give Paul's lone- 
 winded visitor the hint to retire, by bouncing 
 into the study, as if unaware that anybody was 
 there, and then retiring with a stammered 
 apology. But, having executed this time- 
 honoured stratagem, she was sorry for what 
 she had done, on beholding the Vicar in close 
 and earnest converse with a orentle-lookino- 
 young man, whose eyes bore the traces of 
 recent tears. 
 
 It was shortly after this that she heard the 
 stranger being re-conducted to the hall-door ; 
 then Paul came to her with a look of quiet but
 
 85 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Avondrous serenity, and said, ' Mother, will you 
 please prepare one of the best bed-rooms for a 
 visitor who will sleep here to-night. It is a 
 lady, and I should like you to come with me in 
 an hour's time and fetch her from her present 
 residence. She is the daughter of Mr. Truman, 
 of whom I have so often spoken to you, and is 
 going to be married from this house to-morrow 
 to Lord Hartleigh.' 
 
 So Paul had prevailed in his contest ! He 
 had done so by the application of immense 
 moral force — greater, far, than was really re- 
 quired, for, whereas he thought that he had to 
 make an oak bend, he had only to deal with a 
 reed which bowed easily under the powerful 
 blast of his mouth. Lord Hartleigh was not 
 puffed up with caste pride, nor perverse ; his 
 nature still retained all the honest impulses of 
 youth, and he had mixed as yet too little with 
 the sceptics of the world not to remain as 
 amenable as in his school and college days to 
 religious areuments and menaces. Moreover, 
 he really was very fond of Nelly Lees, as he 
 called her, and though he had not contemplated 
 marrying her, he had been fully minded to make 
 generous provision for her and her child, so that 
 he was beyond measure dismayed on learning 
 that if he did not take her as his wife she 
 would forsake his protection and never more 
 accept money of him, or see him. Forgetting
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 87 
 
 with whom he spoke, Lord Hartleigh expressed 
 a belief that he should be able to dissuade 
 Nelly from such extreme alternatives ; but 
 Paul sternly rebuked the immoral presumption, 
 and declared that Miss Truman being under his 
 guardianship, he should see that the righteous 
 resolutions she had taken were strictly carried 
 out ; then, throwing oft* the restraints of con- 
 ventional speech, he broke out into the inspired 
 language of prophecy, and foretold to the dis- 
 concerted peer God's curse resting on him if 
 he refused to atone for his sin. The woman 
 he had deceived, and the child whom he had 
 begotten would be estranged from him, while, 
 perhaps, she whom he eventually took to wife 
 would bring him no children and no comfort — 
 or, perhaps, the children whom she bore him 
 would die, whereas his dishonoured child would 
 live, and by living be a cause of daily remorse 
 to him. In some way he mi^ht be sure that 
 Heaven's anger would find him out, for there 
 was no place of refuge from the pursuing con- 
 sequences of sin. 
 
 Lord Hartleigh was not prepared for such 
 threats, and quailed. It occurred to him that if 
 he refused to do what was demanded, he should 
 have this new Vicar of Stilborough planted as 
 a thorn in his side ; probably the story would 
 leak out, and public opinion would be arrayed 
 against him ; besides which, if Mr. Rushbrand
 
 88 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 took Helen under his roof, and kept her and 
 her child as a living reproach at his gates, it 
 would be almost impossible for him to continue 
 residing on his estate, much less to bring any 
 wife there. Counter-considerations militated 
 against a marriage with a woman whose kin- 
 dred were totally unknown to him ; but the 
 chief of these considerations was the fear as to 
 what his mother might say ; and Lord Hart- 
 leigh was at an age when a man thinks it a 
 proof of independence to disregard the wishes 
 of his parents in matters that closely affect his 
 own welfare. On the whole, however, let it be 
 granted in fairness, that it was probably- the 
 manly wish to repair the evil he had done, and 
 to keep himself unspotted before the world, 
 which finally induced Lord Hartleigh to pro- 
 mise, with tears in his eyes, that he would 
 marry Helen Truman. 
 
 Once this promise had been solemnly given, 
 Paul felt that the nobleman would not retract 
 it. So that all that remained for him to do was 
 to persuade Lord Hartleigh to acquaint his 
 mother with his decision, and prevail on her, 
 if possible, to attend the marriage ceremony. 
 This, however, Lord Hartleigh would not bind 
 himself to do, believing as he did that no good, 
 but only mischief, could come out of it. He 
 thought that his mother would view the match 
 with more equanimity when it was an accom-
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 89 
 
 plished fact ; but he said he would reflect on 
 the point during the night, and in any case 
 would come early into Stilborough on the mor- 
 row to procure his marriage licence. This 
 settled, he took leave civilly of Paul, and went 
 away to gladden Helen by proposing to her in 
 due form. 
 
 It was easy to see by the bride elect's face 
 when she came to the Vicarage at ten o'clock in 
 company with Paul's stepmother, what a differ- 
 ence a few hours had wrought in her prospects. 
 She could hardly contain herself for ecstasy, but 
 gave absent replies to remarks made her, issued 
 incoherent orders about her luggage, and seemed 
 unable to keep in any place for more than two 
 seconds at a time. Mrs. Rushbrand, however, 
 who went upstairs with her to help her un- 
 pack and make preparations for the morrow, de- 
 clared, on coming down, that she was a delightful 
 little thing — so sweet, unaffected, and expansive ! 
 Doubtless this good lady burned with curiosity 
 to know what hazards had brought such a para- 
 gon to be dependent on Paul for a home to be 
 married from ; but the Vicar left it to her own 
 perspicacity to guess the truth. From first to 
 last, whilst Helen remained under his roof, he 
 said not a word that could lower her in any- 
 body's esteem, but spoke of her and treated her 
 always with friendly respect. 
 
 The wedding morning dawned murkily with
 
 90 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 chilly grey clouds that boded rain : how often 
 does the weather dress itself in colours appro- 
 priate to ceremonies we are going to enact ! 
 1 Merry as a marriage morn ! ' is a phrase that 
 applies only to weddings solemnized in public, 
 amid concourse of friends and with music and 
 toasting ; and for such the sky should deck itself 
 in blue and gold ; but for clandestine marriages 
 nothing suits so well as grey, with a drizzle of 
 rain to prevent the curious from loitering near 
 the church porch. 
 
 Paul rose betimes, and wrote Helen's new 
 name, ' Helen, Lady Hartleighl in the fly-leaf of 
 a Bible which he intended to be his wedding 
 gift ; he also conned over a few words which he 
 purposed speaking at prayers on the blessedness 
 of the wedded state. But Helen did not come 
 down to prayers, and had her breakfast taken 
 up to her room. Though she had not closed 
 her eyes during the night, and had been up and 
 sewing at the bonnet she was to wear long be- 
 fore the house was astir, she wished to avoid 
 the chance of being- thrown even five minutes 
 alone in the Vicar's company — no doubt be- 
 cause she feared that something in the nature 
 of a sermon was hovering in the air. Up to ten 
 o'clock the Vicar, from his solitary breakfast 
 table, and afterwards from his study, heard the 
 pattering of feminine steps up and down the 
 stairs, and in and out of the house ; and became
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 91 
 
 aware, from scraps of flurried words which he 
 caught, that maid servants were being sent 
 to different tradespeople to buy gloves, tulle, 
 orange-flower blossoms, and other parapher- 
 nalia. When at last Helen came down, she shone 
 in all the glory of white bridal attire, and looked 
 angelic perfection — as if she had had weeks in- 
 stead of hours to prepare her apparel — for such, 
 prodigies will the fingers of women accomplish 
 when millinery has to be got ready ! The Bible 
 which Paul offered was modestly and thankfully 
 received, and Helen sat down to wait, but she 
 was evidently nervous, and cast her eyes re- 
 peatedly towards the window, in dread lest 
 something should yet occur to prevent the 
 ceremony which was to be the making of her. 
 
 Nothing occurred, and punctually to the time 
 appointed, a travelling landau debouched into 
 the road, pulled up at the Vicarage door, and 
 Lord Hartleigh alighted. He had stopped at 
 the Surrogate's, on his way through the town, to 
 procure his marriage-licence; and at a jewellers 
 to buy the ring and the handsomest present he 
 could find — a pearl and gold bracelet. Smartly 
 dressed, but wearing the staid look that becomes 
 a bridegroom, his greeting of his bride was 
 just what it should be — affectionate and quiet — 
 and he quite won the heart of Mrs. Rushbrand 
 by next bowing to her with infinite grace and 
 cordiality. Whilst Helen was admiring her
 
 92 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 bracelet and having her gloves buttoned for her 
 
 by the kind little Frenchwoman, Lord Hartleigh 
 
 turned to Paul and whispered to him that he 
 
 had not had the courage to inform his mother 
 
 of his marriage, but he had written a letter 
 
 which he begged Paul would remit. As for 
 
 himself, he proposed starting for the Continent 
 
 with his bride, and remaining away a fortnight, 
 
 coming back in time to appear in public with 
 
 Lady Hartleigh at Stilborough Races. By then 
 
 he hoped that his mother, having got over her 
 
 first shock, would be prepared to take a sensible 
 
 view of the affair, and to welcome his wife to 
 
 Hazelwood. Though Paul inwardly quaked at 
 
 the task confided to him, he pocketed the letter, 
 
 promising to deliver it with his own hands ; and 
 
 thereon the small bridal party started for the 
 
 church, Paul leading the way with Helen on his 
 
 arm, and Lord Hartleigh following with Mrs. 
 
 Rushbrand, who was to ' give away ' the bride, 
 
 and who, for the auspicious occasion, had made 
 
 herself magnificent with her best puce silk 
 
 eown, and a black velvet bonnet of ten years' 
 
 standing. 
 
 But the wedding was not fated to be a pri- 
 vate one, for what with the chirping of the 
 maids among the tradespeople, and what with 
 Lord Hartleigh's own appearance at the Surro- 
 gate's and the jeweller's, the rumour of what 
 was going to happen had obtained pretty
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 
 
 93 
 
 general circulation. Deeply interested as our 
 provincial middle classes are in all that concerns 
 the Nobility of their counties, and especially 
 in what concerns the lords of the manor on 
 whose soil they are living, the report of Lord 
 Hartleigh's marriage could not fail to excite 
 considerable sensation. Incredulous burgesses 
 emerged on to their doorsteps, then gathered 
 in groups to compare notes, till at sight of the 
 landau driving up to the church from the Vicar- 
 age they scampered towards the porch in a rush 
 that caused the horses to plunge and the coach- 
 man to swear. Our friend Mr. Pottinger was 
 one of the last to hear of what was brewing, 
 being deep in his cellar preparing brown sugar 
 for retail ; but when the news did reach him it 
 drew him out of the house as though by the 
 ears, and, to the eternal honour of his legs, be 
 it recorded that he arrived at the church just in 
 time to offer his services and to be accepted as 
 groomsman. As he often repeated subsequently 
 with much feeling:— 'If I had been but two 
 minutes later, why my lord would have been 
 given away by his own valet.' 
 
 But alack ! for those who, without beine 
 less inquisitive were less swift of foot than the 
 grocer-churchwarden ! The marriage rite, im- 
 pressive as it is, and lasting as its effects are, 
 is not a long one. In half an hour the eternal 
 knot had been tied, the register in the vestry
 
 94 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 had been signed, and Lord Hartleigh, with 
 Helen on his arm, was walking down the nave, 
 when he was momentarily impeded in his pro- 
 gress by the gaping throngs that kept pouring 
 in. Here it was that the good offices of Mr. 
 Pottinger became valuable in clearing a passage 
 by dint of elbow-ramming and vociferations. 
 The wedded pair once in the porch, a murmur 
 of admiration at the beauty of the bride ran 
 round ; then somebody raised a cheer, which 
 was but feebly responded to, because the ma- 
 jority present were at a loss what to make of 
 what they saw ; but as Lady Hartleigh was 
 being assisted into the carriage, someone sud- 
 denly remarked that the customary satin-shoe, 
 talisman of good luck, had been forgotten ; 
 whereon, what must ingenious Mr. Pottinger 
 do but whip off one of his own springside-boots 
 and fling it with such dexterity that it struck 
 full on the rumble of the departing vehicle, and 
 scaled off two inches of the paint and varnish. 
 This successful exploit, if it did not evoke the 
 cheer it deserved, brought forth a gust of 
 laughter, which was probably the last sound 
 that reached the ears of the newly wedded 
 pair as they were borne along at a flying pace 
 towards the railway station. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger picked up his boot and 
 hobbled back into the church ; then it was all 
 that Paul could do to shake him off, so great
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 95 
 
 was the itch upon him to know the why and 
 wherefore, and all true particulars as to the 
 astounding event that had happened. He was 
 even disposed to consider it a grievance that 
 Paul had not taken him into the secret before 
 the event, and was only silenced at last by 
 the Vicars promising to come and have tea 
 with him that evening and talk. For the 
 present Paul had pressing business on hand ; 
 not a moment was to be lost in seeing Lady 
 Hartleigh, lest tidings of the marriage should 
 reach her from some other source ; and so he 
 turned his face towards Hazel wood. 
 
 He walked fast and endeavoured to feel 
 pleased with himself for what he had done, yet 
 somehow the bank-note which he had received 
 as his fee burned in his waistcoat pocket. 
 England and America are the only two countries 
 where a man may make up his mind about a 
 marriage, get his licence, and have the ceremony 
 performed — all within four-and- twenty hours, 
 and without consulting anybody's good pleasure 
 but his own. In other lands, not only are 
 marriage formalities longer, but the law requires 
 that the parents of bride and bridegroom (even 
 though both the latter be seventy years old) 
 shall at least be appealed to for their consent 
 to the match ; and it does in truth seem so 
 natural and fit that a man should not introduce 
 a woman into a family as his wife without con-
 
 96 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 suiting the heads of that family, and that a 
 woman should not give herself away to a man 
 without seeking the advice of those who brought 
 her into the world, that a marriage contracted 
 without parental sanction seems to have some- 
 thing of incompleteness in it. Honestly examin- 
 ing his inner conscience Paul did not think he 
 had acted otherwise than righteously in joining 
 Lord Hartleigh and Helen to each other with 
 all possible despatch ; and yet he experienced 
 prickings of compassion for Lord Hartleigh's 
 mother, and felt more uneasy at going to meet 
 her upbraidings than could have been the case 
 had he been persuaded of his own utter blame- 
 lessness. In such a frame of mind did he 
 cover a mile of ground, and he was about to 
 climb a stile in order to shorten his journey by 
 crossing a field, when he heard a clatter of 
 hoofs behind him, and his name hallooed in an 
 excited voice. He turned and saw Sir Giles 
 Taplow, who had spent the night at Royster 
 Hall, and had just passed through Stilborough 
 on his way back to Hazel wood. 
 
 1 I say, what's this I hear, Rushbrand, that 
 Hartleigh has married Nell Lees ?' cried the 
 baronet, even before reining in. 
 
 1 I have just married Lord Hartleigh to 
 Miss Lees,' answered Paul coldly. 
 
 * Well, I'm d d if you haven't done a 
 
 pretty morning's work,' laughed Sir Giles, as if
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 97 
 
 he would roll off his saddle at the joke. ' Why 
 do you know that Nell is one of the most 
 arrant little minxes who ever led a fool by the 
 nose ? ' 
 
 ' Lady Hartleigh was, before her marriage, 
 a Miss Truman, daughter of a clergyman and 
 a much valued friend of mine/ retorted Paul 
 with warmth. 
 
 ' Gad — I dare say she was a parson's 
 daughter,' said Sir Giles ; ' but did she tell you 
 when she had last seen her family — did she say 
 anything about her past history ? ' 
 
 ' She told me as much as I required to 
 know,' replied Paul. 
 
 1 Ah, but you would have wanted to know 
 more had you been put on the scent of the 
 truth. Just listen, Nell must be six-and-twenty 
 now, though she doesn't look it, and she has 
 been o-oinor about on the loose for the last ten 
 years. She was about sixteen when she eloped 
 from home to join a travelling circus in company 
 with a kind of acrobat who had cozened her. 
 Not liking the paper-hoop business, she became 
 a barmaid at a music hall ; then she got engaged 
 as a dancing actress at a country town theatre ; 
 then she turned up as a nursery governess, but 
 that was only a sham to hide her real connec- 
 tion with her employer, who was a widower, 
 and whom she would have married if she 
 vol. 1. II
 
 9 8 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 hadn't fallen in with Hartleigh, who was game 
 better worth flying at.' 
 
 1 You are mistaken in all you say, Sir 
 Giles,' exclaimed Paul, on whose brow the 
 flush of indignation had mounted. ' Miss 
 Truman was unaware of Lord Hartleigh's rank 
 until some time after she had first met him.' 
 
 ' Ah, that's a good 'un !' grinned Sir Giles. 
 ' Why it was I who brought the two together.' 
 
 ' It was you who brought them together ? ' 
 echoed Paul, who felt his knees shake. 
 
 ' I and no one else, worse luck to me ! but, 
 you see, I've known Nell, off and on, for the 
 last five years, and for old companionship's 
 sake, as it were, I threw young Hartleigh into 
 her way as I was travelling with him. But 
 egad ! I thought it was going to be a simple 
 chumship as usual ; if I could have guessed 
 that it was coming to this style of thing, I'm 
 hanged if I should have acted as I did. Why, 
 why I'm not sure that Nell hasn't already a 
 child out somewhere at nurse.' 
 
 1 Not a word more, Sir Giles ; it is a waste 
 of words,' exclaimed Paul, holding up his hand 
 and speaking hoarsely, for he was well-nigh 
 choking — ' you have such a flippant way of 
 talking about women that where they are con- 
 cerned I cannot believe anything you say.' 
 
 ' Well, as you please about that,' rejoined 
 Sir Giles coolly. ' Everybody knew who Nell
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS. 99 
 
 was, except Hartleigh himself. Why even the 
 family solicitor seems to have got an inkling of 
 the affair, for he informed Lady Hartleigh of 
 it. She spoke to me on the subject this day, 
 asking me if there was any danger of a marriage, 
 and, like a fool. I said there wasn't. I even 
 lauehed at the mere notion. You don't know 
 whether Lady Hartleigh has yet heard of the 
 precious business ?' 
 
 ' I am going now to Hazel wood to carry 
 Lady Hartleigh a letter from her son,' answered 
 Paul, faintly, and turning away. 
 
 ' Well, well,' said Sir Giles with a whistle, 
 1 I wish you joy of your embassy — granting 
 that you are fond of excitement.' And as he 
 set his horse in motion, he laughed again at 
 Paul, who was leaning against the stile much as 
 if he had received a stunning blow. 
 
 h 2
 
 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BEFORE THE RACES. 
 
 At the yearly approach of Stilborough Races, 
 Royster Hall would be filled with joyous anima- 
 tion. It was a grand old mansion of red brick 
 and white freestone, which had been built in the 
 time of Elizabeth, but largely added to by sub- 
 sequent possessors, one of whom, who had been 
 first enriched and then nigh ruined by the South 
 Sea bubble, had run up an orangery and stables 
 fit for the palace of a king. With its commons 
 and dependencies the place straggled over 
 nearly three acres ; but, big as it was, the 
 patriarchal size of Sir Peters family prevented 
 it from ever being, or seeming, empty ; and at 
 race time it was as thickly peopled as an hotel. 
 Then, unsuspected rooms broke into light, and 
 
 the Misses Carew could be seen flitting - down 
 
 <_> 
 
 long and broad passages followed by house- 
 keeper and maids bearing armfuls of clean 
 sheets and pillow-cases ; then, in the kitchen 
 was the big jack-spit kept revolving day and 
 night to roast huge barons of beef and flocks
 
 BEFORE THE RACES. 101 
 
 of fowls for the entertainment of all such as 
 chose to come and feast during three days ; then 
 again, old Sir Peter might be met, girt with an 
 apron and going with his waddling butler to- 
 wards the cellars, there to take annual stock of 
 his wines and ales, and to tell off what dozens 
 of red and yellow seals, what ' gold caps ' and 
 fair-paunched barrels were to be had up for un- 
 corking and broaching. 
 
 There was every reason why the denizens 
 of Royster Hall should hail the races as a family 
 festival ; for they derived not a little pecuniary 
 profit from them. The race course ran through 
 the Carew estate for a third of its length ; and 
 for the remaining third through some land 
 belonging to the Corporation of Stilborough, 
 with whom Sir Peter had made this arrange- 
 
 o 
 
 ment, — that they should share with him the pro- 
 ceeds of the gate money levied on carriages and 
 on pedestrians (6d. per head of latter), and 
 leave him the sole benefit of the grand-stand 
 admissions, and of the refreshment department, 
 which he farmed out at the rate of 200/. for 
 the three days. Altogether Sir Peter contrived 
 to clear about 500/. from the meeting, after 
 deducting the expenses to which he was put for 
 hospitality and the prize of a hundred guineas 
 which he gave in the shape of the ' Carew Cup.' 
 This lump of money was most welcome to him. 
 It was the only part of his income which he
 
 io2 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 could not forestall ; it enabled him to pay off 
 small debts, and furnished him with the pocket 
 money out of which he defrayed his club sub- 
 scriptions, his cigars, and the other minor luxuries 
 to which himself and his children were addicted. 
 In addition to this the races served to keep up 
 his influence in the county. The guests, who, 
 from far and near, swarmed under his roof, 
 derived exaggerated notions of his wealth from 
 the lordly style in which he received them, 
 while the Stilborough tradesmen, who by invita- 
 tion fared gratis on his beef and wine, marked 
 their gratitude by returning him to Parliament 
 at each successive election. 
 
 On the morning of the opening day of the 
 particular meeting which concerns us, Oswald 
 and Philip Carew rose early to take a survey of 
 the course. It was a lovely day, one of those 
 when departing summer and early autumn seem 
 to blend all their beauties. No rain had fallen 
 for more than a week, and the scarlet pimpernel 
 glittering in the hedge-rows told by its open 
 petals that none was to be dreaded for that day. 
 Oswald, the Guardsman, struck the ground 
 with his foot and complacently said : ' Hard as 
 granite, my boy. There's no chance of Bluebell 
 being able to stay on such a course as this.' 
 
 'Let us hope not, but I own I'm getting 
 nervous,' responded his brother. ' You see, I've 
 followed your cue and laid such a pot of money
 
 BEFORE THE RACES. 103 
 
 against this brute, that if he comes in first I shall 
 be about done for. I've half a mind to hedge.' 
 
 ' You'll be a muff if you do.' 
 
 ' But I shall lose about three thousand if he 
 wins.' 
 
 1 Three ! that's nothing, I should be let in 
 for about ten, and yet I hope] to book a good 
 many more bets about him. I look upon this 
 as one of the chances that come to a man once 
 in his life-time.' 
 
 4 Yes, old fellow, but isn't this rather reck- 
 less plunging ? ' asked his brother, who looked 
 frightened at the magnitude of the sum men- 
 tioned. ' Supposing I lost I might possibly pull 
 through by selling my commission, but how on 
 earth could you raise 10, coo/. ? We are not 
 worth it, the whole lot of us put together ! ' 
 
 1 What's the use of bothering a man with 
 that funkey talk ? ' replied Oswald testily. ' I 
 tell you the public are wrong in their fancy for 
 this horse, and I'm right in telling you that he 
 wont win. Besides, the long and the short of 
 it is, I must raise 5,000/., for the kind of life 
 I've been leading won't do any longer. My 
 table is littered half a foot thick with duns ; I 
 dare hardly show myself about London in the 
 daylight ; the other day, by Jove, I was actually 
 in want of a five-pound note ! ' 
 
 ' Egad ! it's just the same story with me/ 
 chimed in PhiliD.
 
 104 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 ' And there's something else,' proceeded the 
 elder brother more confidentially. ' The girls 
 have got into straits too. Maud and Alice had 
 run up bills before marriage, and their husbands 
 can't pay even by pawning their hats ; as for 
 Bella, Amy, and Georgina, they of course have 
 started ticks too, for girls can't get all those silks, 
 furs, and bracelets for nothing. If we come out 
 all right from the Town Plate we shall be able 
 to help them. How much do you stand to win ? ' 
 
 ' About twelve hundred.' 
 
 ' Well, lay on and close your book at two 
 thousand. As I've told you, I shall book as 
 heavily as I can and make a grand coup of it. 
 If we net about eight thousand between us, we 
 shall be able to pull the girls and ourselves well 
 out of the rut.' 
 
 ' And mend our manners for the future,' 
 added Philip, the Hussar, not altogether un- 
 seriously, though he appeared to jest. 
 
 By this time the margins of the course had 
 become studded with persons having business 
 there in connection with the day's proceedings. 
 The refreshment-contractor's men were taking- 
 possession of the grand-stand ; plate, glass, and 
 hampers were being unpacked from carts ; a 
 couple of yellow gipsy vans were crawling to- 
 wards spots most eligible for the erection of 
 aunt-sallies, and, coming in Indian file across a 
 stretch of heath, were to be descried several
 
 BEFORE THE RACES. 105 
 
 stable-boys, each leading a horse warmly muffled 
 up, whilst the bluff trainer rode behind on a 
 sturdy cob. These horses belonged to Lord 
 Hartleigh's stud, and Oswald pointing with his 
 stick to one of them, whom his quick eye had 
 recognised for Bluebell despite the clothes, bade 
 his brother observe a dropping action of the off- 
 hind leg, much like a limp. It struck Philip 
 that he had often noticed the same peculiarity 
 in regimental chargers, and that it did not in 
 any wise hinder their fleetness or powers of en- 
 durance, being only a trick. This made him 
 grave, but he did not urge the fact on his 
 brother's attention, for Oswald pretended to 
 infallibility in his judgment of horseflesh, and 
 contradiction would only have angered him 
 without altering the judgment he had formed. 
 
 The brothers turned their steps homewards, 
 and were soon met by their two married sisters 
 and by Amy, who had come out to call them in 
 to breakfast, but who were also anxious to ob- 
 tain their opinions on a question much more 
 important than any affecting the merits of Lord 
 Hartleigh's stud — namely, how Lord Hart- 
 leigh's new wife should be greeted, or whether 
 she should be greeted at all ? 
 
 Delicate dilemma which was perplexing the 
 consciences of almost all the feminine section of 
 society in the county ! 
 
 For the information which they had col-
 
 jo6 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 lected concerning Lady Hartleigh, ladies were 
 mainly indebted to the glozings of Sir Giles 
 Taplow ; but many of them refused to believe 
 what this unmannerly gentleman said, and by 
 their scepticism did his character more honour 
 than it deserved, for, assuredly, the man who 
 lets his tongue wag about any woman is a sorry 
 fellow. However, there was sufficient mystery 
 about the marriage to make right-minded ladies 
 dubious as to what course they should adopt ; 
 while the others (the no-minded ones) stoutly 
 declared that they never could, and never 
 would strike up acquaintance with a lady whose 
 antecedents were not better known to them. 
 Oswald and Philip Carew advised a neutral 
 attitude so far as their sisters were concerned. 
 Both had felt annoyed that the match they had 
 contemplated for Isabel Carew had come to 
 nothing, and both, moreover, knew a great deal 
 more about her new ladyship than they cared 
 to divulge ; but they were too much men of the 
 world not to hate the idea of mingling in any 
 ladies' quarrel, knowing that of all strifes such 
 are the bitterest, most long-lived, and least 
 profitable. This diplomatic apathy of theirs 
 did not please all the fair visitors at Royster 
 Hall, and pretty Lady Ambermere took Oswald 
 to task point blank over the breakfast table : — 
 ' Come, Captain Carew, if you were married
 
 BEFORE THE RACES. 107 
 
 should you like your wife to become intimate 
 with Lady Hartleigh ?' 
 
 1 It would depend who my wife was: 
 
 ' Well, I am supposing that you would be 
 very fond of her.' 
 
 ' Then I should probably have sufficient 
 confidence in her to let her choose her own 
 friends.' 
 
 1 But supposing she asked you for your ad- 
 vice ? ' 
 
 ' I should be obliged to give it her.' 
 
 1 And what would that advice be ? ' 
 
 1 To do as she liked.' 
 
 'Oh, you are laughing at me,' said the 
 young widow, turning away displeased, and she 
 appealed to old Sir Peter. But the master of 
 Royster Hall had no notion of falling out with 
 the lord of Hazel wood, between whose family 
 and his, ties of amity had existed for time out of 
 mind ; so that, disgusted as he privately was, at 
 the marriage, he had resolved that nothing of 
 his sentiments should be suspected. He feigned 
 to believe that all the outcry against Lady 
 Hartleigh was owing to her father's being a 
 curate, and he spoke warmly in the latters 
 praise : — 
 
 1 Mr. Truman is said to be an excellent man, 
 I assure you.' 
 
 ' Oh, we take no exceptions to Lady Hart- 
 leigh's parentage, but only to her conduct,' ex-
 
 io8 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 claimed Lady Ambermere. ' Sir Giles says she 
 has been a circus rider.' 
 
 ' And a barmaid,' tittered in Mrs. Warrener. 
 
 1 And that she went about under assumed 
 names,' said Mrs. Hunt. 
 
 ' What would that matter ? if the heart be 
 sound it only makes the match more romantic,' 
 ejaculated Oswald. ' Give me another cup of 
 tea, please, Maud, and pray that we may never, 
 any of us, have our characters at the mercy of 
 Giles Taplow.' 
 
 1 Oh, but really, Captain Carew, you seem 
 to make very light of the whole affair,' declared 
 Lady Ambermere petulantly. 
 
 1 I make light of Taplow, that's all, Lady 
 Ambermere.' 
 
 ' Why, but Sir Giles Taplow happens to be 
 the only person in a position to enlighten us ! 
 He was staying at Hazelwood all the time, and 
 he says there was a lamentable scene when Mr. 
 Rushbrand came to tell poor Lady Hartleigh 
 of what had occurred : she refused to believe it 
 at first, but when she had read her son's letter 
 she flew out into a paroxysm of the wildest 
 reproaches against the Vicar, and I must say I 
 think he deserved them. Lady Hartleigh had 
 warned him beforehand that she dreaded the 
 marriage, and had tried to make an ally of him ; 
 but instead of keeping the promise he had 
 made of doing his utmost to thwart the match,
 
 BEFORE THE RACES. 109 
 
 what should this pious Mr. Rushbrand go and 
 do but interest himself in Miss Truman, and, 
 so far as we can learn, almost frighten Lord 
 Hartleigh into marrying her ' 
 
 1 Yes, I don't think Rushbrand acted like 
 a gentleman in this business; interposed Sir 
 Peter, blurting out the words before he could 
 weigh their purport. 
 
 ' Ah ! there, you see, is an admission at last,' 
 cried Lady Ambermere victoriously. 
 
 ' Pardon me, you mistake my meaning,' 
 stammered Sir Peter, who would have been 
 glad to retract. ' What I meant was — — ' 
 
 ' No, no, you've spoken your true mind,' in- 
 terrupted her ladyship, shaking her head and 
 exulting. ' You've said that Mr. Rushbrand 
 behaved badly in solemnising the marriage ; 
 therefore, according to you, the match was a 
 mistake ; and, therefore, again Miss Truman 
 was no fit person to be Lord Hartleigh's wife. 
 It's as clear as sunlight.' 
 
 Lest her triumphant logic should be attacked, 
 the rich young widow rose laughing from the 
 table and sailed out with the other ladies, who 
 were going to prepare for the invasion of guests 
 by putting on their war-paint ; but, in the main, 
 the question in debate had remained undecided, 
 for the ladies had agreed on no combined 
 plan of action towards Helen. Later in the 
 day, however, when she was fully equipped for
 
 no THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 shining on the grand-stand, Lady Ambermere 
 came down to one of the morning rooms and 
 found Oswald poring intently and with knitted 
 brow over his betting-book. So deep was he 
 in the study of his figures that he heard neither 
 the opening of the door, nor the rustling of the 
 intruder's dress as she glided across the floor. 
 
 1 Ah, that's what makes you so tolerant of 
 improprieties,' she said, touching the edge of 
 his book with her parasol and causing him to 
 start. ' You bet, get into debt, lose your inde- 
 pendence, and then do not feel courage enough 
 to quarrel with a man of Lord Hartleigh's 
 power.' 
 
 The Guardsman had risen ; he put his bet- 
 ting-book in the breast-coat pocket of his coat, 
 and said calmly, ' You are quite right, Lady Am- 
 bermere ; I was just making the same reflection/ 
 
 She would have given a great deal to recall 
 her words : — he looked so frank and handsome, 
 so little like a man devoid of moral daring. 
 
 ' Of course I was only joking,' she said. 
 
 *f was serious though. A man can afford 
 to moralise when he has brought himself to such 
 a pass that all his prospects depend on the legs 
 of a horse, as mine do now.' 
 
 1 Oh, don't say that ! ' she exclaimed in alarm. 
 1 You will destroy all my pleasure in the racing. 
 About what horse have you betted ? ' 
 
 1 It might spoil your fancy for him if I told 
 you,' and he smiled.
 
 BEFORE THE RACES. in 
 
 ' Tell me all the same, else I might be re- 
 joicing in a race where you had lost.' 
 
 ' Well, I've been laying against Lord Hart- 
 leigh's " Bluebell."' 
 
 ' The best horse on the card ! Oh, how I do 
 hope some accident will happen to him ! ' 
 
 ' Thank you, if he wins I shall have to sell 
 up — turn cabman or go to the diggings.' 
 
 ' Are you in earnest ? ' she asked, changing 
 colour visibly. 
 
 ' Never more so. I was watching my man 
 varnish my boots this morning, and wondered 
 if I could ever do anything in the same way if 
 matters came to the worst.' 
 
 1 Oh, but you are talking as if you had no 
 friends in the world — which is absurd ! ' ex- 
 claimed Lady Ambermere, rallying at the 
 thought. ' Why, Captain Carew, I am sure 
 there are plenty of people who would almost be 
 glad to see you get into some trouble in order 
 that they might have the pleasure of helping 
 you out of it.' 
 
 She spoke with a touch of genuine emotion, 
 and now was Oswald's chance if he had cared 
 to take it. They were standing close together 
 near the window and alone — she with fluttering 
 heart, and eyes slightly dimmed. A faint tinge 
 of pink rose to the gambler's cheeks, and for a 
 moment words hovered over his lips unpro- 
 nounced ; but mastering himself, he put the
 
 H2 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 temptation to flight, and turned the situation 
 into a joke : — 
 
 ' I have been making fun of you, Lady Am- 
 bermere,' he said playfully. ' I am certain to 
 win, and out of my winnings I will make you a 
 present of one of those Havannah lap-dogs 
 which you are so anxious to have.'
 
 H3 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1 BLUEBELL.' 
 
 The grand stand offered a goodly spectacle at 
 the moment when the bell was about to ring to 
 clear the course for the great race of the day. 
 The two first minor races had been disposed of, 
 and during the preliminary hour spectators had 
 been flocking on to the ground, not in hundreds, 
 but in thousands, so cloudless was the sky, so 
 balmy the breeze that blew from those distant 
 wooded hills that encircled this part of the 
 country like an amphitheatre. Vehicles of all 
 descriptions were massed on the off side of the 
 course, from the beautifully appointed claret and 
 red drag of the Light Dragoon officers of the 
 nearest garrison town, down to the lumbering 
 holiday vans full of small tradesmen and their 
 families, and the weather-beaten market gigs of 
 the farmers, who turned out to a man to enjoy 
 this their annual holiday. Nor was the spacious 
 stable-yard of Royster Hall empty of showy 
 equipages, whose occupants had been lunching 
 with Sir Peter, and making festive havoc among 
 
 VOL. I, I
 
 H4 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 the bottles of choice wines whereon he so justly 
 prided himself. 
 
 Now, indeed, was the time to see old 
 Sir Peter in his glory. Dressed in a new 
 frock-coat, a white waistcoat, a blue spotted 
 neckerchief, and a white hat thrown back off 
 his forehead, he stood on the turf of the 
 enclosure with the Duke of Grandton, Lord- 
 Lieutenant, and a host of other county notables 
 around him ; every moment his hand was 
 stretched out to receive the grasp of some new- 
 comer, and he seemed to have grown younger 
 by ten years since the morning, thanks to the 
 bloom which the greetings of a hundred friends 
 had imparted to his hale features. Equally 
 spirited was the scene in the state-box above, 
 where the host's five beauteous daughters were 
 doing the honours of the scarlet-draped tiers of 
 seats to the Duchess and numerous other ladies 
 — a galaxy of bright, high-bred Englishwomen, 
 fair to look at, pleasant to know, sweet to have 
 as friends, and, doubtless, not a little terrible 
 to affront and to be frowned on by. So at 
 least poor Helen Hartleigh seemed to think, 
 peering ruefully at the stand through a field- 
 gla^s from the depth of her husband's barouche 
 two hundred yards off. Lord Hartleigh had 
 driven on to the course in great state with four 
 greys, two postilions, and a couple of cockaded 
 footmen on the hind seat ; and it had been his
 
 ^bluebell: 115 
 
 wish to alight and at once lead his wife to the 
 stand and introduce her to his friends. But 
 Helen had begged that the ordeal, which she 
 had so much private reason to dread, might be 
 postponed till after the race, so that Bluebell's 
 owner was fain to witness the performance of 
 his horse from the carriage, presenting his wife 
 in the meanwhile to divers gay young bachelors, 
 officers, and others, who thronged round the 
 barouche, and whose emprcsscmcnt made the 
 total absence of ladies in that quarter the more 
 conspicuous. 
 
 The bell was set rin°finQf to clear the course, 
 the numbers of the stations were hoisted, and 
 at this moment the view from the stand was as 
 of a surging ocean of black and white hats, 
 chequered by the many-coloured coats of the 
 bookmakers, who were perched on chairs outside 
 the enclosure, bawling the odds. Over this 
 seething tide of humanity floated a perfume of 
 cigar smoke and vesuvian lights. 
 
 Two men in the enclosure now felt their 
 hearts tighten as the moment advanced that 
 was going to settle their fate — Oswald Carew 
 and Philip. 
 
 The former, in a nattily-fitting grey frock- 
 coat, with a rose-bud in his button-hole, white 
 gaiters over his spruce, varnished boots, and 
 with a smile on his lips, was, to all outward 
 appearance, coolness itself. Nothing about him 
 
 1 2
 
 n6 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 was flurried or ruffled : even the hue of his com- 
 plexion was not deepened by a shade ; but, with 
 horrible distress, Philip watched him going from 
 group to group, and every halt was followed by 
 the drawing out of the blue velvet betting-book 
 and the scribbling of an entry with his gold 
 pencil case. At ordinary times Philip was not 
 more prudent than his elder brother — much less 
 so. Three years younger than Oswald, lighter 
 of build, more impetuous of mood, he had 
 the additional drawback of belonging to a 
 regiment far ' louder ' in its tone than any in 
 the Household Brigade, one whose officers, 
 mostly sons of plutocrats, gloried in outlandish 
 doings. There were few acts of bold extrava- 
 gance or folly from which Philip would have 
 recoiled on his own behalf, but he rather looked 
 up to Oswald, the future head of the house, and 
 anxiety on the latter s account now destroyed his 
 nerve. Since morning he had seemed to see 
 opening up before him a yawning chasm in 
 which the honour and happiness, not only of 
 Oswald, but of all the Carews, was going to be 
 engulfed. The reflection had robbed him of 
 appetite, and rendered him so little like his 
 usual self that more than one military friend 
 asked him if he had turned Methodist or taken 
 the mumps. At last he could bear his dismal 
 thinkings no longer, and resolved that, at the 
 risk of Oswald's serious displeasure (should the
 
 'BLUEBELL: 117 
 
 latter win), he would go and ' hedge ' in such 
 wise that, if his brother lost, he himself might 
 be in a position to assist him, instead of ag- 
 gravating the family embarrassments. He had 
 no time to lose and approached the Count de 
 Longchamps, a famous French owner of race- 
 horses, who had come with the Duke's party, 
 and was extremely remarkable for the tightness 
 of the clothes that encased his pudgey person 
 — tight gloves, boots, shirt-collar ; all about him 
 was tight, even to the greyish moustache, whose 
 tips were so tightly waxed that they seemed to 
 prevent him from ever shutting his mouth. 
 
 ' Have you closed your book, Count ? ' 
 asked Philip, accosting him. 
 
 1 To tell you de trut', Mr. Carew, I have 
 not made von single bet on dis meeting,' an- 
 swered the Frenchman : ' I have been looking 
 at de horses in de paddock, and do not dink 
 mosh of dem.' 
 
 1 Will you give me the odds against the 
 Town Plate favourite — Bluebell ? ' 
 
 ' O yes, vit' pleasure. Two to von. Vat 
 in ? — hundreds ? ' 
 
 ' Thousands if it suits you,' replied Philip 
 quickly. 
 
 ' Tousands den,' said the Count, evidently 
 surprised, and probably not much relishing so 
 large a bet on such a small event ; but, having
 
 n8 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 let out that his book was clear, he could not 
 plead the necessity of moderating his wagers. 
 
 The Duke of Grandton's betting days were 
 long past, but, catching the word 'thousands,' a 
 whiff of the times when he himself was a great 
 stud owner and ' plunger ' returned to him. 
 He looked round, but seeing only a younger 
 son, hesitated. Philip, however, had caught 
 his eye : 
 
 ' I'm hedging, your Grace. Will you take 
 the field against the favourite ? ' 
 
 * H'm ! it's like betting with one of my own 
 boys,' demurred the Duke. ' I held you on my 
 knees when you were a baby.' 
 
 'We've both grown since then,' laughed 
 Philip. 
 
 ' Well, well, just to give myself a zest in the 
 event,' smiled the Duke. ' I think you said 
 thousands ; ' and he booked as securely as if he 
 were treating with one of his own ermine, so 
 unspotted was the reputation of the Carews 
 with respect to punctual settlements. 
 
 Philip next wended his way through the 
 crowd and sought a professional bookmaker, 
 not one of those in coloured garments, but a 
 man of repute, who did his business with as 
 much system and honesty as a registered stock- 
 broker. The police had not yet, in those times, 
 commenced their raids against betting houses, 
 and this man owned an agency in London,
 
 'BLUEBELL: u 9 
 
 which employed a dozen clerks, and occupied 
 premises like a bank. It forms the basis of the 
 bookmaker's method always to lay against the 
 favourite, so that he made no difficulty about 
 betting with Philip, only he objected to giving 
 the odds of 2 to 1, and, to explain his reluctance, 
 jerked his thumb towards the horses who were 
 just then filing out of the paddock. A showy 
 troop they made with their sky-blue, scarlet, 
 and yellow jockeys ; but, to the experienced 
 eye, they constituted, with the exception of 
 Bluebell, a ' screwy ' lot, and if it had not been 
 for the jerky action of the favourite's hind leg, 
 the race would have seemed a foregone conclu- 
 sion. Philip desperately offered to take 3 to 2 
 in thousands, and this brought the bookmaker 
 down. After all, racing is a game of hazards ; 
 there were six starters, consequently five chances 
 to one in his favour. For form's sake he tried 
 to hold out for a bet at ' evens,' but, on refusal, 
 closed with Philip's offer. He too felt as sure 
 of a Carew as though the money staked had 
 been guaranteed by mortgage. 
 
 Philip now stood in this position, that if 
 Bluebell came first to the post, he should lose 
 3,000/., but win 7,000/. — clear gain, 4,000/. ; 
 if the horse was beaten, he should win 1,200/., 
 and lose 4,000/ — clear losings, 2,800/. ; but, in 
 this latter contingency, Oswald would be win- 
 ning five or six thousand, and would of course
 
 120 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 assist him. Philips mind was relieved of the 
 load which had oppressed it so long as his fate 
 was bound up with his brother's ; and yet he 
 could not think without inward tremor, of what 
 Oswald's anger would be if he won, and learned 
 that Philip had laid against him. Philip had, 
 with the best intention, been playing false to 
 the great principle of ' standing or falling to- 
 gether/ which is a gambler's maxim as well as 
 a family maxim ; and he would further be re- 
 proached with having set at naught Oswald's 
 unerring judgment in racing matters — all of 
 which could not but impair for a time the excel- 
 lent understanding that had hitherto existed be- 
 tween the brothers. With these thoughts — no 
 very agreeable ones — revolving under his hat, 
 the usually joyous hussar took his stand near 
 the railings, and watched the field canter to- 
 wards the starting post. He was joined by Sir 
 Giles Taplow, who was full of beery gossip, 
 and told him amongst other things that there 
 would be some fun by-and-by if Lord Hartleigh 
 tried to present his wife to the county ladies, for 
 that the Duchess of Grandtons fiat had gone 
 forth that such a person could not be received, 
 and the ladies intended to desert the stewards' 
 box in a body if Lady Hartleigh entered it. 
 Sir Giles was amazed that Philip showed little 
 interest in this big news, but puffed with moody 
 taciturnity at a cigar he had lit. The course
 
 'BLUEBELL: 121 
 
 was now quite clear. Even the inevitable dog 
 had been hooted into close quarters, and one of 
 summer's last sulphur-hued butterflies was flit- 
 ting over the ground which the horses' hoofs 
 were presently to trample. In the distance the 
 jackets and caps of the jockeys gleamed like 
 signal flags of a row. 
 
 ' They're off ! ' . was the cry, and the line of 
 colours, breaking up of a sudden, resolved itself 
 into fragments that looked like so many bright 
 fishing-floats bobbing up and down on water. 
 At first only the heads and bodies of the riders 
 were visible ; then a mound concealed them all 
 from view ; when they emerged into light again 
 a blue jockey was seen to be leading, then came 
 a red, a violet, while the white jacket with 
 brown sleeves and cap of the Hazelwood stable 
 toiled far in the ruck. ' Wild Kate wins ! ' 
 shouted some eager voices ; but it was only an 
 instant's cry, for at the point where the furthest 
 carriage stood Bluebell's jockey pulled his horse 
 deftly together, drew him out of the ruck, and 
 began to ply whip and spur. Half a dozen 
 strides brought him on a level with the leader ; 
 in half a dozen more he had cleared his length, 
 and then his race was over, for at every step he 
 increased the gap, and galloped past the post — an 
 easy winner by about a hundred yards. The 
 affair was quite a hollow one, proving to the 
 general satisfaction that the public's fancy in the
 
 122 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 favourite had not been misplaced — a result 
 which would be more frequently chronicled on 
 the turf if racing were always the fair-play 
 thing which it had been in this case. 
 
 As Bluebells name passed from mouth to 
 mouth, it was natural that some mention should 
 be made of the owner ; and from the grand 
 stand many a glass was now directed towards 
 Lord Hartlei^h's carriage. Pleased as a school- 
 boy at seeing his colours triumph, the young 
 peer assisted his wife to alight and gave her his 
 arm, acknowledging, as he walked her towards 
 the course, the many bows and cheers that be- 
 Qan to greet him. Helen's cheeks flushed with 
 pleasure at these tokens of respect and good- 
 will, but both she and her husband took them 
 for a great deal more than they really meant. 
 English country-people — farmers or townsmen 
 — are always ready to pay their court to a rich 
 nobleman in his own county ; and turfmen are 
 swift to appreciate a stud-owning lord whose 
 horses may be trusted to run ' straight ; ' but 
 none of those cheers which Helen accepted 
 as being in part a homage to herself had any 
 reference to Lord Hartleigh's marriage, of 
 which most of those who noisily waved their 
 hats were ignorant : they were simply addressed 
 to the owner of Bluebell. As Lord Hart- 
 leigh passed into the stand enclosure, the differ- 
 ence in the welcome which he received was very
 
 'bluebell: 123 
 
 perceptible. The gentlemen to whom he intro- 
 duced Helen showed the utmost politeness, but 
 were reserved, as if not daring to commit them- 
 selves under the eyes of their wives and sisters ; 
 meantime all the ladies in the box studiouslv 
 averted their eyes from Lord and Lady Hart- 
 leigh, to avoid being obliged to acknowledge 
 any look or nod of recognition that might be 
 sped towards them. 
 
 All this Helen (recovering from her first 
 illusions), with a woman's intuition, understood 
 at a glance. She saw that her antecedents 
 must have become matters of notoriety (though 
 how this had happened, not suspecting the 
 treachery of her old friend Sir Giles, she could 
 not guess) : and she saw that her path, which 
 she had fondly hoped might be strewn with 
 roses thenceforth, was about to be made prickly 
 with thorns. What she suffered in that instant 
 of anguish may be better imagined than de- 
 scribed. As for Lord Hartleigh, who knew 
 nothing of his wife's past life, he walked bravely 
 on, prepared, indeed, for a little coldness in the 
 first reception of Helen, but not dreaming that 
 his mesalliance would be imputed to him for 
 such a crime that ladies would decline to admit 
 Helen among them at all. Still, a feeling of 
 uneasiness did creep over him when, after hav- 
 ing repeatedly cast glances towards friends in 
 the ladies' box, he found it impossible to catch
 
 124 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 the eye of a single one among- them. Could it 
 be that his high rank, which had hitherto proved 
 a talisman to make all men's heads bow, and all 
 women's lips smile upon him, was about to fail 
 him at the moment when he had serious need 
 of its magic ? He was spared from incurring 
 the most crushing practical reply to this ques- 
 tion by the charitable and timely interposition 
 of Sir Peter Carew, who checked him as he was 
 about to ascend the staircase. 
 
 The old baronet had been informed of the 
 plot which had been machinated against Lady 
 Hartleigh, and his kindly heart filled with com- 
 passion for the childlike young thing whom- he 
 saw hanging on her husband's arm. He re- 
 flected with shrewdness that if a public affront 
 were put upon Lord Hartleigh's wife, the 
 memory of it would be undying and close the 
 way to any future reconciliation with, or re- 
 ception of, her; whereas that if she abstained for 
 the present from trying to gain admittance into 
 society, the prejudices against her would gradu- 
 ally melt, and time would open for her one door 
 after another. As he had a great wish to keep 
 any of his own daughters from seeming to act 
 in hostility to Lady Hartleigh, Sir Peter decided 
 that her husband must be prevented at all 
 hazards from going up to the ladies' box, and 
 he cast his eyes about for one of his sons who 
 might help him in the plan he had formed. He
 
 'BLUEBELL: 125 
 
 perceived Philip, who was roving about in quest 
 of Oswald, and beckoned to him. ' Just come 
 with me,' he said hurriedly, ' and whilst I speak 
 to Lord Hartleigh, give your arm to his wife. 
 The women upstairs have been brewing some- 
 thing against her, and it won't do for us to get 
 mixed in it.' Philip complied without much 
 alacrity, and along with his father was intro- 
 duced to Helen by Lord Hartleigh. Then Sir 
 Peter laid a hand on the peer's shoulder, and 
 whispered that he had something of importance 
 to say to him which admitted of no delay, 
 whereon Lord Hartleigh having surrendered 
 Helen to the Hussar, suffered himself to be 
 drawn aside, and was told with as much cir- 
 cumlocution as possible what the state of mat- 
 ters was. 
 
 ' But don't take it to heart, my dear boy,' 
 added Sir Peter paternally ; ' it's only a question 
 of a few days' waiting. There have been silly 
 rumours and what not, and you must give them 
 time to subside.' 
 
 1 Rumours about my wife ? ' echoed Lord 
 Hartleigh, who had turned ashy pale. 'Why, 
 who has dared ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no one in particular ; only you see 
 things will get about, and people know that 
 your mother has left Hazelwood and refuses to 
 see your wife.'
 
 126 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 That is a family affair, and I do not see 
 that the public have anything to do with it.' 
 
 ' No more they have — surely not ; and, as 
 I've told you, a few days will set everything to 
 rights ; but meanwhile take my advice, Hart- 
 leigh. Mind, for your pretty young wife's sake, 
 don't go among the women to-day.' 
 
 ' But let me plainly understand your mean- 
 ing, Sir Peter,' said Lord Hartleigh, with a 
 proud and angry air. ' Am I to infer that I 
 cannot take my wife upstairs without fear of her 
 being insulted ? I see some of your daughters 
 in the box, is it they who refuse to receive Lady 
 Hartleigh ? ' 
 
 1 My daughters, God forbid ! ' stammered 
 Sir Peter, in growing distress ; ' but I do pray 
 you as a sensible fellow let me manage this for 
 you. I'll talk the girls over, and in a few days 
 you shall come to Royster and be both made 
 welcome, I promise you.' 
 
 ' Spare yourself that trouble, please ; for my 
 wife shall be received nowhere as a favour,' 
 ejaculated Lord Hartleigh, with all the haughti- 
 ness that can swell the bosom of a young man 
 wounded to the quick. ' Thank heaven I am in 
 no want of good friends who will esteem it both 
 a pleasure and an honour to have Lady Hart- 
 leigh come among them — ' and with this he 
 turned on his heel. 
 
 But he had not kept sufficient guard over
 
 'BLUEBELL: 127 
 
 himself as to deceive the eyes that were intently 
 watching him from the box, so that when he 
 left the enclosure with Helen, this was known 
 to be a retreat. Most of the ladies inwardly 
 rejoiced at not having been compelled to make 
 a demonstration, always repugnant to the sen 
 sibilities of true gentlewomen ; others, of the 
 hoighty-toity sort, professed to regret having 
 been baulked of the frowns they had purposed 
 to bestow in the cause of social decency. All 
 had something to say on the little drama just 
 played, except Lady Ambermere, who, since the 
 race, had been watching with wistful eyes and 
 blanched lips to see if she could perceive Os- 
 wald, who had disappeared.
 
 123 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MR. POTTINGER'S HOBBY. 
 
 The time has arrived for stating that Stil- 
 borough races were not viewed with equal 
 favour by all the inhabitants in the bo- 
 rough and its neighbourhood. Mr. Pottinger, 
 for instance, strongly objected to them. The 
 pretext for an outing to the country people, a 
 medium of increased gains to the local trade, 
 they appeared to the censorious eyes of the 
 grocer as nothing better than profane saturnalia, 
 a relic of the corruption of heathen Babylon. 
 It was his practice to make an annual motion 
 against them in the town council, when the 
 corporation grant for the Town Plate came up 
 for passing. Of course he was out-voted, and 
 even made sport of. Mr. Pettigrew, the draper, 
 sneered at him ; Mr. Whispie, the horse-dealer, 
 professed to think that his bile had been stirred 
 by his having entered to ride a match and 
 having been found to weigh in the scales a 
 couple of stone more than his mare ; even mild 
 Mr. Brindle asked him whether he were in-
 
 MR. POTTINGERS HOBBY. 129 
 
 sensible to the advantages which Britain derived 
 from an improved breed of horses ? But there 
 is a curious pertinacity in Englishmen of 
 Mr. Pottinger's sort, which makes them keep 
 doggedly on to any course they have marked, 
 despite of obstacles. A Frenchman would 
 have given in under the ridicule, a German 
 would not have thought the end worth the 
 trouble. Mr. Pottinger set himself industriously 
 to collect statistics as to all the evils attributable 
 to the Stilborough races. He had bought a 
 folio ledger, and in it all the offences and 
 accidents arising out of the races were minutely 
 chronicled — cases of assault and battery, 
 drunkenness, till-robbing by shopboys who had 
 betted, card sharping, thimble-rigging, and 
 welching on the course, ruin to girls who had 
 been enticed astray by some of the amorous 
 characters from London, who infested the town 
 during the ' three days,' cases of debt, night 
 rioting, profligacy, &c. One year he had been 
 so lucky as to write down a ruffian who had 
 killed another about a disputed bet, and been 
 hanged for it, and with pardonable exultation 
 he had been dangling this criminal before the 
 noses of his colleagues ever since. 
 
 It puzzled many to guess what could make 
 
 Mr. Pottinger so bitter about the races ; but 
 
 there was no need to allege, as some did, that 
 
 he had applied for the refreshment contract on 
 
 vol. 1. K
 
 130 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 the course and had it refused him, whence a 
 lasting grudge against Sir Peter. The grocer- 
 churchwarden was not one of those men who 
 require the stimulus of personal rancour to 
 excite them against institutions which others 
 uphold. He really did think horse-racing 
 sinful — probably the invention of some Pope 
 — and in the next place it gratified his im- 
 portance to be pointed at as the man who, on 
 conscientious grounds, was denouncing a pas- 
 time which the high and mighty of this earth 
 patronised. It is a great thing to have a good 
 hobby, and to know how to ride it. The man 
 who should set his heart on abolishing the 
 Duke of York's column would be a more in- 
 teresting person than those who are content to 
 let that sightly monument be. 
 
 So Mr. Pottinger had agitated in his small 
 way, having on his side a few old ladies, two or 
 three teetotallers, and some dissenters, but he 
 had never flattered himself that he should be 
 able to make much progress with so small an 
 army. Paul Rushbrand's appointment to the 
 Vicarage fired him with a new hope that he 
 might enlist a clergyman of the Established 
 Church in his cause, and he had taken many an 
 opportunity of filling the new Vicar's mind with 
 dark pictures of the licentiousness and intem- 
 perance that reigned in Stilborough during the 
 yearly meeting. When, however, Mr. Pottinger
 
 MR. POTTINGER'S HOBBY. 131 
 
 learned that a snub had been put upon Lady 
 Hartleigh at the races, and simultaneously got 
 wind of the fact that Captain Carew had lost 
 30,000/. in one afternoon, he piously thanked 
 heaven for having sent two more trumps into 
 his hands. 
 
 How the facts just mentioned had come 
 into the grocers possession there is no saying ; 
 but cats have ever shown a curious facility for 
 getting out of bags and flying at the ears of the 
 wrong people. What is more, they grow vastly 
 as they run. The version current in Stil- 
 borough, and credited by many who had higher 
 sources of information than the grocer, was that 
 Lord Hartleigh had been peremptorily ordered 
 by Sir Peter Carew to take his wife out of the 
 grand stand, under threat of seeing the county- 
 families withdraw immediately if he did not. 
 As to Oswald Carew's losings it was inevitable 
 that they should be magnified by every succes- 
 sive person who talked about them. 
 
 At all this Mr. Pottinger sincerely rejoiced, 
 not because of the evil that had been wrought, 
 but because out of evil would come good. 
 Lord Hartleio-h could not fail to withhold all 
 countenance thenceforth from races where his 
 wife had been insulted ; and Paul Rushbrand, 
 irritated as he would be by this result, scandal- 
 ised also at Captain Carew's immense losses 
 (which it was being bruited would never be 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 settled), and being, furthermore, an eye-witness 
 of the disorderly scenes of which the races were 
 productive in the streets, would give the autho- 
 rity of his name and office to any plan of attack 
 which Mr. Pottinger might devise against his 
 bugbear ; so that the latter, instead of annually 
 leading a forlorn hope, might actually find him- 
 self heading important forces in a regular 
 pitched battle, which, if it were not victorious, 
 would, at all events, greatly exalt his local 
 status, and add to his reputation for righteous- 
 ness and energy. 
 
 'Well, Mr. Rushbrand,' said he, calling at 
 the Vicarage on the morning after the third 
 day's racing. ' I suppose you've heard of the 
 fine news that's running all over the town ? ' — 
 and he unfolded his budget without waiting for 
 leave or taking breath. 
 
 1 Are you sure all that is true ? ' asked Paul, 
 frowning. 
 
 1 Oh, there's not a doubt about it. Quite a 
 thousand people saw Sir Peter go up to Lord 
 Hartleigh, and then my lo'd and my lady leave 
 the enclosure together looking black as thunder.' 
 
 ' And who told you about Captain Carew's 
 losings ? ' 
 
 1 Everybody, it's public talk. He bet right 
 head over heels he did, and what makes it 
 worse is that the family can't afford to pay such 
 a big sum as he's lost. Father and children,
 
 MR. POTTINGER'S HOBBY. 133 
 
 sons and daughters, they owe money to right 
 and left, the whole lot of 'em, and there must be 
 a smash one of these days. Oh, Mr. Rush- 
 brand, these 'ere hoss-races are the abomination 
 that maketh desolate! Did you hear all that 
 boozing and hollaring at the Red Lion last 
 night ? ' 
 
 1 I heard a great noise, certainly,' said Paul. 
 
 1 Ah well, it's nothing to the row there was 
 at the Blue Ram, and at some of them other 
 low houses down the town. There they were 
 at it till past midnight, and when they got away 
 from their drinking they fell to quarrelling in 
 the street like dawgs. Only to think that our 
 mayor and council should give the publicans a 
 couple of hours' extension every year at race- 
 time — extension of drunkenness I call it ! ' 
 
 Paul nodded. There could be no doubt on 
 that point. 
 
 1 And then look at the class of fellars that 
 we get down here — disgraces to humanity every 
 man of them. There's gipsys, cadgers, black- 
 legs, thieves, imps of stable-boys vicious as 
 sin, women that even Rahab would have been 
 ashamed of, and from the hour when this bad 
 lot of vagabonds and jades comes amongst us, 
 till the moment cf their going away, it's nothing 
 but drink and swear, swear and drink, till the 
 very air gets hot with their foul language. 
 Come, Mr. Rushbrand, don't you think a man
 
 134 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 would be doing a christian work who laboured 
 with the Lawd's help, to put down these 'ere 
 races ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid it would be labour lost,' said 
 Paul ; ' it is hopeless to expect that Sir Peter 
 Carew would ever consent to the abolition.' 
 
 ' Aye, but supposin' the corporation abol- 
 ished them without him — in spite of him ? ' 
 
 ' How could that be done ? The races are 
 held in Sir Peter's own park.' 
 
 'Ah, that's the very point, sir. — Just listen 
 to this : a good part of the race-course runs 
 through Sir Peter's grounds, but another part 
 goes through Corporation land. Well, some 
 time ago a party from London came down and 
 made the Corporation a handsome offer for that 
 piece of land to set up some dyeing works on. 
 " Stubb's Piece," as they call it, runs by the side 
 of the Still, which Sir Peters grounds don't, 
 and they say the Still is very good for dye- 
 works. If I could have had my way we should 
 have treated with the party, for the interest on 
 the sum he proposed would have fetched us far 
 more than the ground is worth to us now ; how- 
 ever, it turned out that I was the only one of 
 my opinion, all the rest in the council being 
 partial to the races, and afraid of offending Sir 
 Peter and my lord, who hung very close to- 
 gether then. But times alter, you see, and sup- 
 posing we got the Corporation to vote the sale
 
 MR. POTTINGER'S HOBBY. 135 
 
 of " Stubb's Piece," it would make an end of the 
 races, for Sir Peter couldn't contrive another 
 course out of his own grounds ; they ain't big 
 enough.' 
 
 ' Well, but do you see any chance of getting 
 the corporation to reconsider their decision ? ' 
 asked Paul, rather interested. 
 
 * Not if I have to battle with the Philistines 
 alone, Mr. Rushbrand,' answered the grocer im- 
 pressively ; ' but if you, the spiritual pastor of 
 our fold, put forth your might on my side, we 
 might, now that Lord Hartleigh will be pri- 
 vately with us, I suspect, get the better of them 
 in the end. I don't say we should prevail this 
 year or the next : no sir, nor perhaps in ten 
 years' time ; but if it was given me during my 
 lifetime to put away this sin and reproach from 
 our town, I should die content, saying, " Eureka ! " 
 like Luther when he floored the Jesuit with the 
 first printed copy of the Bible.' 
 
 Paul made no promise, for the lesson he had 
 received after Lord Hartleigh's marriage had 
 put him on his guard for ever, as he then fan- 
 cied, against taking rash action. Since the very 
 painful interview which he had had with Lord 
 Hartleigh's mother, he had been in great de- 
 jection, not daring to believe that he had com- 
 mitted such an utter and lamentable error as 
 was imputed to him, and yet feeling that many 
 circumstances pointed to the truth of what he
 
 i 3 6 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 had heard from Sir Giles Taplow about Helen's 
 past life. Amongst others there was this fact 
 that the letters which he had written to Mr. 
 Truman, to acquaint him with his daughters 
 marriage, had been returned by the post-office, 
 with the notification that this clergyman was 
 still in China, his address unknown ; and thus 
 at least one falsehood was proved against Helen, 
 for she had assured him that her father was 
 returned from China, and that she had been on 
 a visit to him within six months before her 
 elopement with Lord Hartleigh. It was with 
 something like agony of spirits that the Vicar 
 prayed to God morning and night, ay, and 
 silently at other times of the day, that it would 
 please Him to turn Helen's heart, so that she 
 might conduct herself rightly in her new station, 
 and never give her husband cause to repent 
 having married her. Paul had even deliberated 
 as to calling on Helen at Hazelwood, to tell her 
 of his anxieties on her account, and what Mr. 
 Pottinger told him of the episode on the race- 
 course made him think that this would be a 
 moment especially fit for the visit. But under 
 all circumstances a call was first due from Lord 
 Hartleigh before the Vicar could with propriety 
 go to Hazelwood ; and Paul awaited this call 
 with uneasy impatience, half wondering that 
 the wedded pair should not already have come 
 to see him since their return.
 
 MR. POTTINGER'S HOBBY. 137 
 
 In effect Lord Hartleigh called with his 
 bride scarcely half-an-hour after the grocer had 
 left, and apologised for not having done so 
 before on the score of Helens having been in- 
 disposed. Nothing much came of this visit of 
 etiquette. Lord Hartleigh was polite as ever, 
 but ill at ease ; Helen was overdressed and 
 excited. She affected to treat Paul as a very 
 old intimate friend, and gave herself a counte- 
 nance by a great deal of random talk about her 
 recent wedding-trip, and by forced laughing at 
 the peculiar manners of the French. No allusion 
 was made to the races, nor to anything in con- 
 nection with local matters ; but as the pair were 
 rising to go, Lord Hartleigh referred to his mar- 
 riage by saying he had brought Paul a little 
 souvenir from Paris, and also one for Mr. Pot- 
 tinger, who had so courteously acted as his best 
 man, and on whom he was now about to leave 
 a card. Pauls present, which had been lifted 
 out of the carriage, turned out to be a hundred- 
 guinea dressing-case, with silver mountings, so 
 richly chased that they became thenceforth the 
 exclusive care of Mrs. Rushbrand, who declared 
 that she would trust to no servant the task of 
 polishing them once a week. 
 
 Paul would have dispensed with this gift, 
 which was to remind him constantly of the 
 noble donor, and to refresh day by day his ap- 
 prehension of the cruel scene that must take
 
 138 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 place between them if Lord Hartleigh ever 
 came to discover what was now hidden from him. 
 Over and over again had Paul mentally re- 
 hearsed this scene, wondering what he should 
 say, and trying to prepare words, not so much 
 to justify himself as to pacify his upbraider. 
 But the terror of this possible crisis was so 
 great that he felt that for months — perhaps for 
 years — he must wince at hearing Lord Hart- 
 leigh's name uttered, and shrink from meeting 
 him. Turning all this over, Paul asked himself 
 whether his purpose would not be answered if 
 he wrote to Helen instead of calling on her, 
 for it was obvious that he could say much more 
 by letter than by word of mouth, and perhaps 
 his writing might be of more lasting effect. He 
 sat down as soon as this thought offered itself 
 to him — on the day of Helen's visit — and 
 poured on paper one of the most touching effu- 
 sions that ever left human pen. It far exceeded 
 the limits of a letter, for it contained a recital 
 of the writer's own life, with the intention of 
 showing her who read it how much support he 
 — Paul — had derived from reliance on Christ, 
 and, again, how invariably he had seen the lot 
 of transgressors to be hard, that of well-doers 
 happy and blessed. No brother could have 
 addressed a sister in terms more tenderly 
 persuasive — more earnest, compassionate, and 
 true.
 
 MR. POTTINGER'S HOBBY. 139 
 
 Perhaps the missive might have softened 
 Helen had she read it, but perceiving it to 
 be so long, she exclaimed impatiently, ' Bah, 
 a sermon ! ' and threw it into a drawer un- 
 glanced at.
 
 i 4 o THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELW00D. 
 
 She had, indeed, something else to do than sit 
 and be preached to : she had to be avenged of 
 her enemies, to battle, finesse and conquer the 
 position which society was disputing her — all of 
 which were tasks congenial to her active nature. 
 She was not one of those doe-like women who, 
 when pierced by a dart, lie down feebly and 
 bleed to death ; her blood and nerves were like 
 a little cat's : she would bound and rebound, in 
 a struggle, and, even at her last breath, would 
 have made use of her claws. 
 
 Though hurt and incensed at the ostracism 
 decreed against her, she was not daunted by it, 
 for she lulled herself to the belief that it could 
 not last long. Possessed of as much worldly 
 wisdom as two old men, she was aware that her 
 husband's rank and his great fortune would be 
 nine points to her advantage whenever she 
 should seek to conciliate this or that family; 
 and that, as to the tenth point, the very mon- 
 strousness of her antecedents made it improb-
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 141 
 
 able that anyone could credit them. Sir Giles 
 Taplow was alone in a position to speak cir- 
 cumstantially about her past history, and he had 
 no cause of enmity against her to induce him so 
 to do ; but even if he did, his word would not 
 count for much. It did not suit the world to 
 believe much against her, and that is where her 
 strength lay ; now one person, now another, 
 would have need of Lord Hartleigh's influence, 
 his money, his good word in high places, and 
 these persons would not neglect to propitiate 
 her. It was not as though the country ladies 
 would be banded together all the year round, 
 universally encouraging and supporting one 
 another in hostility, as they had done at the 
 races. This was but a chance league ; at ordi- 
 nary seasons it would be possible to lay siege 
 to each of them separately, and nothing but 
 time would be needed to make them all capitu- 
 late — to the last one. 
 
 So reasoned Helen, but while looking 
 forward with tolerable equanimity to the future, 
 she cherished the most intense and vindictive 
 hatred towards the Carews, whom she regarded 
 as the authors of her humiliation. Nothing 
 would persuade her that Sir Peter's daughters 
 were not the ringleaders of what she termed 
 ' the cabal,' and that their male relatives had 
 not lent themselves to the same with unmanly 
 subserviency. Far from feeling any gratitude
 
 i 4 2 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 to Sir Peter for having warned her husband of 
 what was plotting, she was pleased to consider 
 his proceeding an insult, and, forgetting how 
 her own heart had sunk at the prospect of 
 encountering the cold faces she had seen in the 
 stand-box, she was irritated with Lord Hartleigh 
 for not having shown more spirit — for not 
 having braved the warning and marched straight 
 in among the assembled ladies, for she was 
 certain (she said) that had this been done not 
 one would have dared to frown on her. On 
 learning of Oswald's heavy losses, and of the 
 embarrassments that seemed likely to beset the 
 family, her joy knew no bounds, and she in- 
 veighed with such spiteful persistency against 
 the ' beggarly, dishonest lot of debtors/ that 
 her husband, who had previously been very fond 
 of all the Carews, first grew impatient with her, 
 then exasperated against them for having given 
 rise to such ill-feeling. He thought it prudent, 
 however, to caution his wife against the language 
 in which she expressed her antipathies, lest she 
 should some day betray herself in the presence 
 of strangers ; but this did not restrain Helen, 
 and a milliner having come down from London 
 to take her orders about some new dresses, she 
 let slip such damaging reflections on the family 
 at Royster Hall that the milliner grew frightened. 
 The Carews had long been her customers, and 
 were deep in her books ; on her return to
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 143 
 
 London she went and spread alarming reports 
 of their insolvency amongst her fellow trades- 
 people. 
 
 Lord Hartleigh was very anxious for a 
 reconciliation with his mother, and wished 
 Helen to go with him and ask for her pardon, 
 feeling persuaded it would not be withheld. 
 Helen thought differently, and was in no haste 
 to make her obeisance to a person between 
 whom and her nothing like cordiality could 
 ever spring up. Besides, a reconciliation might 
 have led to the Dowagers return to Hazel wood, 
 and Helen was resolved to defer this until her 
 own sway under her husband's roof was secure. 
 She began to establish her authority, not by 
 timid ventures, but by bold high-handedness. 
 An old housekeeper, who had been thirty years 
 in the family, received a year's wages and notice 
 to quit before evening, because she had seemed 
 to look a little askance at her new mistress ; 
 almost all the female staff were turned out after 
 her, and if no changes were made among the 
 male domestics, it was because Helen had the 
 art of ingratiating herself with the stronger sex, 
 and knew that cheerful service would never be 
 grudged her by footmen and grooms. Armed 
 with the late housekeeper's keys, and having 
 all the account books in her custody, she in- 
 spected kitchens, stables, and store-rooms, 
 made herself popular with the servants by
 
 144 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 indulgences in the matter of fare and table- 
 beer ; but ruthlessly overturned all rules and 
 customs, simply for the sake of innovating. It 
 was enough that anyone should say, ' It used 
 to be so in the time of my lord's mother,' for 
 Helen immediately to alter the thing in 
 question, so that in a few days the servants 
 had all been trained to feel that in future it was 
 she, and she alone, who would give them their 
 orders. 
 
 Having modified the whole interior eco- 
 nomy of the household, Helen next proceeded 
 to a general exploration of rooms, cupboards, 
 drawers, cabinets, and bureaus, to the end that 
 nothing appertaining to her husband and his 
 family concerns might remain concealed from 
 her. The Hartleigh jewels — a valuable col- 
 lection — had been transmitted to her by the 
 Dowager through the family solicitor, and great 
 was the delight which they had given her ; but 
 even keener than the satisfaction of decking 
 herself before the glass in pearl necklaces and 
 diamond tiaras, was the pleasure which Helen 
 felt in rummaging strong-boxes and other re- 
 ceptacles for dusty old parchments and family 
 letters, the ink of which had long grown yellow. 
 Without being over romantic, the new mistress 
 of Hazelwood was sufficiently well-read — espe- 
 cially in novels — to appreciate the honour of 
 entering into an historic family, and it was in
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 145 
 
 poring over the ancestral papers that this honour 
 was most directly brought home to her — there 
 being no safer pledge of mastery in a house- 
 hold, than the right to pry into its secrets. 
 Lord Hartlei^h was indifferent as to what his 
 wife did with papers which he never looked at 
 himself ; but Helen was frequently bantered 
 for her inquisitive researches by Sir Giles Tap- 
 low, who was an assiduous visitor at Hazel- 
 wood. 
 
 A curious personage, this Sir Giles, whom 
 everybody knew and received, and whom no 
 one esteemed, without, yet, feeling that they 
 had the right to despise him. He was the 
 most inveterate tale-bearer and mischief-maker 
 abroad, for whatever he heard he repeated, 
 however grave might be the consequences 
 risked by his indiscretion. He would rather 
 have lost a dinner than missed saying an ill- 
 natured thing ; and, though he cared more for 
 his horses and dogs than for any human being, 
 he would have lamed his best hack to carry the 
 first tidings of an untoward event to those 
 whom it was most likely to afflict. Generally 
 the fancy for sporting animals develops, if not 
 refined sentiments, yet a certain rough manli- 
 ness of character ; but it had not done so in Sir 
 Giles, whose taste in horses and dogs was rather 
 an affair of vanity than of real inclination, for he 
 never hunted and was a poor shot. Even at 
 
 vol. 1. L 
 
 \
 
 146 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Eton and Oxford he had been known for his 
 avoidance of sports, and his addiction to hotel 
 bars and low resorts, where he could drink 
 ' half-and-half,' smoke his inseparable meer- 
 schaum, and watch, for amusement, a few ter- 
 riers bait a badger or kill rats. Now that he 
 enjoyed an income of 25,000/. a year, his pas- 
 times had scarcely varied, whilst his morals had 
 deteriorated, rather than improved. He had 
 no heart and no principles. A niggard with his 
 money, when he was not spending it on him- 
 self, untidy in his dress, cynical in speech, and 
 personally unpleasant to look at because of his 
 blear eyes, he seemed to be only tolerated be- 
 cause he was too well-off to be in need of 
 anybody, and because his tattling made him 
 companionable. Singular to relate, this invete- 
 rate propensity to let his tongue wag had never 
 brought Sir Giles into trouble ; but this was 
 because he always described himself as a mere 
 echo of rumours flying everywhere about. 
 Thus it had been when he had gone gossiping 
 all he knew about Helen. Thus it was when 
 he told Helen herself all about the misadven- 
 tures of the Carews. As he was not a lion in 
 courage, it would have been easy to startle him 
 into a total disclaimer of his individual belief 
 in the malicious things he uttered, but no one 
 thought it worth while thus to force the dagger 
 to his throat. People were content to take him
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 147 
 
 for an eccentric chatterbox ' who meant no 
 harm '—-and in truth he meant nothing in parti- 
 cular. He was simply hurtful by nature, like 
 nettles, which sting without intention. 
 
 1 Where's Hartleigh ? ' said he, walking one 
 morning unceremoniously into Helen's presence 
 through a window looking on to the flower- 
 garden, which he had crossed, instead of enter- 
 ing the Hall through the visitors' door. 
 
 1 He has just gone out with his gun,' said 
 Helen, looking up quietly from her account 
 books as if used to these sudden intrusions. ' I 
 think he expected you to join him, and you will 
 still be in time if you run across the park/ 
 
 ' No thanks, Nell, I prefer luxuriating on the 
 sofa and hearing you talk. What's the news ? ' 
 
 I I've told you repeatedly not to call me 
 Nell ; somebody might hear you,' said Helen 
 sharply, 'and, Sir Giles, will you please take 
 off your hat and put your pipe in your pocket. 
 I'm ashamed of you.' 
 
 I I only did it to see what you'd say,' grinned 
 the baronet, inserting his pipe into its case. 
 ' Soho ! your ladyship has not been long catch- 
 ing the manners and tone of command ! Busy 
 again among those frowsy papers I see.' 
 
 ' Yes, Lady Hartleigh may return when she 
 pleases now. I have made myself mistress of 
 the house,' said Helen complacently. 
 
 'And do you mean to go and kneel to her, 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 entreating her to come back, as Hartleigh wants 
 you to do ? ' 
 
 1 Not I,' said Helen. ' Charley says he 
 counts a great deal upon my face and manners 
 to touch her, but we women don't take much 
 account of each other's good looks in our likes 
 and dislikes. If I made advances they would 
 probably be repelled, simply to spite me, whereas 
 if I remain quiet, Lady Hartleigh's affection for 
 her son will eventually induce her to make the 
 first move, and then I shall be prepared to meet 
 her — a quarter of the way.' 
 
 * Egad ! you've become quite a diplomatist,' 
 laughed Sir Giles enjoyably. ' Whoever would 
 have thought that when I introduced you to 
 Hartleigh as a pretty governess, thinking that 
 you would at most suck a thousand pounds or 
 two out of him — you should have taken his 
 coronet and clapped it so promptly on your 
 frizzly head ? And then the change in your 
 ways ! You used to be as merry as a wren : 
 now you're high and dry as a queen.' 
 
 ' We act according to the parts we have to 
 play, you know.' 
 
 ' So it seems, and I suppose you'll be satis- 
 fied with nothing less than playing your part 
 in the front row of society, right among the 
 swells ? ' 
 
 * Why shouldn't I be welcomed into the 
 best society as well as you ? ' answered Helen
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 149 
 
 coldly. ' It appears to me that if you are fitted 
 for good company, I am.' 
 
 1 Thank you for the comparison/ sniggered 
 the baronet, 'but you see I'm a man, and that 
 makes a difference.' 
 
 ' It makes a difference, because you concoct 
 the laws and we women suffer by them,' broke 
 out Helen, with warmth. * A man holds him- 
 self privileged to be as immoral and vicious as 
 he pleases before marriage, for marriage wipes 
 out all his old scores and gives him a clean bill 
 of health. If anybody alludes to his former 
 bad courses, people say, " Oh, that's when he 
 was young, and was sowing his wild oats," but 
 if an unfortunate girl of sixteen or seventeen, 
 with not judgment enough to know what she is 
 about, commits but one fault, you men would 
 have her bear the shame of it for life, and not 
 one of you thinks of urging her youth as an ex- 
 cuse for her weakness.' 
 
 ' Bravo, my lady ! you're making a speech.' 
 
 'Ah, it's because I've no patience with such 
 injustice,' continued Helen, whose face had 
 flushed. ' Why, among the women whom you 
 call " fallen " there are many who have a hun- 
 dred times more honesty, kindness, and good 
 feeling than most of the men who have the im- 
 pudent hypocrisy to look down on them. Do 
 you think, for instance, that I shall not be as 
 exemplary in my conduct as a wife, as you would
 
 150 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 be as a husband ? . . . and in any matter where 
 my heart or judgment were appealed to, do you 
 suppose that I should not decide as properly as 
 you ? and in affairs of money do you imagine I 
 could not act with as much integrity as those 
 Carews ? ' 
 
 ' There you are, girding at the Carews again. 
 I wish you would let them alone, for I think of 
 marrying into the family/ 
 
 I What, haven't you got tired of your fancy 
 for that romp who gallops about the lanes like 
 a rough-rider ? ' 
 
 * Amy Carew is a very pretty girl, and there 
 are many who would be happy to get her,' 
 orowled Sir Giles. 
 
 ' Well, if she takes you it won't be for your 
 beauty, but for your money,' said Helen, with a 
 mocking laugh. 
 
 I I thank you again,' retorted Sir Giles, net- 
 tled. ' What makes you say such plaguey dis- 
 agreeable things ? I've never done anything 
 to hurt you.' 
 
 1 I've told you over and over again that I 
 hate the Carews,' declared Helen, with vehe- 
 mence ; ' and when I hate it's in good earnest. 
 If ever I can pay those people tit for tat, they 
 shan't find me behindhand with my reckoning.' 
 
 ' Ecod ! you alarm me. If ever I thwarted 
 you, I suppose you'd serve me out of the same 
 measure ? '
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 151 
 
 1 You as much as anyone else,' she replied, 
 carelessly. 
 
 At this moment the door was opened, and 
 the butler announced that ' Mr. Pottinger from 
 Stilborough ' wished to see her ladyship. 
 
 1 Mr. who ? ' asked Sir Giles. 
 
 ' Pottinger,' said Helen. ' Show Mr. Pot- 
 tinger in, please ' — and she continued : ' Mr. 
 Pottinger was Charley's best man on our wed- 
 ding-day ; and so we bought him a silver tea 
 and coffee service as an acknowledgment. I 
 suppose he has come to thank me, for he was 
 not at home when we called on him yes- 
 terday.' 
 
 ' Well, I'll leave you together and go and 
 take a look at Hartley's horses. Ta-ta, till 
 lunch,' and Sir Giles, unsheathing his pipe again, 
 slouched out through the window just as Mr. 
 Pottinger was introduced — a tremulous and 
 bowing object, with his hair fresh oiled, his chin 
 new reaped, and violet gloves of the crudest dye 
 on his hands. 
 
 Grocers have not, like some other of their 
 fellow-tradesmen — drapers, jewellers, upholste- 
 rers — the advantage of often penetrating in a 
 business capacity into the private apartments of 
 the great. They receive their orders from ser- 
 vants, and deliver their goods at back doors — 
 so that Mr. Pottinger's respectful feet had never 
 led him beyond the entrance vestibule of any
 
 152 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 lordly mansion. The handsomest room he had 
 seen in his life was the council chamber of the 
 Stilborough town hall, which had chairs of red 
 Utrecht velvet, and he had been fain to draw 
 on his imagination for ideas as to the appearance 
 of apartments wherein rich Indian woods, satins, 
 ivory, buhl, and marble, were profusely used in 
 ornamentation. But his liveliest dreams had 
 never pictured to him such a splendid chamber 
 as that morning-room where Helen sat on a 
 blue silk ottoman, with numberless costly knick- 
 knacks round her ; neither had they prepared 
 him for anything like the graciousness which the 
 mistress of so much finery displayed towards 
 him. Helen was dressed in a black velvet 
 gown, buttoned close up to the throat, and sur- 
 mounted by a small ruff. Three rows of rich 
 coral beads hung round her neck, and bracelets 
 of the same stone — the most becoming of all 
 with black velvet — set off the whiteness of 
 her slight wrists. On her daintily crimped hair 
 was set the tiniest of lace caps, giving her a 
 pretty air of matronly dignity. 
 
 She was too anxious to make friends every- 
 where not to evince the utmost affability towards 
 a grocer-churchwarden, so extended to him one 
 of her jewelled hands, bade him smilingly to be 
 seated, and waived off in a few well-chosen 
 words the thanks which he emitted for his tea 
 and coffee service as a most costly gift.
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 153 
 
 ' Oh, you owe us no thanks, Mr. Pottinger, 
 I'm sure — the thanks should come from us. I 
 daresay you wondered that Lord Hartleigh 
 should have got married in such a sudden 
 fashion, with no one to attend him ? ' 
 
 Mr. Pottinger's gesture implied that he 
 never took the liberty to wonder at anything 
 concerning his betters. 
 
 I Oh, the reason was simple enough,' laughed 
 Helen. ' My father, who is a clergyman, you 
 know, is away in China, and I was staying with 
 an aunt who did not approve of my marriage 
 with Lord Hartleigh on religious grounds, my 
 aunt being a Catholic and saying I should marry 
 none but a Catholic. So I left her house and 
 got married without her consent.' 
 
 ' And quite right too, my lady,' said Mr. 
 Pottinger. He did not know whether he was 
 expected to laugh at the good turn played to 
 the popish aunt, or to express indignation at her 
 tyranny. As Helen laughed, he laughed, but 
 deferentially with the tips of his lips. 
 
 * And how did you like the races, Mr. Pot- 
 tinger?' she resumed. ' Did you see our horse, 
 Bluebell, win ? ' 
 
 I I did not go to the races, my lady, but I 
 was very glad to hear that my lord's horse had 
 won.' 
 
 ' He ran very gallantly, but his jockey said 
 he had some trouble with him. There is a
 
 154 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 part of the course which is bordered by the 
 river, and it seems that at certain hours of the 
 day the sunlight glinting on the waters is apt to 
 be very trying to horses, flashing as it does all 
 of a sudden upon them at the corner.' 
 
 1 Yes, my lady, that's " Stubb's Piece," and 
 it's a trouble to others besides horses. We in 
 the town council have had many a set-to to- 
 gether about it' 
 
 ' Indeed, — in what way ? ' 
 
 ' Why, you see, my lady that 'ere is a bit of 
 Corporation ground,' answered Mr. Pottinger, 
 delighted at the turn the conversation was 
 taking, and insensibly lowering his voice as if 
 he were hatching a conspiracy, ' and some time 
 ago a man came who wanted to give us a hand- 
 some price for it and set up a dye-factory on 
 the hill. As the dye-works would have added a 
 good deal to the prosperity of our town, I was 
 in favour of the sale, but some others in the 
 Council wouldn't hear of it, for fear of offending 
 Sir Peter Carew.' 
 
 1 And why should Sir Peter Carew have felt 
 offended ? ' asked Helen, quickly. 
 
 'Why, your ladyship, you see, if ''Stubb's 
 Piece " were taken away, the race-course would 
 be broken up, and Sir Peter couldn't form 
 another out of his own ground — so that it 
 would be like abolishing the races altogether, 
 which wouldn't suit him.'
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 155 
 
 1 1 see. So then you have abandoned the 
 idea of the sale ? ' 
 
 ' / haven't abandoned it, my lady/ replied 
 the grocer adroitly ; ' I mean to take up the 
 question again and again — with all respect to 
 Sir Peter, against whom I wish no harm — only 
 wanting that our town may have its dues. I'm 
 afraid, though, it won't be of much use for me 
 to talk, for the townspeople hold very hard by 
 their races.' 
 
 1 Well, but would there not be a means of 
 conciliating the two things — maintaining your 
 races and selling your land ? ' asked Helen, in 
 a voice betokening her eagerness. ' Supposing 
 a ground were found elsewhere for the races ? 
 Supposing we provided you a course out of 
 Hazel wood Park ? I am sure Lord Hartleigh 
 would lend himself to anything that would be 
 of advantage to Stilborough.' 
 
 ' Oh, my lady, that would alter the case 
 entirely,' answered Mr. Pottinger gushingly. 
 
 ' You think so ? The corporation would 
 really sell that piece of land if they were sure 
 of obtaining a course elsewhere ?' 
 
 1 I don't think there can be a doubt about 
 it, my lady. The establishment of a factory 
 would bring a good deal more trade to our 
 town, and if we could have that and the races 
 together, why I don't see how even Sir Peter 
 could find anything to object to. He might
 
 156 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 not like the change, but he wouldn't dare say- 
 much about it openly/ 
 
 1 He certainly could not without evincing 
 more selfishness than I suppose him capable 
 of/ remarked Helen calmly. 
 
 She was throbbing at the heart. Any 
 physiognomist who had watched her during 
 the last few minutes would have seen her 
 features illumined as by gleams of lightning 
 flashing over them. At the outset of the con- 
 versation she had taken up a basket of wools 
 and begun to wind them, but by-and-by 
 her inward agitation became too intense for 
 her agile fingers to do their work properly. 
 Three times she had let a ball of scarlet 
 worsted slip and fall to the carpet ; three 
 times had Mr. Pottinger ducked down to pick 
 it up. 
 
 For what a glorious vision was that which 
 the grocer had abruptly conjured up before her! 
 The races transferred to Hazel wood, and she 
 would become every year, during three days, 
 the hostess of all the notables in the county ! 
 People of consequence would have no alterna- 
 tive between accepting to be her guests or 
 staying away, and what though the more 
 prudish ladies might prefer to keep aloof for 
 a year or two, they would all come back in 
 flocks as time rolled on ; for by instituting 
 new prizes, and by indulging in lavish hospi-
 
 THE MISTRESS OF HAZELWOOD. 157 
 
 talkies on a far princelier scale than the Carews 
 could afford, she would apply herself to convert 
 the Stilborough races into one of the most 
 pleasant meetings in the kingdom — a meeting 
 to be talked of for its jollity, and lauded every- 
 where. And above all this was to be reckoned 
 the joy — that unutterable joy which none feel 
 so acutely as women — of humbling, damaging, 
 perhaps ruining an enemy. 
 
 On his side Mr Pottinger was quite alive 
 to all that was passing in her ladyship's mind, 
 and the thing satisfied him well. To be sure 
 he' was not now on the road to getting the races 
 abolished, he was only getting them transferred; 
 but next to the pleasure of suppressing an ob- 
 noxious thing, must assuredly be counted the 
 pleasure of getting it removed to some other 
 spot. The races might deteriorate in the pro- 
 cess of removal, or perhaps not take root in 
 their new soil, and so decline and perish ; for 
 institutions are much like flowers, and will not 
 
 always bear transplanting. In any event, he 
 
 Pottinger — would have done his duty to the 
 best of his lights ; and — which was also an im- 
 portant consideration — he would have rendered 
 the pretty Lady of Hazel wood a service which 
 she would not be likely to forget. The two 
 glanced at each other, their eyes met for a brief 
 instant, and Helen discerned that, although her 
 motives might be divined by her visitor, he
 
 158 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 placed himself at her entire devotion. The in- 
 terview closed with mutual gratification. 
 
 1 Does your ladyship then authorise me to 
 inform the town council that my lord would fur- 
 nish a new race-course in case of need ? ' in- 
 quired the grocer humbly, as he rose to depart. 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Pottinger, I will speak to Lord 
 Hartleigh about it as soon as he comes in/ re- 
 plied Helen. 
 
 ' The town will feel eternally obliged to 
 your ladyship/ 
 
 * I am only paying my footing, as is binding 
 on a new-comer,' said Helen, with the smile of 
 a veritable grande dame.
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AXD MEANS. 
 
 Poor Sir Peter ! he might well exclaim : ' I 
 have lived too long,' as he saw ruin pour in 
 from all quarters into his house. 
 
 Families who have been living long on 
 credit are like people dancing on the ice. They 
 feel the ground firm under their tread, they 
 stamp, erect booths, roast an ox whole, make 
 merry, and think that this is going to last for 
 ever. But suddenly the atmosphere changes, 
 and in less than a day there is a general break- 
 up on all sides at once. Step wherever you 
 will now and the ice cracks ; all is mess, confu- 
 sion, danger, and no safety remains but in 
 flight, if haply it be not too late to fly. 
 
 On the first morning of the races Sir Peter 
 was one of the most easy men alive. He owed 
 money in heaps, so did his children, but credi- 
 tors were full of trust, for they had never been 
 wronged of a penny, nor even put off for pay- 
 ment till their patience was exhausted. When- 
 ever a bill was sent in to Royster Hall, money
 
 160 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 had somehow been found to meet it, and thus, 
 though liabilities were daily multiplied, a con- 
 tinual succession of payments had kept the 
 credit of Sir Peter sound as that of many a 
 far richer man. But in one day all this was 
 changed. Oswald Carew's heavy losses, by 
 compelling the family to take stock of their re- 
 sources, had shown them that they had nothing 
 or nearly nothing. Then tailors and milliners, 
 having caught rumours of the situation, began 
 to dun, not Sir Peter, but the sons and daugh- 
 ters separately, each for his and her own indebt- 
 edness ; and this general pressure, obliging 
 them all to fall back for succour upon, the 
 parental funds, threatened to convert an intri- 
 cate dilemma into an irremediable bankruptcy ; 
 for not even the Bank of England could honour 
 its paper if all the holders of notes were to be- 
 siege its counters together. Oswald Carew was 
 not the cause of the ruin that was lighting upon 
 his house ; he had only accelerated a crisis 
 which must have come sooner or later, and 
 which, it was almost a wonder, could have been 
 staved off so long. 
 
 However, as was usual with them in their 
 strong mutual affection, the Carews all rallied at 
 the sight of danger and clubbed their means to 
 do that which pressed most — ward off disgrace 
 from the head of the heir. Before anything 
 else was thought of, Oswald's bets must be paid.
 
 A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS. 161 
 
 Philip gave up the 4,000/. which he had won 
 by ' hedging ' (Oswald felt more humiliation in 
 accepting this than all the other money) ; Sir 
 Peter surrendered his profits on the races ; Jack 
 Carew, the naval lieutenant, who opportunely 
 returned home from a three years' cruise with 
 about 1,000/. of pay and prize-money, which he 
 had fondly hoped would serve him for a three 
 months' spree, handed over almost every far- 
 thing of it, and applied to be re-commissioned 
 forthwith ; all the other brothers borrowed 
 money as they could ; and the sisters, married 
 and single, with a self-denial for which not one 
 thought of taking any credit to herself, packed 
 up their trinkets in a case and sent them to a 
 fashionable pawnbroker's. By these and other 
 methods were raised the 16,500/. which con- 
 stituted the total of Oswald's losings ; and the 
 money being lodged at his banker's, that peni- 
 tent, but not converted, officer w r as enabled to 
 post his cheques in time for settling-day, and 
 so keep his honour (as the world understands 
 honour) untarnished. 
 
 But when this had been accomplished came 
 the morrow, and with it the question of what 
 was to be done next ; for the family could not 
 resume their life on its former footing. Money 
 must be got to settle, or at least compound with, 
 the other debts, which were not of ' honour ; ' 
 and when these came to be examined in a grand 
 vol. 1. M
 
 1 62 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 family council they were found to reach a total 
 at which the most sanguine of mortals might 
 well have stood aghast. 
 
 Poor Sir Peter, with all his children around 
 him, sat at the table in his study, his aching 
 brow resting on his hand, and his eye scanning 
 with horror the schedule which he had made 
 out. The confiding old man had not even sus- 
 pected that any of his children had debts of 
 their own. He had fancied that the occasional 
 applications which they made for gifts in excess 
 of their allowances represented the sum of their 
 extravagances, and that the doles which he 
 never refused to furnish forth always sufficed to 
 set them straight again. But now Oswald con- 
 fessed to owing about 10,000/., Philip 5,000/., and 
 the other brothers, excepting the sailor, sums of 
 like amount. As to the daughters, the married 
 ones had the excuse of housekeeping, carriage- 
 keeping, and late-hours-in-town-keeping to ex- 
 cuse debts of 7,000/. and 6,000/. respectively ; 
 but the girls too were in a quandary, and even 
 Amy pleaded guilty to bills aggregating 500/. 
 No one sought to diminish aught of what he or 
 she owed, or to mitigate his or her meet, culpa 
 — though if the truth must be told there was a 
 disposition to consider that the maximum of 
 heinousness had indubitably been reached by 
 Amy with her 500/. To that even Oswald 
 frowned, and muttered, ' Gad ! this is too bad,'
 
 A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS. 163 
 
 when the rueful avowal was blushingly made. 
 At last when cyphers had been added up it was 
 proved that, taking Sir Peter's own debts and 
 those of the estate into account, the collective 
 indebtedness of the Carews fell little short of 
 50,000/. ; whereon Sir Peter uttered a piteous 
 groan, and repeated what he had already re- 
 marked more than once : ' My dears, I've 
 lived too long. Thank God your mother is 
 not alive to see this. What would she have 
 said ? ' 
 
 It was resolved that Oswald and Philip must 
 sell out and make a temporary arrangement with 
 their creditors out of the price of their commis- 
 sions, and that Sir Peter must exert his Parlia- 
 mentary influence to procure them Government 
 appointments. Places were also to be begged for 
 on behalf of Captains Hunt and Warrener, who 
 promised to reduce their expenditure and ' toil 
 like horses ' whenever work should be found for 
 them. The next thing to do was to mortgage 
 as much of the Royster property as was not 
 already encumbered, and as a last reluctant expe- 
 dient Sir Peter proposed to farm out his beloved 
 racecourse. He had often been told that in more 
 knowing hands than his the gate-money and 
 stand-admissions might be made to yield twice as 
 much as they did to him ; and a turf speculator 
 had even once offered to take the entire manage- 
 ment and profits of the races off his hands for 
 
 m 2
 
 164 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 15,000/. — a proposal which he had then scouted 
 as almost an insult. But the insult of to-day is 
 often the favour of to-morrow, and Sir Peter now 
 mused that 1 5,000/. would go a long way towards 
 extricating him from his difficulties. He might 
 pay a multitude of debts with it ; and these once 
 disposed of, the family might contrive to keep 
 their heads above water until some buoy of sal- 
 vation came within their reach — either in the 
 shape of a rich marriage for one of the girls, a 
 legacy, or some other providential thing as yet 
 undreamed of. 
 
 When there is union in a household any 
 conference undertaken to form a joint league 
 against trouble leads to a revival of hope. Each 
 member adds to his own strength that of the 
 others, and the common stock of energy becomes 
 increased tenfold. The Carews, having duly 
 debated on the above resolutions, took heart of 
 grace, and were consoling themselves with the 
 reflection that there miorht still be cakes and ale 
 
 o 
 
 on the shelf, when the postman passed by the 
 window on his midday rounds. Amy ran out 
 to fetch the mail, and returned with one letter, 
 which she handed to her father. 
 
 As all in the room were talking none noticed 
 the sudden alteration in Sir Peter's countenance 
 as he perused the missive ; but presently he put 
 up his hand to enjoin silence, and in trembling 
 accents read the contents aloud.
 
 A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS. 165 
 This is how the letter ran : — 
 
 POTTINGER AND SON, 
 ►** TEA K, 
 
 ^r 25 High Street, % 
 
 Stilborough. 
 
 Jams, Potted Meats, 
 
 and 
 
 Delicious Yorkshire Hams 
 
 Sept. 29, 18—. 
 
 ' Sir, — I take the liberty of writing these lines to 
 ^-say that I have given the Town Council notice of a 
 motion which will be debated at the next sitting, if it 
 please the Almighty. It is to this effect : ' That the 
 Corporation do acquaint Sir Peter Carew, Bart., M.P., 
 with their intention to sell, so soon as conveniently 
 may be, and for building purposes, the plot of grass- 
 land known as " Stubb's Piece." 
 
 1 As you may know, Sir, there was talk some time 
 back of selling this Stubb's Piece for establishing dye- 
 works thereon ; but the Corporation, not liking to 
 interfere with the races, refused a liberal offer made 
 by a party who had come from town for the purpose. 
 I am happy to say that Lord Hartleigh, having now 
 kindly offered to let a new course be made in Hazel- 
 wood Park, there is a chance of our being able to 
 have both the races and the dye-works, which, as you 
 must see, Sir, would be much for the advantage of our 
 town. Hoping, therefore, Sir, that you, who have 
 always been a friend to Stilborough, will not see fit to 
 oppose my motion, I have the honour to remain, 
 ' Yours respectfully to command, 
 
 1 Joseph Pottinger. 
 1 Sir Peter Carew, Bart, M.P.'
 
 1 66 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 That's Hartleigh's doing,' cried one of the 
 brothers when the first moment of stupefaction 
 had subsided. 
 
 ' Yes, that's how he parries the thrust you 
 women made at his wife the other day/ re- 
 marked Oswald. ' I told you what would come 
 of your precious floutings.' 
 
 ' But, gracious me ! we couldn't receive his 
 wife when the Duchess had pronounced against 
 her ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Warrener tartly. 
 
 ' And the woman never came amongst us 
 at all, so that she can't have any incivility to 
 complain of,' chimed in Mrs. Hunt in the same 
 tone. 
 
 ' You need not have been in such a deuced 
 hurry to believe all you heard against her,' 
 observed Philip, biting his nails. 
 
 ' Why, how can you be so disingenuous, 
 Phil ? ' ejaculated Mrs. Hunt. ' You said your- 
 self that half of it all was true.' 
 
 1 And, if she has had any finger in this, I 
 say, for my part, that she is not a person whom 
 I would ever disgrace myself by speaking to,' 
 declared Mrs. Warrener with emphasis. 
 
 ' For God's sake finish that senseless chat- 
 tering !', bawled Sir Peter ; and, turning with the 
 injustice of peevishness on the wrong offender, 
 he singled out Amy, who had not opened her 
 lips. ' Hold your tongue, will you, Amy ? 
 What can you know of such matters ?'
 
 A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS. 167 
 
 1 But, papa, I never spoke.' 
 
 ' Don't answer me, child : it's rude and un- 
 dutiful. I seem to get nothing from my children 
 nowadays — not even respect/ 
 
 1 I don't think that letter need cause us any 
 uneasiness, sir,' interposed Oswald. ' I believe 
 we have the right of preemption in " Stubb's 
 Piece." ' 
 
 1 No, that we haven't,' said Basil, the bar- 
 rister. ' Our right expired ten years ago — I've 
 seen the deed. But we can go to law about it/ 
 
 'Who's Pottinger ?' asked Jack, the sailor. 
 
 1 A sort of go-to-meeting cad, who holds 
 the plate at the church-door on Sundays/ re- 
 joined Albert, of the Foreign Office, brushing 
 a speck of dust off his satin scarf. 
 
 1 Couldn't we go and wring his neck ? ' pro- 
 posed Jack as if he meant it. 
 
 ' The best thing to do is to outbid the 
 dye-factor^ 7 man when the land is put up for 
 sale/ suggested George, the War Office clerk. 
 
 ' And where's the money to come from ? ' 
 inquired Philip. 
 
 1 No, I'll tell you what's the simplest way to 
 get us out of this tangle,' said Oswald, inter- 
 vening with authority. ' Do you, Maud and 
 Alice, go and put on your bonnets and start off 
 for Hazelwood to make it up with Lady Hart- 
 leigh. We can't quarrel with our bread-and- 
 butter to please the Duchess of Grandton.'
 
 1 68 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 1 go and call on that woman ? Never ! ' 
 vowed Mrs. Warrener. 
 
 1 1 would rather die first,' protested Mrs. 
 Hunt. 'What do you say to such a proposal, 
 papa ? ' 
 
 1 1 say that if the races are taken from us 
 we shall be ruined. Now settle the matter as 
 you choose,' replied Sir Peter, standing up, with 
 his hands despondingly thrust into his pockets. 
 
 Mrs. Warrener and Mrs. Hunt, plump and 
 pretty women, began to cry ; seeing which their 
 husbands made prudent exit, knowing that such 
 showers usually boded domestic storms. Both 
 ladies declared it was very hard that they 
 should be made scapegoats of. They had com- 
 mitted no crimes that they should be forced to 
 consort with improper people. They had their 
 reputations to consider ; and even if reduced to 
 eating a crust of bread at a street-corner should 
 still be particular as to the company they kept. 
 
 Sir Peter exploded into unaccustomed oaths, 
 then assumed the air of a martyr, and said he 
 was quite content to go to the workhouse. In 
 fact, he would rather like it : he should be 
 relieved of his miseries and of the society of 
 rebellious children, who, instead of consulting 
 how they might assist him in his distress, were 
 only concerned about their petty vanities and 
 unladylike animosities. A stride which he 
 made towards the door, as though he would
 
 A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS. 169 
 
 immediately go and place himself in the hands 
 of the parochial authorities, brought a new- 
 gush of tears from the sisters and a kind of 
 murmuring surrender from Mrs. Warrener, who 
 said she would try and gather fortitude for the 
 task imposed upon her. Perhaps she should 
 feel equal to it to-morrow. 
 
 'What's the use of putting it off till to- 
 morrow ? ' blurted out Philip. ' We are never 
 sure of to-morrow — a hundred things may hap- 
 pen before then.' 
 
 ' That is a truth that will bear no jesting 
 upon,' said Sir Peter wearily. 'Who knows 
 where we may all be to-morrow ? Oh, boys, 
 boys ! that you should have brought me to this ! 
 — you who, at my time of life, I had a right to 
 look to as a comfort and support. Oh, it's too 
 wretched to think of — too wretched ! ' And he 
 left the room. 
 
 ' I don't like to see the governor take on in 
 that way,' remarked Jack Carew with feeling. 
 1 You seem to have been playing pretty pranks 
 with him, all of you.' 
 
 ■ Come, a nice one you are to preach ! ' re- 
 torted Philip. 'Just as if you wouldn't have 
 spent as much as any of us if you hadn't been 
 boxed up in your ship ! ' 
 
 'Why, you sailors are the most wanton 
 spendthrifts in the world,' broke out Mrs. 
 Warrener, drying her tears, and delighted to
 
 i 7 o THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 turn the current of her feelings on to a defence- 
 less head. 
 
 ' One would think you had holes in every- 
 one of your pockets, so prodigally does your 
 money leak away,' concurred Mrs. Hunt, join- 
 ing in the quarry. 
 
 Jack beat a retreat, and his sisters were 
 soothed. It was truly distasteful to them to 
 pay this visit to Hazelwood, because of the 
 comments which other ladies might make upon 
 the proceeding, but they presently solaced them- 
 selves with the thought that their condescension 
 would call for a proportionate display of grati- 
 tude on the part of the person whom they were 
 so signally honouring. They requested that 
 their father, Oswald, and their own husbands 
 might accompany them, to give more dclat to 
 their pilgrimage ; and they went up stairs to 
 dress, saying they would take Amy with them, 
 to complete the party. Amy had no objection 
 to the ride until her sisters told her categorically 
 that her presence had an object, as they hoped 
 the party might fall in with Sir Giles Taplow, 
 who was paying his suit to her, and who must 
 now be encouraged. 
 
 For Mrs. Warrener and Mrs. Hunt had no 
 notion of devoting themselves alone for the 
 public good, and when they were closeted with 
 Amy they did not mince matters to her. 
 
 ' You see, Amy dear, we are all doing what
 
 A COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS. 171 
 
 ^we can, and you must do the same — so must 
 Oswald. We told him this morning that he 
 must marry Louie Ambermere, and we shall 
 leave him no rest till he proposes. As for you, 
 it is quite a mercy that you should have smitten 
 Sir Giles, who is rich and a perfect gentleman. 
 Many a girl would go down on her knees for 
 such a match, and it will be unpardonable if 
 you refuse him.' 
 
 1 But Sir Giles has never asked me to marry 
 him,' pleaded Amy, whose heart sank. 
 
 ' Oh, leave that to us. We'll see that he 
 proposes to you,' said the elder of the married 
 sisters.
 
 172 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 
 
 Amy was a good girl — the pet of her father, 
 because of her sweet temper ; the slave of her 
 brothers and sisters, because of her invariable 
 willingness to oblige. They were continually 
 resorting to her for small services, without ever 
 finding her good-nature at fault. She had kept 
 house even before her sister Alice was married, 
 and now that this duty properly devolved on her 
 sister Isabel, who was a year older than her, 
 everybody was for having the authority rest 
 with Amy — she was such an excellent caterer, 
 so punctual, too, and able in her management of 
 servants. She wrote a very pretty hand, and 
 was Sir Peter's secretary in all important corre- 
 spondence, as well as his auditor of accounts. 
 When her brothers were at home she overlooked 
 their linen ; and if they were bound on any ma- 
 tutinal expedition of sport, or were starting to 
 time by an early train, it was on her they always 
 relied for having their breakfast ready and their 
 dogcart or horses, as the case might be, round
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 173 
 
 in time. Nor on such occasions would she ever 
 fail herself, no matter what might be the hour, 
 to be down and standing at the tea urn to speed 
 the parting wayfarer. She was lively and full 
 of song as a bird, patient, eager to please, quick 
 to feel others' pains and to remedy them as she 
 best could. To her was due all the comfort of 
 the home which she graced ; yet nobody thought 
 of giving her thanks, because her presence was 
 like sunshine, of whose benefits we are only sen- 
 sible when we miss it. 
 
 Being all in all to her family, Amy had come 
 to think of her father, brothers, and sisters as 
 being all in the world to her ; therefore the sug- 
 gestion that she should contract a rich marriage 
 for their sakes, without any reference to her own 
 inclinations, was not one which would make 
 her repine or rebel. It was a form of self-sa- 
 crifice which, under the present circumstances 
 of pinching need, wore almost the look of duty. 
 She cried, because she did not like Sir Giles 
 Taplow ; but her heart was free, and the tears 
 which she shed were no more than the prospect 
 of marrying any other man would have caused 
 to flow. Only faint traces of them remained 
 when she took her seat in the open landau 
 opposite her sisters. 
 
 It was quite a cavalcade which started for 
 Hazelwood ; but the journey proved bootless, 
 for Lady Hartleigh was not at home. She had
 
 174 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 gone out with her husband and Sir Giles to 
 make the acquaintance of the cottage tenants, 
 and there was nothing for it but to leave cards. 
 When Helen returned and saw all these dogs- 
 eared pasteboards on the hall-table her bosom 
 heaved with triumph, and she playfully touched 
 her husband's shoulder with her parasol, as 
 much as to say, ' There, I told you they would 
 not be long coming.' Lord Hartleigh was en- 
 chanted, for he loathed the quarrel with the 
 Carews ; and he was for having a carriage 
 brought round at once, in order that the visit 
 might be returned that very afternoon. But 
 Helen said this would look like too much eager- 
 ness. She allowed two clear days to elapse 
 before repaying the call, and even then chose 
 a time when she conjectured that the Carews 
 would all be absent at a charity bazaar being 
 held in a neighbouring village. The conse- 
 quence was that, etiquette having been com- 
 plied with on both sides, it lay with the Carews 
 to make the next step towards striking up an 
 actual acquaintance; and Helen, knowing full, 
 well what motives of fear must have dictated 
 their last visit, felt persuaded that she would 
 not have to wait long for the next step, which 
 would consecrate her victory. Meanwhile she 
 retracted nothing from the instructions which 
 she had given Mr. Pottinger — instructions, 
 which, by the way, Lord Hartleigh had tacitly
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 175 
 
 ratified, as he did everything which his wife 
 suggested. 
 
 The doughty opponent of horse-racing was 
 bounding about Stilborough like a parched pea 
 in a shovel. Never had there been seen a 
 grocer so active, so speechful, so little occupied 
 about his figs. He left his shop to the care of 
 his son and an apprentice whilst he bustled 
 about to dazzle the minds of his fellow-bur- 
 gesses with visions of what vast, ever-increas- 
 ing wealth would be added to the town if it had 
 a row of prosperous factories flourishing in its 
 suburbs. Already his robust imagination, de- 
 molishing obstacles and spanning time, had 
 multiplied the one dye-factory by ten, twenty, 
 fifty, till a whole forest of tall chimneys rose 
 around Stilborough, shooting columns of black 
 smoke over a borough which should no longer 
 be a mean third-rate market-town, but a thriving, 
 thickly-peopled city, having its garrison, assize 
 courts, terminus, and returning two members to 
 Parliament. ' And then, as to those races, see 
 what an improvement the new course would be ! ' 
 added the transported grocer. ' Why, Hazel- 
 wood is twice as fine a park as Royster ; and as 
 my lord wouldn't want to make profit out of the 
 races, as Sir Peter does, he could have all the 
 bad characters excluded, so that the meeting 
 would be quite genteel and select — with no 
 welchers, no roughs, no thieves, no nothing im-
 
 
 176 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 moral. As you know, I'm not partial to races 
 myself, because my conscience tells me they 
 ain't godly, but racing at'Hazelwood would be 
 such a different thing to what it is at Royster, 
 that, though I shouldn't go to such sport myself, 
 I should be content to let others go if they 
 pleased without hindering 'em.' Thus spoke this 
 crafty bandier of words, leading away many. 
 
 Perhaps he believed half he said — perhaps 
 all, for we easily work ourselves up into a faith 
 in what suits us. Anyhow, his cause soon re- 
 ceived unhoped-for aid from the hasty action 
 taken by Sir Peter Carew. Instead of reply- 
 ing to the grocer's letter the baronet, through 
 his solicitor, drily informed Mr. Brindle, the 
 Mayor, of his intention to contest the right of 
 the Corporation to sell Stubb's Piece — the which, 
 as he alleged, had been allotted to all time as 
 a recreation-ground for the borough. Now, 
 nothing puts Englishmen so promptly on their 
 mettle as a denial of their rights. The town 
 clerk of Stilborough, one Japper, an attorney, 
 and a shrewd fellow, forthwith thrust his re- 
 markably prying nose into the borough records 
 and arrived at legal conclusions on three 
 points : 
 
 ist. That Sir Peter Carew had no right of 
 preemption of Stubb's Piece, at a fair valuation 
 by appraiser, as he contended. 
 
 2nd. That the Corporation had every right
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 177 
 
 to sell Stubb's Piece to whom, and for what 
 purpose, they pleased. 
 
 3rd. That the Corporation had a right of 
 way, hitherto unclaimed, right through Sir 
 Peters own park, and through a portion of it 
 where of late years an orchard had been planted. 
 
 It appeared, indeed, that the whole of the 
 ground where the racecourse now stood had 
 formerly belonged to the Corporation. Sir 
 Peter's grandfather had bought the greater part 
 of it, and had doubtless intended to purchase 
 the remainder at some future time, as was 
 proved by the preemption clause which he had 
 caused to be inserted, giving him, or his heirs, 
 power to purchase at a fair valuation at any 
 time within fifty years. When, however, the 
 races had been instituted there was no longer 
 any reason why he should buy, for the Cor- 
 poration had seemed perfectly content that 
 Stubb's Piece should be used to form part of 
 the racecourse, and the arrangement between 
 them and the occupants of Royster Hall had 
 worked well for years and years, so that the 
 term of preemption had expired without either 
 of the parties noticing it. With respect to the 
 right of way through Royster Park, that had 
 been reserved for so long as Stubb's Piece 
 should remain in possession of the Corporation ; 
 but it had never been claimed, because it was 
 of no utility ; and Sir Peter's father had been 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 allowed to cut off a part of the road that led 
 nowhither but to Stubb's Piece, and convert it 
 into a plantation. The case was going to be- 
 come quite different, though, if Stubb's Piece 
 were sold as building ground, for then the 
 shortest cut from Stilborough to this plot of 
 land would lie by a road running right through 
 the park, within a stone's throw of the Hall 
 windows. 
 
 When Sir Peter received intimation of these 
 legal discoveries, through one of those politely 
 irritating letters which lawyers know so well 
 how to pen, he saw that he was no longer 
 fighting for mere land or money, but for very 
 hearth and home. It would be bad enough to 
 have his park thrown open to all the tramps 
 and knife-grinders of the country ; but if it 
 were to become a high-road for scores or 
 hundreds of operatives passing two or three 
 times a day, and for carts and vans conveying 
 merchandise, the Hall would become uninha- 
 bitable. Not only that, but the whole estate 
 would for a w T hile so decline in value that it 
 would be impossible to mortgage it for any 
 adequate sum, while to let the house and 
 grounds as a gentleman's country residence, 
 would, of course, be for evermore out of the 
 question. Too proud to attempt conciliation 
 where he fancied there lurked a fixed deter- 
 mination to slight him and do him wrong, Sir
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 179 
 
 Peter threw away his scabbard and prepared 
 for a combat without quarter. He referred 
 Mr. Japper, once and for all, to his solicitor, 
 and those two worthies soon became locked in 
 the embrace of a close correspondence wherein 
 notices of process, threats of traversing, de- 
 murring, &c., were as freely exchanged as hugs 
 in a ring-. 
 
 Up to this time Mr. Pottinger had only 
 been able to convert to his cause, two Councillors 
 — Wigson, hairdresser, and Jones, tailor — both 
 secretly inimical to the Carews, because they 
 had their hair cut and their coats made in Lon- 
 don. There now joined him Thompson, baker, 
 and Jackson, glazier, both clamorous for the 
 right of way, of which they had never felt the 
 need before, but which they now vowed to be 
 indispensable to the soothing of their ruffled 
 sense of justice, and further, to the saving for 
 them of a sinful waste of time as they drove 
 about in their avocations. Nothing was now 
 talked of in Stilborough but this right of way, 
 and the determination to have it. One would 
 have thought that Sir Peter had deprived the 
 town of trial by jury, or cut off its water-supply, 
 or suppressed the liberty of public worship. 
 One night the borough was placarded with 
 handbills urging on the townsmen to make 
 ' no surrender.' A quorum of influential citi- 
 zens issued yellow posters convening a public 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 meeting for the purpose of drawing up a peti- 
 tion to the Town Council ; and some wag in the 
 town composed a war-ditty which was loudly 
 yelled by street-boys and by jovial souls in 
 public-house taprooms : — 
 
 I think I hear Sir Peter say, 
 [Chorus.'] Fire, my hearties, fire away ! 
 ' I mean to stop their right of way ! ' 
 
 Fire, &c. 
 But the townsmen roused them for the fray ; 
 
 Fire, fcc. 
 And Pottinger he won the day. 
 
 With a toora-looral, ry-de-fol-de-rol, &c. 
 
 Fired by which long-winded lyric (for of its 
 stanzas there was no end) some hot young 
 bloods of eighteen or thereabouts resolved to 
 form a fearless procession, and on the forth- 
 coming Sunday afternoon march through Roy- 
 ster Park, just to take practical possession of 
 the right for which their fathers were about to 
 have a legal tussle. But Mr. Pottinger depre- 
 cated all such disorderly courses and noisy 
 agitation. Like statesmen who feel themselves 
 to be on the point of attaining their ends he 
 could afford to evince moderation. A few days 
 had made a popular leader and hero of him. 
 The law was in his mouth, and nothing but the 
 law ; he wished to rob no man of his dues, only 
 to stand up for his own, as it behoved every 
 Englishman to do. 
 
 As the Town Council consisted of twelve
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 181 
 
 members, not including the Mayor, seven had 
 to be accounted for besides Mr. Pottinger and 
 the four who were banded with him. The 
 opposition was, of course, led by Mr. Pettigrew, 
 the grocer's inveterate but now much diminished 
 foe ; and he had behind him Whispie, horse- 
 dealer, who was often patronised by the Carews, 
 and had no wish to displease them ; Jollewe- 
 ther, stationer, bookseller, and photographer, who 
 had been honoured with sittings by Sir Peter's 
 daughters ; and Cribbs, undertaker, who hoped 
 his house would be honoured with orders for 
 coffins for the numerous Carews as it came to 
 the turn of each to be buried ; wherefore he, 
 too, was not anxious to vex such a promising 
 family of customers. The other Councillors 
 were Wilkins, hosier ; Dr. Poltisham, physician ; 
 and Nibbs, chemist. Now, Wilkins and Pol- 
 tisham, being loth to compromise themselves, 
 took to flight on the day before the grocer's 
 motion was to be discussed — the one being 
 hastily summoned, as he said, to see a patient 
 a hundred miles off; the other's presence being 
 imperatively required at a grand sale of woollen 
 socks in London. There remained Nibbs, the 
 chemist, whose soul was agitated by contrary 
 winds, and who could not make up his mind 
 which way he should vote — thereby sorely dis- 
 tressing Mr. Brindle, the Mayor ; for if Nibbs 
 eventually voted with Mr. Pettigrew the divi-
 
 1 82 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 sion would be equal, and he, Mr. Brindle, 
 would have to give the casting suffrage, a 
 responsibility which his innermost vitals ab- 
 horred. 
 
 But by the time the debate was opened it 
 was manifest that Mr. Pottinger must gain his 
 point, for the Council could not resist the pres- 
 sure of public opinion out of doors. In times 
 of commotion deliberative assemblies do not 
 guide the popular current, they follow it. Great 
 was the change that had taken place within a 
 few days, for who but a month before would 
 have dared prophesy that the Corporation of 
 Stilborough would have the hardihood to' go to 
 war with the respected borough M.P. about a 
 trumpery bit of land ? But, then, who would 
 have dared predict, when the Long Parliament 
 met, that it would behead its King and proclaim 
 a Republic ? When differences arise there is no 
 foreseeing the result of them. As Mr. Pottin- 
 ger sagaciously remarked, on rising to bring for- 
 ward his motion, ' The question had ceased to 
 be as to whether certain horse-races should be 
 held on this spot of ground or on that : it had 
 become a question as to whether an ancient, 
 industrious town would allow its just rights to 
 be encroached upon. No sane person cared 
 whether races were run, here or there, provided 
 the ground were good — (' Hear, hear') — but what 
 people did care for was to prevent a baronet
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 183 
 
 coming down and saying, in a saucy style, 
 u You've held your races on my grounds, and 
 you shall hold them there for ever, because it 
 suits me ; and I won't let you remove to a better 
 course, and you shan't set up manufactures, and 
 you shan't go to your own ground by the 
 shortest way, because all that would interfere 
 with my profits." Here was language which 
 no freeborn men could submit to. (' Hear, 
 hear.') Sir Peter Carew was simply trying to 
 check the prosperity of the town for his own 
 ends, and to evade the fulfilment of an obliga- 
 tion freely contracted by his forefathers and by 
 virtue of which they had doubtless been able to 
 purchase land of the Corporation at a cheaper 
 rate than could otherwise have been the case. 
 ( ( Hear, hear.') Sir Peter couldn't complain that 
 they had exercised their right of way oppress- 
 ively, for they had been seventy years without 
 claiming it at all ; but was that any excuse for 
 his not conceding it at present ? Why, it was 
 exactly as if a man were to say about some 
 money lent him, " Oh, you have been so obliging 
 in not bothering me about it for so long, that I 
 can't think of paying you now." ' (' Hear, hear,' 
 and a laugh.') 
 
 1 Sir, the Statute of Limitations does allow 
 a man to hold language paramount to that after 
 a lapse of seven years,' exclaimed Mr. Petti- 
 grew triumphantly.
 
 184 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 Sir, no gentleman pleads the Statute of 
 Limitations/ rejoined Mr. Pottinger loftily. 
 
 - We are talking about law, not about gen- 
 tlemen,' said Mr. Pettigrew, 
 
 1 Each man talks of what he chooses, sir,' 
 answered Mr. Pottinger, with his usual readiness 
 of retort ; and, amidst approving mirth and ap- 
 plause, he resumed : ' So what we desire now, 
 Mr. Mayor, is to get back our own — simply 
 that. We want "Stubb's Piece" because without 
 it the right of way would be of no use to us ; and 
 we want our right of way because it has been 
 denied us : there lies the case in a nutshell.' 
 ('Hear, hear, hear.') 
 
 ' I think it would be very pleasant if we 
 could try conciliation,' remarked Mr. Nibbs, the 
 chemist, a spare, nervous man, who was always 
 wiping moisture from his brow with a red silk 
 handkerchief. 
 
 ' The time for conciliation is past,' stoutly 
 declared Mr. Thompson, the baker, a gentle- 
 man with a very floury grey coat, and eyebrows 
 which looked as if they had been powdered. 
 ' If Sir Peter Carew had not disputed our right 
 I, for one, should have voted for keeping the 
 races where they are, on the principle of " let 
 well alone" — (' Hear, hear,' from all except Mr. 
 Pottinger) — but I call it a shabby thing to deny 
 a written obligation, and therefore I shall vote
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 185 
 
 for Pottinger's motion, simply that Sir Peter may 
 be punished.' 
 
 1 Hear, hear!' from Messrs. Wigson, Jones, 
 and Jackson ; and a sigh apiece from Messrs. 
 Nibbs and Brindle. 
 
 I Well, since we seem all agreed, I think it 
 would be very pleasant if we could vote without 
 any division/ observed Mr. Nibbs. 
 
 ' No, sir, we're not agreed, and I mean to 
 divide the Council, even if I'm the only one 
 on my side,' cried Mr. Pettigrew, springing up 
 and striking his breast with the defiant gesture 
 of one who risks being shot for his opinions. 
 1 Yes, Pottinger, you may stare at me, but I'm 
 not one to be frightened by the factious doings 
 of any Jack Cade or Wat Tyler, I'm not !' 
 
 ' Do you mean to insinuate that I'm one of 
 Jack Cade's sort?' inquired Mr. Pottinger, with 
 his head a-cock. 
 
 I I know what I mean, sir, and that's enough/ 
 intrepidly replied Mr. Pettigrew. ' I ain't one of 
 those who go sneaking round the coat-skirts 
 of lords to get silver tea-services presented to 
 me : no, sir.' 
 
 ' I scorn that imputation,' cried the grocer, 
 blushing scarlet ; ' and you know you're a mean 
 fellar for making it, Pettigrew.' 
 
 ' People won't believe that simply because 
 you say it, Pottinger/
 
 1 86 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 Go it, ye cripples — put 'em in a ring to 
 fight ! ' ejaculated Mr. Whispie jocosely. 
 
 - Question!' shouted most of the other Coun- 
 cillors, while the two antagonists exchanged epi- 
 grams which were inaudible in the tumult. 
 
 1 Well, the question is, whether we're going 
 to let Sir Peter Carew give us all a fillip on the 
 nose,' bawled Mr. Thompson, the baker. ' If 
 we don't stick up for our rights now it will be 
 as much as to own that we haven't got any.' 
 
 'Well, but steady a bit,' interposed Mr. 
 Whispie. ' Before making away with one race- 
 course I should like to be sure about havin' 
 another. Where's your authority from Lord 
 Hartleigh, Pottinger ? Haven't you anything 
 in black and white to show us ? ' 
 
 ' I had the promise of a new course from my 
 lady's own lips,' proclaimed Mr. Pottinger pom- 
 pously, ' and that, I 'ope, is as good as black and 
 white.' 
 
 This virtually settled the matter ; for al- 
 though Mr. Pettigrew was obstreperous, tried 
 to hinder business, and moved adjournments, 
 his conduct only confirmed his colleagues in the 
 desire to get quickly rid of a business that was 
 fomenting so much bad blood. After all, Sir 
 Peter had only himself to thank, since his in- 
 tractable conduct had rendered compromise im- 
 possible. When Mr. Pottinger's motion was 
 put from the chair but one voice roared indig-
 
 VEXED QUESTIONS. 187 
 
 nantly ' No ! ' and when the show of hands was 
 asked the draper alone flourished five fingers 
 in the air with wild movements, as if he had 
 needles or pins in them. Sir Peter's friends 
 voted neither one way nor the other ; but five 
 minutes later they thought it prudent to concur 
 in an address of thanks to Lord Hartleigh for 
 his gracious offer of a raceground. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger had taken his measures in 
 advance, and on the very afternoon of the vote 
 • Stubb's Piece ' was ornamented with a post and 
 a board which said, ' Tins Ground to be Sold/ 
 The board was overturned in less than an hour 
 by Sir Peter's grooms. The next day another 
 was planted, and a policeman told off to mount 
 guard over it. On the following Sunday the 
 young bloods of the town, no longer to be de- 
 terred from their purpose of marching through 
 Royster Park, executed it under the leadership 
 of young Wilkins, son of the hosier, who led 
 them forth to the number of a hundred and more. 
 No one impeded their progress ; so they were 
 obliged to vent their valour in catcalls and in 
 derisive chorussing : — 
 
 But the Council told Sir Peter/ Nay, 
 \Chorns.~\ Fire, my hearties, fire away ! 
 You shall not take our right of way. 
 
 Fire, &c. 
 For what does Eighth Commandment say ? 
 
 Fire, &c. 
 " He that prigs shall rue the day ! " ' 
 
 With a toora-looral, ry-fol, &c.
 
 1 88 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger had calculated that the march 
 of the young rabble would be opposed by Sir 
 Peter's lodge-porter, and he had warned the 
 Mayor that in such an event he should require 
 him to issue a summons against the baronet 
 for hindering free circulation on a public high- 
 way ; but Mr. Brindle was not used to such 
 methods of dealing with his betters, and, fore- 
 seeing that a troublous year was in store for 
 him, he announced his intention of not seeking 
 re-election at the approaching Mayoral elec- 
 tion. The next candidate in rotation was Mr. 
 Nibbs, the chemist ; but he likewise said he 
 would decline the perilous honour ; so the turn 
 fell to Mr. Pottinger, who did not refuse — far 
 from it — and was accordingly nominated to don 
 the scarlet robe and gold chain on the next 9th 
 of November.
 
 1 89 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM IIAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 
 
 Sir Peter began to feel that he had acted with 
 too much precipitancy. By going to law with 
 Stilborough he was jeopardising his seat in 
 Parliament and saddling himself with heavy 
 costs — nothing more. Where shall an honest 
 lawyer be found who will rebuke the rash com- 
 bativeness of a client and withhold him from 
 litigation in a bad cause ? It was not Sir Peter's 
 solicitor who warned him of the certain defeat 
 and ruinous expense which he was about to 
 incur, but Sir Peter himself, who was touched 
 with compunction for having committed a blun- 
 der. His wisest course would have been, from 
 the first, to contest nothing of Stilborough's 
 rights, but to go into the market and buy up 
 1 Stubb's Piece ' at any price ; and doubtless this 
 is what he would have done had the dispute 
 arisen a few weeks previously, when he was 
 not so straitened for money. He now resolved, 
 somewhat tardily, to take the only course that 
 befitted him ; but here a new visit to Hazel-
 
 i 9 o THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 wood became necessary, for it was indispensable 
 that he should know what was his exact posi- 
 tion towards the Hartleighs — whether he could 
 reckon them as friends, or whether, as secret 
 misgivings hinted, they were lurking foes, insti- 
 gating these unaccountable annoyances which 
 had so suddenly beset him. 
 
 This time the Carews found Helen at home, 
 and most charmingly amicable was the greeting 
 she gave them. She at once broke the ice of 
 constraint and played just the part that be- 
 seemed her, never deigning to appear as though 
 she were conscious that there had been the 
 faintest rumour against her fair fame. Mrs. 
 Warrener and Mrs. Hunt, who had expected 
 to find her vulgar, could not help considering 
 her agreeable. Philip and Jack Carew, with 
 their two brothers-in-law, were fascinated by 
 her cheerful repartees and cordial smiles, and 
 became anxious to show off to the best advan- 
 tage in her presence. Sir Peter was overjoyed, 
 and gazed with something like paternal self- 
 reproach at the amiable young creature whom 
 he had suspected of conspiring against him. 
 
 For a while no allusion was made to the 
 vexed question of the races, but by-and-by Sir 
 Peter frankly introduced the subject. Helen 
 clasped her hands and assumed an air of utter 
 innocency and wonder. To be sure she had 
 heard something about disturbances — they were
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 191 
 
 about a right of way, were they not ? She 
 had felt so sorry, and, for her part, could not 
 imagine why people should make such a fuss 
 for the sake of journeying over one road rather 
 than over another. 
 
 'Well, it's something more, or less, than 
 about a right of way,' said Sir Peter, with an 
 awkward laugh : ' they want to take the races 
 away from Royster Park, and they say you are 
 privy to the arrangement.' 
 
 1 We ! Oh, what an absurd idea ! ' exclaimed 
 Helen, with such an outburst of astonished 
 merriment as argued that she could not even 
 understand the charge. ' Why, who could have 
 made such a suggestion as that, Sir Peter ?' 
 
 ' Well, but is it not true that Hartleigh has 
 offered the people a new racecourse ? ' inquired 
 the baronet, rather abashed. 
 
 1 What we did was to say that if the old 
 racecourse were not available we should make 
 a new one in Hazelwood, so as not to disap- 
 point the people of their races,' said Helen, 
 speaking very fast, in order to prevent her 
 husband from stammering into any clumsy 
 explanation. ' However, we made that offer in 
 the belief that the course in Royster Park was 
 going to be conceded to other uses, with your 
 own consent, Sir Peter.' 
 
 1 Egad, it's not with my consent,' said the 
 baronet.
 
 i 9 2 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 'What they want to do is positively to 
 wrest the course from us/ explained Mrs. War- 
 rener. 
 
 ' It's an ill-natured grocer named Pottinger 
 who is at the bottom of it all/ chimed in Mrs. 
 Hunt. 
 
 1 Dear me, how misinformed we have been ! ' 
 remarked Helen sweetly. ' We fancied that Sir 
 Peter had grown tired of the inconvenience of 
 holding the races in his own park/ 
 
 Lord Hartleigh reddened. All this decep- 
 tion was repugnant to him, and for the last 
 several minutes he had been on tenter hooks. 
 
 ' H'm ; wasn't there some dispute about pro- 
 prietary rights in the river meadow ? ' he asked. 
 
 'Yes, that's exactly the point,' said Sir 
 Peter ; ' but if you don't want to have the races 
 removed I think I can settle the matter at issue 
 by buying " Stubb's Piece" when they put it up 
 for auction.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Sir Peter, how could we desire to re- 
 move the races, when you yourself are willing 
 to retain them ?' exclaimed Helen. ' Our only 
 wish was to be agreeable to you — nothing else.' 
 
 'Well, to tell you the truth, it would pain 
 me to part with the races,' confessed Sir Peter, 
 with a little emotion. ' My father and grand- 
 father had them before me ; and one of the 
 things that has distressed me most in con- 
 nection with this dispute is to see how prompt
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 193 
 
 Stilborough has been to forget all that our 
 family has done for the amusement and benefit 
 of the town, and also the many years of good 
 understanding that have subsisted between us.' 
 
 1 1 am sure the Corporation have treated us 
 shamefully,' observed Mrs. Warrener. 
 
 1 They could not have behaved worse if we 
 had been owners of a strolling circus and im- 
 properly encamped on a common,' said Mrs. 
 Hunt 
 
 * Well, as that's the case, things will remain 
 as they were, and I'll withdraw my offer about 
 the course,' said Lord Hartleigh. His wife 
 sped him a covert look, but it did not reach 
 him. 
 
 1 Of course that offer now comes to nothing,' 
 she echoed graciously. 
 
 4 Thank you, I shall take it as a kindness 
 if you let things be,' said Sir Peter. ' How 
 ever,' he added heartily, ' I shall look upon all 
 this trouble as a hint to make my race-week 
 fetes more attractive if possible — and I hope 
 that next year they may be favoured by your 
 presence, Lady Hartleigh.' 
 
 * But you must not wait till then before 
 coming to see us, Lady Hartleigh,' said Mrs. 
 Warrener politely, and rising. ' Will you do 
 us the pleasure of coming to dine at Royster 
 one day next week ? Will Thursday suit 
 you ?' 
 
 vol. 1. o
 
 194 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 It will please me above all things,' said 
 Helen amiably, 'and Captain Warrener tells 
 me you have a little baby-girl. I shall ask you 
 to let me kiss her, for I adore children ; ' saying 
 which she personally ushered out her visitors 
 and accompanied them as far as their carriage, 
 exchanging pleasant remarks all the way. 
 
 Scarcely had the Carews departed, however, 
 than Helen ordered a carriage round, and set 
 off for Stilborough, under pretence of shopping. 
 She drew up at Pottinger's, and the grocer, who 
 luckily happened to be at home, came out in a 
 white apron and with a pencil behind his ear. 
 Helen gave him some orders through the win- 
 dow — coffee, sugar, biscuits, &c. — and whilst he 
 was respectfully jotting these down she lowered 
 her voice and said, ' Mr. Pottinger, Sir Peter 
 Carew intends to buy " Stubb's Piece." 
 
 The grocer's florid face fell. If this were 
 done all his labour would be wasted. He had 
 reckoned that it would not be worth Sir Peter's 
 while to buy the land at the value that would 
 be set on it as building ground. Helen, nar- 
 rowly watching his dejection, went on : ' When 
 I heard this I was affected for your sake — for 
 that of Stilborough, I mean — for you seemed 
 to have set your heart on getting the factories 
 established, and, of course, that scheme must 
 fall to the ground if the land remains in Sir 
 Peter's possession. However, I have thought
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 195 
 
 that you would perhaps like to outbid Sir Peter, 
 and buy the land as a venture of your own ; if 
 so, I shall be happy to lend you the money ; but I 
 need not say this must remain an entire secret 
 between us. Don't forget to send the souchong 
 tea, please. Good afternoon ! ' and before Mr. 
 Pottinger could recover from the bewilderment 
 into which this proposal had plunged him, the 
 footman had jumped up by the coachman's side 
 and her ladyship's landau was gone. 
 
 That afternoon Amy Carew had not gone 
 to Hazelwood with her sisters, as she had done 
 at the former visit. A headache was the ex- 
 cuse she had given, and it was a true one, but 
 she did not state that the headache had been 
 brought on by poring over the wearisome heaps 
 of bills which every day's post had been bring- 
 ing, for now some time past; or that it had 
 been aggravated by a threatened visit from her 
 London milliner, Madame Rogandi. That lady 
 had written to say that she should do herself 
 the pleasure of waiting personally on Miss 
 Carew to arrange for a settlement of her ac- 
 count ; and, punctually to the time appointed 
 by her, she drove up in a fly from Stilborough 
 Station. 
 
 Though married to an Italian, Madame 
 Rogandi was herself an Englishwoman, and a 
 highly respectable one. There was nothing in 
 her of the mincing, h-dropping, ridiculous mil- 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 liner of yore ; she had been brought up at one 
 of those modern commercial schools, and knew 
 as much about most things as the majority of 
 her customers. She had a villa at Twickenham, 
 and two boys at Cheltenham College, whom she 
 intended to send by-and-by to the Universities. 
 One of her sisters was married to an officer ; 
 her husband (a grave, not a frisky foreigner) 
 was engaged on an historical work, and enjoyed 
 some repute in literary circles ; she had a hun- 
 dred connections and friends, by whom she was 
 in a position to obtain the most accurate intel- 
 ligence concerning all that went on in society. 
 Not older than three or four-and-thirty, calm 
 and well-dressed, she had perfect manners, and 
 was sharp as a needle. 
 
 ' 1 am really sorry, Madame Rogandi, that 
 you should have been put to the trouble of 
 coming from London, for I am afraid I shall 
 be obliged to send you away empty-handed. I 
 have no money,' said Amy, sadly, when the 
 milliner had been shown in. 
 
 1 1 was almost prepared for that answer, 
 Miss,' replied Madame Rogandi, respectfully. 
 * It was rather to confer with you, than with any 
 hope of carrying away money, that I came down 
 to-day/ 
 
 ■ Will you sit down, please/ said Amy ; ' and 
 may I offer you some refreshment ? Perhaps you 
 would like a glass of wine after your journey ? '
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 197 
 
 1 No thank you, Miss, I lunched before 
 starting ; ' and Madame Rogandi sat down. 
 1 You see, Miss, your bills are getting to be 
 very high, and so are your sisters', Mrs. War- 
 rener's and Mrs. Hunt's ! ' 
 
 1 And they look so much bigger from all 
 being sent in together. Why have you done 
 that?' 
 
 ' They must have been sent in at some time 
 or other, Miss, and I trust I shall not be found 
 exacting. Mrs. Warrener's and Mrs. Hunt's 
 bills have been running on for nearly seven 
 years : they gave me nothing whatever on their 
 marriage ' 
 
 1 Oh, I don't blame you,' said Amy, as if 
 fearing she had given offence. ' I know you 
 have been very obliging — perhaps too obliging, 
 else I should not have got so deeply into your 
 debt. But I must beg you to give me a little 
 time longer.' 
 
 ' I will willingly give you more time, Miss, 
 if you can promise me that on any specified day 
 I shall be paid.' 
 
 ' I do not like to promise,' faltered honest 
 Amy ; ' but I will speak to papa ' 
 
 ' That will be of no use at all, Miss,' inter- 
 rupted Madame Rogandi, rather drily. ' Ex- 
 cuse my frankness, but it will be a long while 
 before Sir Peter is in a position to pay the 
 eight thousand pounds that are owing to me.'
 
 198 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 ' Eight thousand ! ' echoed Amy, aghast ; 
 1 but I do not owe you anything like that ! ' 
 
 1 No, Miss, but I am reckoning your bills 
 and your sisters' together, for it is to you that I 
 shall have to look for payment of them all,' said 
 Madame Rogandi. As Amy's agitation was 
 very marked, the milliner took some of the chill 
 off her tone as she proceeded, ' You see, Miss 
 Carew, it is necessary that we should come to 
 an understanding, and that is why I have ap- 
 plied to you instead of to your elder sister, Miss 
 Isabel, because I know you manage Royster 
 Hall, and are in the secret of all your father's 
 affairs. Now your embarrassments are very 
 great.' 
 
 * Are you sure you do not exaggerate them ? ' 
 asked Amy, with a touch of pride. 
 
 1 I hope I may, Miss, but I doubt it. I am but 
 one among the creditors, and you young ladies 
 appear to owe to jewellers, perfumers, and many 
 more besides. Well, pray consider the posi- 
 tion in which tradesmen place themselves by 
 giving credit to young ladies who are not yet 
 of age, such as you. Our only security is your 
 honour.' 
 
 1 But . . . ' commenced Amy, who was 
 about to make a spirited answer, but the words 
 died within her. She would have given ten 
 years of her life if she could at that minute have 
 paid up all the milliner's claims, and have driven
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 199 
 
 her from her presence for evermore. O Debt ! 
 what a tyrant, and how it cows the proudest 
 souls ! 
 
 'We possibly do wrong in trusting young 
 ladies without their parents' consent — that I 
 know,' continued Madame Rogandi, implacably, 
 1 but we generally calculate that in supplying 
 them with articles suitable to their station 
 (though perhaps beyond their present means), 
 we enable them to hold their proper rank in 
 society, and so aid in procuring them a happy 
 establishment. But we expect to be paid in 
 full when our customers marry well ; in the case 
 of Mrs. Warrener and Mrs. Hunt our confi- 
 dence was misplaced, for they both married 
 gentlemen without means ; and there is no pros- 
 pect, so far as I can see, of their husbands ever 
 being able to pay us. Under the circumstances 
 we might have closed their accounts, but we 
 were not aware then that Sir Peter's affairs 
 were in such a critical condition ; knowing what 
 we do now, our only remaining hope is that you 
 and your two younger sisters, but especially yo7i t 
 Miss Amy, will make better marriages than 
 your elder sisters did.' 
 
 ' Oh, Madame Rogandi, don't you think 
 that if I had the money I would give it you ! ' 
 cried Amy, blushing scarlet. ' Why do you talk 
 to me in this way ? ' 
 
 ' It would be very hard for me to lose eight
 
 200 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 thousand pounds, Miss,' replied Madame Ro- 
 gandi quietly. 
 
 ' But you won't lose them,' protested Amy, 
 ready to cry. 
 
 ' I think that you and your sisters, Miss, 
 will always confess that I have done my utmost 
 to please you. The royal princesses never had 
 their dresses designed and cut with greater care 
 than yours ; indeed, let me say without offence 
 that our house considered it an honour to work 
 for the ''beautiful Misses Carew." Why look, 
 Miss, at the dove-coloured silk dress you are 
 wearing now, was there ever anything more 
 perfect in shape ? ' 
 
 ' I wish I had never worn silk, but only 
 cotton-prints like a housemaid,' said Amy 
 wretchedly. 
 
 1 You would not have been less pretty or 
 less graceful in cotton prints,' rejoined the mil- 
 liner with a smile. ' But that is not to the 
 point, Miss. I am bound to represent to you, 
 that we shall have to take County Court pro- 
 ceedings against Captain Warrener and Captain 
 Hunt, unless you can hold out any hope of your 
 being able and willing at some future time to 
 pay your sisters' bills as well as your own.' 
 
 1 But you talk as if I had only to say the 
 word to call up a rich husband at pleasure/ ex- 
 claimed Amy, sinking into an arm chair and 
 hiding the confusion of her face in her hand-
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 201 
 
 kerchief. ' Why, nobody has ever yet made 
 me an offer of marriage, I assure you.' 
 
 ' Oh, Miss, with your face and figure there 
 will be little difficulty in getting you a rich 
 husband, and allow me to say that husbands 
 you marry for love or for money, turn out much 
 the same after the honeymoon,' was the milliner's 
 judicious reply. ' And you see, Miss, there are 
 circumstances when a marriage for money be- 
 comes a marriage of honour. Gentlemen when 
 they get into debt are often obliged to start in 
 careers which they dislike. With us women, 
 marriage is the only career, and it is a comfort 
 to reflect that many of us can make our fortunes 
 out of it without much trouble.' 
 
 1 1 think I have borne humiliation enough 
 already, Madame Rogandi,' Amy broke out 
 with a passionate voice and glistening eyes. 
 1 From anybody but yourself I should take these 
 remarks as a miserable insult.' 
 
 1 You are right not to take them as such 
 from me, Miss Carew, for of course you bear 
 in mind that I am addressing a young lady 
 whose family have had eight thousand pounds' 
 worth of my property without paying for it. 
 However, if my observations distress you I 
 have only to apologise, and on my return to 
 town I will proceed against your brothers-in-law 
 in the manner I have indicated.' 
 
 ' No, no, stop, for pity's sake,' said Amy con-
 
 202 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 quered. Give me a little more time — I will 
 consider — perhaps in a few weeks things will 
 have altered.' 
 
 ' I will readily give you what time you 
 require, Miss Carew, the moment there is an 
 understanding between us,' answered Madame 
 Rogandi with obliging deference. ' Your word 
 is quite enough for me,' she added, and so the 
 interview terminated. 
 
 It will readily be imagined that after such a 
 scene, Amy's nerves were unstrung. She felt 
 as if she had been morally trampled under foot ; 
 all her feelings of maidenly modesty and deli- 
 cacy were bruised, and she wished herself dead. 
 Yet if a Turkish pasha had then sailed in and 
 made her an offer of his hand she would have 
 thrown herself at his feet and consented to live 
 as the last of his slaves, provided she could have 
 got money to pay all these bills, which had be- 
 come a cause of so much misery and degrada- 
 tion. Many a girl whom the world taxes with 
 heartlessness and greed because she has made 
 an interested marriage has gone to the altar, 
 bondswoman, as completely as any that was 
 ever led from the slave-market — ay, bound 
 hand and foot in debts, her own or her family's, 
 more galling than iron fetters. 
 
 Amy gave vent to her wretchedness in a 
 good cry, and that refreshed her. Fortunately 
 her household duties did not allow of her
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 203 
 
 nursing her sorrow long in solitude ; and she 
 bathed her swollen eyes lest her father and 
 sisters, on their return, should notice the traces 
 of tears in them. Then she went down stairs, 
 and, as the afternoon was clear and warm, she 
 thought a turn in the garden among the rose- 
 beds would do her good. She had not been 
 engaged long in gathering a nosegay for her 
 father's study-table, when she saw a tall black- 
 clad form moving among the trees of the 
 park avenue ; and presently Paul Rushbrand 
 emerged, walking at a thoughtful pace towards 
 the hall. 
 
 In Amy's then frame of mind the Vicar of 
 Stilborough was of all men the one whom it 
 most solaced her to see. For the last few Sun- 
 days she had derived, without well-knowing 
 why, an unwonted comfort from his sermons, 
 for they were not like the discourses of other 
 and more worldly preachers whom she had been 
 used to hear : there was in them a simplicity of 
 language and a glow of faith which penetrated 
 to the heart and warmed it. She had not 
 spoken to him since the day when they had 
 dined together at Hazelwood, and she had been 
 fearing that some of Sir Peters strictures as to 
 the part which he had played in the Hartleigh 
 marriage might have come to his ears and led 
 to coldness. This made her the more glad to 
 see him, for it is in hours of trial that we
 
 204 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 best feel how little we can afford to lose any 
 friend. 
 
 However, Paul did not advance. He had 
 suddenly branched off from the avenue and 
 gained a mound where he took off his hat and 
 shaded his eyes with his hand to gaze on a 
 view of Stilborough and the surrounding land- 
 scape which offered an incomparable panorama 
 from that spot. He stood so long in his con- 
 templation that Amy grew impatient, and going 
 round by the garden gate, crossed the park 
 sward and approached him. She coughed once 
 or twice to announce her coming, but he did 
 not hear, and her footfalls were so light on the 
 turf that she stood by his side and accosted him 
 before he turned : 
 
 ' Good afternoon, Mr. Rushbrand,' said she 
 smiling. 
 
 ' Good afternoon, Miss Amy/ answered he, 
 shaking her proffered hand — and his quick eye 
 detected that she had been shedding tears — 
 ' You have been crying, I perceive, I hope you 
 are not poorly ? ' 
 
 'No!' she answered, marvelling that he 
 should be so observant. ' But we all have our 
 little troubles you know.' 
 
 ' Little or great ones — yes,' he said with a 
 sigh. ' I was thinking upon that as I con- 
 sidered that fair scenery, and wondered that,
 
 FROM HAZELWOOD TO ROYSTER. 205 
 
 amidst a world which God has made so beau- 
 tiful and pleasant to dwell in, man should do 
 so little for his own happiness, but should be 
 continually heaping up for himself occasions of 
 sorrow.'
 
 206 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 They walked back side by side. 
 
 1 Papa and my eldest sisters are out, but 
 they will be home before long,' said Amy. 
 ' They have gone to call on Lady Hartleigh.' 
 
 ' I am very glad to hear that/ rejoined Paul, 
 who indeed felt and looked gratified. 
 
 1 Oh, but this is their second visit, as you 
 would have heard had you condescended to call 
 on us before,' rejoined Amy, archly. ' Why is 
 it that you keep so obstinately aloof from us, 
 Mr. Rushbrand ? ' 
 
 1 You have had races and other festivities 
 here, hardly congenial to my cloth/ he answered 
 smiling. 
 
 ' And you think races sinful, I presume ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 1 Oh, Mr. Rushbrand, I am surprised at 
 you!' exclaimed Amy, smelling her nosegay, 
 and laughing at him over the roses. ' Why I 
 thought that to the pure all things were pure,' 
 and pray what nice things can you mention that
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 207 
 
 are not prohibited by this canon or that ? Some 
 ban champagne and dancing, others cards and 
 cigars ; I have heard that we mustn't read 
 novels, hunt, bet, go to the theatre, play bil- 
 liards — which I delight in — or wear jewellery ! 
 What a dreary world it would be if we obeyed 
 this long catalogue of interdictions ! ' 
 
 1 Do you think the world is dreary to those 
 who cannot hunt, wear jewellery, or drink cham- 
 pagne ? ' asked the Vicar mildly. ' I think that 
 the happiest time of my life was when I was a 
 ship's boy, working from dawn till long after 
 dusk, and earning ten shillings a week.' 
 
 ' Oh, if we are going to discuss the matter 
 seriously I must put on another face,' said she, 
 assuming an air of mock gravity. ■ Now tell 
 me I am a very wicked girl for indulging in so 
 many forbidden pleasures.' 
 
 He laughed and shook his head. He was 
 at heart too much of a sailor still not to appre- 
 ciate fun ; and there was no priggishness of 
 sacerdotalism in him to make him convert girlish 
 reparteeing into an occasion for a sermon. His 
 blue eyes answered Amy's demure glance with 
 a sparkle of playfulness, yet a wonderfully ten- 
 der light broke into them as he ejaculated : 
 
 ' God be praised you are happy, Miss 
 Amy!' 
 
 To his surprise the bright eyes that gazed 
 into his became dimmed, the lips, half-parted in
 
 208 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 mirth, quivered, and Amy burst into tears. 
 Paul turned pale. 
 
 ' I am really sorry that I should have said 
 anything to pain you,' he observed, bending 
 over her with solicitude, for he fancied that it 
 was his remarks that had wounded her. 
 
 * Oh it's nothing — it will be over in a mi- 
 nute,' sobbed Amy, as soon as she could speak. 
 ' Don't mind me, Mr. Rushbrand. I've been 
 like this all day.' 
 
 With a tact which is the politeness of the 
 heart, Paul remained silent ; but as Amy had 
 dropped her roses, he stooped to pick them up. 
 She still continued to cry, and the very efforts 
 which she made to check her tears, only served 
 to make them flow faster. At last she so far 
 mastered herself as to murmur an apology for 
 her emotion, and essay to explain what had 
 made her yield to it. 
 
 ' I am very unhappy, Mr. Rushbrand. Poor 
 people sometimes envy us who wear fine dresses 
 and live in great houses. . . . Ah ! if they only 
 knew . . . ' 
 
 1 Heaven has mercifully distributed sorrow 
 and happiness in equal portions amongst all 
 ranks,' answered Paul, more moved by her dis- 
 tress than he could account for. What shadow 
 of evil could it be, he wondered, that was cast- 
 ing its gloom over a life so young and fair ? 
 
 ' Oh, no, we get more than our share of
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 209 
 
 grief — more than the poor,' protested Amy. 
 ' The troubles of the poor are never so great 
 but that hard working, or the charity of the rich, 
 can dispel them ; whereas I shall never know 
 happiness any more — never.' 
 
 I Never is a long time,' replied Paul, trying 
 the effect of a little kind railing. ' Please fate, 
 you will live to smile many times over that vow.' 
 
 I I don't think it, and I don't deserve it, for 
 a great deal of my trouble comes from my own 
 foolishness. I have reflected lately on many 
 things which never occurred to me before.' 
 
 1 It is never too late to turn away from any 
 course which we find to have been mistaken,' 
 remarked Paul gravely, ' but I am afraid,' added 
 he, as a thought flashed on him, — ' I am afraid 
 you are sorrowing for your brother's turf losses, 
 which have become matters of public notoriety.' 
 
 'Oh, all my brother's bets are paid,' said 
 Amy, quickly, for she did not wish to let any 
 stranger into the secret of family difficulties. 
 1 Don't try to read my riddle, Mr. Rushbrand, 
 it would be of no use ... So let us change the 
 subject. I see somebody on horseback coming 
 up the avenue.' 
 
 1 It is Sir Giles Taplow,' said Paul, with an 
 air of vexation. 
 
 ' So it is,' echoed Amy, whilst a deep blush 
 overspread her cheeks, then suddenly receded 
 and gave way to pallor, accompanied by unusual 
 vol. 1. p
 
 210 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 agitation. 'Oh, I hope he won't notice I've 
 been crying. Give me back my flowers, please 
 Mr. Rushbrand ; he would be sure to make 
 some aggravating joke if he saw you carrying 
 a bouquet for me.' 
 
 Saying this, she hastily slipped her hand- 
 kerchief into her pocket, and tried to compose 
 her features, to encounter the leering scrutiny 
 of the baronet. That worthy gentleman was 
 ambling quietly along on a beautiful black cob, 
 whose hind hoofs were closely followed by a 
 thorough-bred and villanous bull-dog. As soon 
 as Sir Giles rode within ear-shot, Amy cried 
 out without any prefatory good-afternoon (for 
 the baronet was one of those persons with 
 whom, somehow, one never thinks of exchanging 
 formal salutations), 'Why, Sir Giles, what 
 have you been doing with Tear'em ? His muz- 
 zle is covered with blood ! ' 
 
 ' Badger-drawing/ grinned the baronet, 'and 
 capital sport we had.' He clumsily dismounted, 
 and passing the bridle through his arm, walked 
 in the avenue's border beside Amy. 'You 
 should have seen that badger, Miss Carew, a 
 sulky brute with teeth like a saw's, but Tear'em 
 drew him three times by the scruff, and would 
 have throttled him the third time, if we hadn't 
 parted 'em, and whipped back badger into the 
 sack.' 
 
 ' What cruel sport ! ' said Amy in disgust.
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 211 
 
 1 Cruel, egad ! the badgers like it as much 
 as the dogs, don't they, Rushbrand ? ' 
 
 1 I have never asked them/ replied Paul, 
 1 but I wish, Sir Giles, you would not entice the 
 Stilborough boys away from Sunday school to 
 come and join you in these pastimes of badger- 
 baiting and rat-worrying on Sunday afternoons. 
 I hear you encourage these lads to bring you 
 all the rats they can catch.' 
 
 ' So I do, and I don't suppose you mean to 
 set up as the " Vermin's Friend,"' replied Sir 
 Giles, with a coarse laugh ; ' but look'ee, my 
 dear sir, since you keep such a sharp look-out 
 over your boys, I wish you would restrain them 
 from filching in my orchards. If I catch any of 
 the young blackguards in the act, I'll break 
 every bone in their bodies.' 
 
 1 Some of those boys are strong, and well 
 able to defend themselves, Sir Giles,' answered 
 Paul quietly, though with rising colour — where- 
 upon Amy laughed ; and Sir Giles, whose blus- 
 ter was easily quelled by a cool retort, reddened 
 to the ears. He mumbled something about 
 taking his horse round to the stables, and 
 trudged off. 
 
 As he was disappearing, Amy cast her eyes 
 on the ground and said : 
 
 1 You don't like Sir Giles, Mr. Rushbrand ? ' 
 
 ' His back is turned now/ answered Paul, 
 p 2
 
 212 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 bluntly. ' Anything I have to say about such 
 a person, I should wish said before his face.' 
 
 Nothing much was spoken after this until 
 they reached the house. Paul and Amy stood 
 for some minutes conversing on indifferent sub- 
 jects under the portico of the front entrance ; 
 but before Sir Giles could rejoin them here 
 and risk another wordy war, Sir Peter and his 
 children returned from Hazelwood. There was 
 a great hurrying out of grooms to take charge 
 of the horses w T hich the gentlemen of the party 
 had been riding, and Paul stepped forward to 
 assist the ladies in alighting from the carriage. 
 Mrs. Warrener and Mrs. Hunt seemed very 
 glad to see him, but their politeness was as 
 nothing compared to the civil things — the de- 
 monstrations of esteem and amity with which 
 they loaded Sir Giles, when the latter made his 
 appearance. Paul was shocked to behold two 
 such sensible and charming women bestow so 
 much sycophancy on a being who had positively 
 nothing in his favour but his title and money. 
 
 On Sir Peters part there was a shade of 
 reserve in accosting the Vicar, for he suspected 
 the latter of belonging to the hated Pottingers 
 clique. However, his visit to Hazelwood had 
 been so satisfactory, that he felt in a mood of 
 charity with all mankind, and so invited Paul to 
 stop for dinner. Now Paul had come to Roy- 
 ster for the express purpose of trying to act as
 
 D IS PUT A TIONS. 2 1 3 
 
 mediator between Sir Peter and the corporation 
 of Stilborough. It pained him to see strife 
 growing up between his parishioners and the 
 baronet, and the more so as Mr. Pottinger had 
 furnished him with a very one-sided version of 
 the dispute ; and had led him to believe that 
 Sir Peter was obstinately bent on going to law 
 in order to maintain his right to hold races in 
 defiance of the townspeople. The grocer had 
 neglected to state that the dispute had been 
 narrowed down to the mere alternative as to 
 whether races should be run at Royster or at 
 Hazel wood ; and as Paul was no great reader 
 of newspapers, he had not collected the true 
 facts for himself by perusing the controversy 
 that had been carried on in the local press ; he 
 simply believed that the Corporation had at 
 last awoke to a proper disapproval of the dis- 
 orderly scenes to which the races gave rise, and 
 that Sir Peter was, for his own sole interest's 
 sake, obstructing the moral reform to which 
 they were inclined. The argument which Paul 
 purposed to use was that Sir Peter would, in 
 the long run, be a pecuniary gainer if he suffered 
 factories to be erected on 'Stubb's Piece,' for all 
 experience showed that land around factories 
 must eventually increase enormously in value. 
 
 How little such an argument was likely to 
 touch Sir Peter, who stood in need of present, 
 not of prospective, wealth, the reader knows ;
 
 214 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 but Paul had selected his little quiverful of syl- 
 logisms with lively hope that they might all 
 find their mark ; and he was consequently 
 pleased when Sir Peter volunteered to take him 
 for a grand tour round all the apartments of 
 Royster Hall. They were thus alone, and it 
 was with pardonable pride that the old baronet 
 exhibited to his guest the numberless treasures 
 and curiosities of a place which was an excellent 
 specimen of those venerable English mansions 
 which have belonged to the same family for 
 centuries. To the man of literary turn, to the 
 artist, to the thinker, these rambles in old 
 houses are full of charm ; every picture starts a 
 train of thought, dark corridors, quaint tapestry, 
 rusty armour bring many a romantic fancy to 
 birth ; even the old chairs and tables tell their 
 tales of generations of brave men and fair 
 women, of feasters and mourners, long gone to 
 rest, as we must go in our turns. 
 
 But in men whose childhood has not been 
 spent amidst intellectual surroundings, antiqua- 
 rianism is seldom developed ; and in Paul Rush- 
 brand especially, this faculty lay wholly torpid. 
 His unsophisticated mind gloried in the gran- 
 diose sights of nature — in roaring seas, bold 
 crags, snow-crowned hills, and smiling meadows, 
 and if amidst the landscapes which he loved he 
 saw some towering castle or stately hall, the 
 view seemed to him all the better for it. But
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 215 
 
 as to the bric-a-brac with which the hall or castle 
 might be stocked his soul cared nought, and 
 when Sir Peter reverentially touched an old 
 breastplate, remarking that it had been worn by 
 his ancestor at Naseby, the relic stirred no more 
 emotion in the Vicar than if it had been the 
 waistcoat of some modern dunderhead who had 
 gone a-fighting for a wrong cause. How much 
 the romance of history would lose if we brought 
 to bear in our judgment of departed worthies 
 the same critical spirit which we apply to con- 
 temporaries ! Happily, time is a potent magni- 
 fier, and converts into heroes many whom we 
 should consider dull dogs if they had lived in 
 our own times. 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' observed Sir Peter, passing his 
 hand caressingly over the battered cuirass. ' We 
 are an old family, and the Corporation would 
 have done a sorry thing if they had succeeded 
 in driving us from the county, as they tried to 
 do.' 
 
 ' I don't think anybody ever contemplated 
 such a thing as that, Sir Peter,' said Rushbrand, 
 who saw his opportunity and snatched at it. 
 ' So far as I understand the only desire of the 
 townspeople is to suppress races which have be- 
 come an evil, and to establish factories which 
 would add to the prosperity of the town.' 
 
 'You have studied your brief well, I see,' 
 replied the baronet, with forced good humour ;
 
 216 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 but may I ask how you would like a factory to 
 be set up next door to your vicarage, with a 
 right of way conceded to all the work-people 
 across your flower-beds ? ' 
 
 ' The value of your property would ultimately 
 be very much enhanced though,' rejoined Paul, 
 who felt this fine argument to be much less 
 strong than he had thought it would be. 
 
 1 Ah ! and when ? in twenty or forty years' 
 time, when I shall have been long laid to bed 
 in the church vault,' answered Sir Peter; 'but 
 even if I were certain to live on until every 
 square yard were worth a thousand pounds, do 
 you think I could stop simply as a speculation 
 in a place that had been desecrated and rendered 
 uninhabitable ? No, sir, on the day when they 
 get laying down bricks in ' Stubb's field' my young 
 ones and I strike our tents and move elsewhere.' 
 
 1 That would be an extreme resolution, Sir 
 Peter,' remarked Paul, who thought of Amy 
 going away and never more coming to sit in the 
 pew under his pulpit. 
 
 ' It would be the only resolution possible,' 
 responded the baronet, 'and as to that race 
 question, I don't see why you should say that 
 the Corporation want to suppress the races 
 when they have only tried to get them removed 
 to Hazel wood. Pray why should the races be 
 less an evil— if they be an evil — in Hartleigh's 
 park than in mine ? '
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 217 
 
 ' I was not aware that there was any talk 
 of holding races at Hazelwood,' answered 
 Paul sincerely astonished. ' Mr. Pottinger 
 told me 
 
 Sir Peter laughed and laid a hand on the 
 Vicar's shoulder. 
 
 'You are young enough to be my son, 
 Rushbrand, so I can give you a bit of advice. 
 Mistrust the man who goes about whining 
 "abomination" and "anathema," for the chap 
 is generally playing some snug game of his own, 
 while professing to serve his neighbours. That 
 Pottinger of yours is a cur, and you may tell 
 him so with my compliments/ 
 
 ' You surprise me by saying that these 
 races were only to be removed/ remarked Paul 
 without noticing this last observation. ' I 
 should have thought Lady Hartleigh would 
 have objected/ 
 
 1 Objected ! Oh no ; it was she who made 
 the offer of Hartleigh's park for the purpose. 
 However, I am glad to say we settled all that 
 this afternoon. It will probably cost me a couple 
 of thousand pounds to buy "Stubb's Piece"; 
 but at all events the races will remain where 
 they are, and I shan't be driven from the home 
 where my fathers lived and died, and where all 
 my children were born. And so now let's come 
 down to dinner/ 
 
 Although at the time when he breezily talked
 
 218 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 of spending two thousand pounds, Sir Peter 
 was not worth so much as two thousand pence, 
 yet there was no abatement in the sumptuous 
 fare of his board, for men must be actually on 
 their last legs before they think of introducing 
 retrenchment into their kitchens. The fat of this 
 and other lands was in request to supply the 
 smallest repasts spread at Royster Hall, and 
 the richest vintages of France and Spain flowed 
 in profusion whenever there was a guest to en- 
 tertain. To Paul Rushbrand, whose favourite 
 way of living was to eat when he was hungry, 
 and then to regale himself off a single dish, 
 with a glass of water, it was a standing wonder 
 how people, ladies especially, could sit down 
 for hours and stuff themselves with dish after 
 dish, swallowing strong drinks in equal propor- 
 tion. However, he made as good countenance 
 as possible by the side of Mrs. Hunt, and might 
 have enjoyed both her conversation and the 
 dinner had it not been for the — to him — sicken- 
 ing attentions which he continued to see la\ ished 
 on Sir Giles Taplow. 
 
 These pettings ended by mounting in intoxi- 
 cating whiffs to the baronet's head along with 
 the champagne which he was quaffing. Stimu- 
 lated by the mirth which hailed his slightest 
 sallies, by the compliments to his drollery 
 which were bestowed on him by all the ladies 
 except Amy, and by some flattering appeals to
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 219 
 
 his opinion as a sporting authority, which were 
 made him by Captains Warrener and Hunt, 
 Sir Giles proceeded to take the lead in the con- 
 versation ; and this produced on Paul's nerves 
 exactly the same effect as if a wild ass had 
 ceaselessly brayed. He remained impassively 
 serious while the rest laughed, and herein com- 
 mitted a deplorable solecism in good manners ; 
 for at table a man is bound to be amused with 
 the majority, be the jokester his greatest foe 
 alive. Not only that, but a man must not argue 
 at table, for argument is the death of conver- 
 sation ; and it is an understood thing that 
 dinner persiflage, whatever may be the subjects 
 which it assails, must be parried in a tone of 
 pleasantry. Paul soon illustrated the fact that 
 one may be an exemplary Christian and yet 
 an uncouth man of the world, for he allowed 
 himself to be provoked into that horror of 
 horrors (at convivial gatherings) a religious 
 controversy. 
 
 It was at dessert, and Sir Giles, while 
 cracking his walnuts, had begun to talk about 
 'pre- Adamite' discoveries, which were just then 
 engrossing the minds of savants. He must have 
 seen that the Vicar's brow darkened during his 
 flippant disquisition on the origin of Creation, 
 but he was glad to revenge himself for the set- 
 ting down which he had received in the park. 
 So at last, after declaring that the discoveries of
 
 220 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 sundry old flints constituted ' a facer ' for theo- 
 logists, he added : 
 
 ' And that book about the Descent of Man, 
 which traces us all up to baboons and frogs, 
 is a wonderful book ; I have just been reading 
 it and shall send my copy to the Mechanic's 
 Institute at Stilborough, for I think the poor 
 should, as well as we, hear both sides of the 
 question.' 
 
 1 What do you mean by both sides of the 
 question, Sir Giles ? ' asked Paul, in a tone 
 which it cost him an effort to keep steady. 
 ' Do you imply that these discoveries, and this 
 book, can throw the slightest disproof on Divine 
 Creation, or on the existence of God ? ' 
 
 * We take the existence of God for granted, 
 but nothing proves it,' answered Sir Giles. 
 
 1 Everything proves it,' replied Paul, ' you 
 cannot consider any of the works of Nature 
 without having it irrefutably brought home to 
 you.' 
 
 * Well, I am open to conviction, but I must 
 warn you that you must find some other argu- 
 ment than that old one as to the beauties and 
 harmonies of nature being evidences of a design- 
 ing Hand.' 
 
 1 An old argument you call this, but why has 
 it grown so ? because succeeding ages have 
 found it unanswerable. And let me tell you 
 that even if all the theories in the book which
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 221 
 
 you mention were scientifically sound — which I 
 am told they are not — even if it were demon- 
 strated that atoms had combined to form, first 
 the sun, then the earth — that air working upon 
 earth had produced moisture, that from the 
 moisture the sun had drawn vegetation, and that 
 vegetation had bred animal life — first the mite, 
 then the newt, the tadpole, the frog, and so on 
 through the ape up to man — even if all this 
 were proved, I would still ask you who created 
 the first atoms, and the air which vivified them ? 
 for it is not more difficult to account for the 
 creation of the whole universe than for that of 
 these primary particles, and reason must tell 
 you that the Creative Power which produced 
 them was quite as competent to build at once 
 the entire world, which your author contends 
 was evolved out of them by gradual processes.' 
 
 1 1 grant you that,' assented Sir Giles, crack- 
 ing another walnut, ' and I suppose your con- 
 clusion is that there is no effect without a cause ? ' 
 
 1 Obviously/ rejoined Paul, not perceiving 
 whither he was being led. 
 
 ' Then who created the Creator ? ' asked 
 Sir Giles. He paused a moment, keenly en- 
 joying the perplexity of his antagonist, and 
 resumed : ' Of course you will tell me that the 
 origin of the Creator is a mystery, and so it is, 
 but then all your argument falls to the ground. 
 You undertook to prove the Divinity by a
 
 222 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 series of logical sequences, and you must not 
 ask us to let you start from an illogical premiss/ 
 
 1 Oh, this is all too abstruse, and I think 
 we had better abandon religious debating,' gaily 
 exclaimed Mrs. Warrener, coming to the Vicars 
 rescue, though she evidently considered that 
 Sir Giles had got the better of him. 
 
 ' Sir Giles has reminded me of the presump- 
 tion of essaying to probe with our weak human 
 intellects mysteries which are unsearchable, and 
 which God has intended should remain so,' re- 
 marked Paul, humbly ; ' and yet there is one 
 thing I would beg of you,' he added, looking 
 towards the baronet with a saddened but firm 
 glance. ' You are a rich man, sir, a magistrate, 
 and one to whom the poor look for example. 
 I conjure you, as you value the worldly goods 
 which you possess, not to scatter infidelity abroad 
 with a heedless hand. We ministers have a hard 
 task, even with the Bible aiding us, to guide our 
 lowlier brethren, and arm them against tempta- 
 tion in their hours of discontent and want ; but 
 what would it be if you succeeded in destroying 
 their faith in an All-seeing God, and their hope 
 of a future recompense ? I envy no man his 
 responsibility who would thus sow the wind to 
 reap the whirlwind ; ' and forgetting that he was 
 not at his own table, Paul rose from his chair. 
 The ladies availed themselves of this opportunity 
 to retire, and Sir Giles moved towards the door
 
 DISPUTATIONS. 223 
 
 to hold it open for them. (Paul being nearest 
 to the door, it was he who should have per- 
 formed this courtesy ; but, as usual, the obliga- 
 tion of it had escaped him.) 
 
 As Amy glided out she turned to smile to 
 her father, and doing so her glance fell on the 
 men who had just been contending — the one a 
 scoffer, flushed with wine, elated at the acuteness 
 he had been exhibiting — the other a believer, 
 sober, grave, and bearing on his features the 
 impress of the Ten Commandments. And in 
 that rapid glance she mentally compared them 
 both — never thenceforth to doubt which of the 
 two was the true man after his Maker's own 
 image.
 
 224 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 a soldier's courtship. 
 
 We must now follow, for a little while, the for- 
 tunes of Captain Oswald Carew. 
 
 He had gone up to London, professedly to 
 make arrangements for the sale of his commis- 
 sion, and his sisters had wrung from him a pro- 
 mise that he would propose to Lady Ambermere, 
 who had also removed to town. In reality, Sir 
 Peter's heir wished neither to sell out nor to 
 marry, but only to see if some money-making 
 expedient could not be devised to save him 
 from these alternatives, both equally disagree- 
 able. His recent scrape had, of course, not 
 cured him of gambling. Exasperated at his 
 ill-luck, he longed only for the opportunity to 
 retrieve it by some new venture, and meantime, 
 like Mr. Micawber, rose daily with the thought 
 that ■ something might turn up before night.' 
 
 Nothing did turn up but duns, who were be- 
 coming hourly less accommodating. There are 
 trade clubs in London by means of which the 
 leading west-end shopkeepers inform one another
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 225 
 
 of the defaulters on their books, so that a man, 
 or a family ' posted ' at one of these institutions 
 is laid under the ban of the whole fraternity. 
 Had not Oswald fortunately made a winning of 
 200/. on the St. Leger, which supplied him with 
 pocket-money, he would hardly have obtained so 
 much as a pair of gloves on credit. A man's 
 character is like his shadow, which sometimes 
 follows, sometimes precedes, him, and which is 
 now longer, now shorter, than he is. At this 
 moment the character of the Carews was pre- 
 ceding them everywhere, and was much shorter 
 than of reason. 
 
 Sir Peter had written to divers of his influ- 
 ential friends, and among them to the ' whip ' 
 or patronage secretary of the Treasury, begging 
 for his sons and sons-in-law some of those good 
 little appointments which an M.P. who has long 
 voted 'straight' with his party has a right to 
 claim ; but what could Government or lords- 
 lieutenant offer that was worth the acceptance of 
 young men nurtured in the lap of best society ? 
 Consulships, colonial commissionerships, gover- 
 norships of jails are well enough for the humble 
 foot linesman, but an officer of the household 
 brigade or of a crack cavalry regiment, obviously 
 derogates when he seeks from out of hard work, 
 amidst uncongenial surroundings, the means to 
 pay his creditors. Philip thought he was setting 
 a Spartan example to his brothers, and pushing 
 vol. 1. Q
 
 226 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 condescension to its utmost limits when he con- 
 sented to be sent as military attache to a small 
 German court, retaining his regimental rank, and 
 receiving 400/. a year extra salary (a piece of 
 patronage which he owed to his brother Albert 
 in the Foreign Office, and which could only 
 have been ventured on during the Parliamentary 
 recess, when there was no possibility of honour- 
 able members putting vexatious questions about 
 it) ; simultaneously, this same brother Albert 
 insinuated himself into the secretaryship of a 
 Royal Commission for inquiring into the opera- 
 tion of the Soap Tax, and as he retained his 
 clerkship of 300/., in addition to the salary of 
 500/., which his secretaryship brought him, he, 
 at least, might be said to have secured butter 
 for his daily bread. But nothing could be found 
 for Captains Warrener and Hunt, which even 
 remotely satisfied the conceptions of what their 
 wives felt to be due to the merits of these dis- 
 tinguished officers ; nor could suitable plans be 
 found for the Carew at the War Office, the brief- 
 less Carew at the Bar (who turned up his nose 
 at a Barbadoes judgeship), and much less so for 
 Oswald, who, sooth to say, pitched his ambition 
 at emoluments bigger than he could expect out 
 of any salaried appointment lower than that of 
 the Commandership-in-Chief. 
 
 There was nothing for it, then, after all, but 
 to pay his addresses to Lady Ambermere, and
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 227 
 
 he set about this compulsory task in the spirit 
 of a man who sees in matrimony a total loss of 
 liberty, and the extinction of most other earthly 
 joys. Her ladyship had a house at Kensing- 
 ton, and as Oswald's regiment, the 2nd Blues, 
 was quartered at Knightsbridge Barracks, he 
 was close at hand to make morning calls ; his 
 situation was also convenient in another respect, 
 for out of his window, which looked on to 
 Rotten Row, he could see when Lady Amber- 
 mere was riding, and at the first glimpse of 
 her black mare, order out his own hack, and 
 join her within a few minutes as if by accident. 
 But all these advantages were shared by Os- 
 wald's rival and superior, Colonel Pounceforth, 
 who for some time past had been making fre- 
 quent and more skilful use of them. 
 
 The Colonel hated Oswald, and had he 
 been less a gentleman than he was, might have 
 vexed him with all the petty persecutions which 
 it is in the power of a military chief to inflict 
 upon a subordinate. That Oswald should have 
 liked his regiment — and even liked Pounceforth 
 himself — was a rare tribute to the latter's worth ; 
 and, indeed, Pounceforth despised all littleness 
 of conduct, as much from pride as from prin- 
 ciple. This does not mean that his character 
 was a loveable one ; Oswald was by many times 
 the pleasanter fellow of the two, and except that 
 they were both tall, handsome, and daring, it 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 would not have been easy to find a couple of 
 men more different. Oswald was good-natured 
 to his soldiers, though prompt to swear at them 
 if put out ; Pounceforth never swore, but he 
 was a stringent martinet, whom no speck on a 
 soldier's tunic and no blunder in his drill ever 
 escaped. Oswald was extravagant for himself, 
 and open-handed towards others ; Pounceforth 
 never threw away a penny, and though he 
 was not a curmudgeon, disbursed his money 
 always to advantage, and had no debts. On 
 Oswald's word people could rely to this extent, 
 that, having made a promise, he would really 
 do his utmost to keep it; Pounceforth never 
 made a promise that he was not absolutely cer- 
 tain of being able to keep, and his consequent 
 unwillingness to pledge himself had pretty often 
 been set down as an unamiable trait in his 
 nature. In person, Oswald was light of build, 
 smiling in face, cheerfully cordial with men of 
 his own set, slightly supercilious with those who 
 were not, and every inch a ' Blue.' Pounceforth 
 was seven years older than his rival, and a 
 heavier, showier man, though not stout. He 
 had a thin eagle nose, a very luxuriant black 
 moustache, and flowing whiskers. Oswald wore 
 only a moustache, and in his dress, which was 
 always of the most recherchd mode, he was 
 remarkable for a fine collection of scarf-pins in 
 precious stones, so that it was a joke in the
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 229 
 
 mess-room that he sported divers pins for all 
 the changes in the weather, in politics, and in 
 his own mood ; and that, in fact, his wearing of 
 this or that jewel constituted a cryptography 
 which would be deciphered some day by a man 
 having time and patience to study it. To com- 
 plete the differences between the two rivals, 
 Oswald cared very little for Lady Ambermere, 
 whereas Pounceforth was deeply in love with 
 her, and treated her money as a secondary con- 
 sideration. He would probably have courted 
 her with not less ardour if her income had been 
 ten times less than it was — that is, if she had 
 had 1,500/. a year, instead of 15,000/. ; but it is 
 not so sure that he would have been anxious 
 to marry her if she had been without a penny, 
 for he was a prudent man, even in love affairs, 
 and felt no inclination to philander in a cot- 
 tage. 
 
 It was only human nature — and woman 
 nature — that Lady Ambermere should prefer 
 the man who did not care for her and who was 
 least likely to make her a good husband. She 
 felt this was folly, but could not withstand the 
 aberration that led her towards Oswald — an 
 aberration like a school-girl's, and which made 
 her worship the very ground on which the 
 young officer trod. Over and over again might 
 Oswald have won her hand for the asking ; and 
 the fact that he should refuse to ask, made her
 
 230 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 love and esteem him the more, for she knew 
 how embarrassed were his circumstances, and 
 ascribed a good deal of his bashfulness to chi- 
 valrous disinterestedness. Colonel Pounceforth 
 suffered for a while from the comparison which 
 this belief suggested ; and even after Oswald 
 had suddenly become more assiduous, Lady 
 Ambermere tried to cajole herself into thinking 
 that it was the Colonel, not Oswald, who was 
 the fortune hunter. 
 
 However, she was soon obliged to recognise 
 the truth. Oswald had begun his attentions 
 with clumsy suddenness, and rather too much 
 in the style of one who feels that he has the 
 game in his own hand. This piqued the young 
 widow, who thought herself a prize well worth 
 winning for her own sake. Dearly as she loved 
 Oswald she was not going to excuse him the 
 show of passion which a man is bound to make 
 who woos to win, nor would she yield herself to 
 anything like a mercenary suit. She watched 
 with beating heart at first to see whether 
 Carew's addresses were sincere, and when she 
 discerned that they were so, and that she could 
 rebuff him a little without fear of losing him, she 
 revenged herself for his sultan-like behaviour 
 by playing the coquette, and raising high hopes 
 within the bosom of Colonel Pounceforth. 
 
 This gallant and constant warrior thought 
 himself at length about to attain the goal of his
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 231 
 
 wishes. At whatever hour, and no matter how 
 often he might call on Lady Ambermere, he 
 was sure to find her at home ; whereas Oswald 
 was denied admittance if no other visitor were 
 present. The Colonel often saw her ladyship, 
 and sat with her for whole half-hours alone ; 
 Oswald never — for if Pounceforth, out of polite- 
 ness, rose and made a pretence of going when 
 the latter entered, Lady Ambermere would 
 either request him to sit down again, or dismiss 
 them both together. With the Colonel the 
 young widow was lively and confidential ; with 
 Oswald cool and often curt. Though she skil- 
 fully contrived to ward off any direct offer of 
 marriage on the Colonel's part, she would 
 appeal to him about the management of the 
 extensive property which the late Lord Amber- 
 mere had left her ; but Oswald's advice she 
 never sought or accepted on any matter, even 
 that of dress, and if he expressed a liking for 
 any particular colour, be sure she would avoid 
 wearing that colour on purpose to spite him. 
 
 Oswald, who partly saw through this play, 
 cursed the capriciousness of women, but perse- 
 vered the more in his suit from the obstacles he 
 encountered. He began to think Lady Amber- 
 mere rather a desirable little person, and not 
 half so simple as he had imagined. Her pretty 
 house and its appointments — her brougham and 
 horses — her smart servants, also found favour in
 
 232 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 his sight. So that although he was not yet in 
 the way of being reconciled to matrimony, he 
 fell to musing that the thing might, perhaps, be 
 rendered tolerable by a judicious bargaining be- 
 forehand as to the amount of liberty that was 
 to be enjoyed on both sides. He chafed at 
 Lady Ambermere's present coquetry as a waste 
 of time ; but he flattered himself that he should 
 be able to bring matters to a climax the first 
 time he found himself quite alone with her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 In this he was right, and had he waited 
 patiently for a little time longer, the opportunity 
 he sought would have been vouchsafed him. It 
 is but a confession of weakness when a woman 
 fears to be left alone with a man, and Lady 
 Ambermere, who knew that she could not find 
 it in her heart to say 'No,' in a tete-a-tete inter- 
 view, was only delaying this consummation until 
 Oswald should have been sufficiently drilled 
 into the ways of tender courting. 
 
 But what must Oswald needs do but preci- 
 pitate action and make up his mind to propose 
 in Rotten Row of all places in the world ! Had 
 he been more in love than he was — or simply 
 more of a roue — it would have been revealed to 
 him by intuition that a man who proposes in 
 any public place turns all the odds against him- 
 self, for he throws away his chance of forcing an 
 assenting answer by encircling the lady's waist
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 233 
 
 with his arm, and enabling her to hide her 
 blushes on his shoulder. Women should not 
 be compelled, either, to answer any question by 
 a direct yes or no — as they are almost bound to 
 do, if supplicated in any place where they cannot 
 give free expression to those glances, sighs, mur- 
 murs, and tears which make up half the lan- 
 guage of love. 
 
 Yes, Oswald committed a blunder ; but, to 
 be sure, he had every excuse to attenuate his 
 fault. It was a lovely morning ; Pounceforth 
 was inspecting some recruits in their new 
 clothes, and could not be disengaged for at 
 least another hour ; he, Oswald, was looking 
 his best and felt his best, and he had said to 
 himself that if he saw Lady Ambermere in the 
 Row that morning, now would be the time 
 when he should feel inclined to put his fate to 
 the touch. She did come out, and Oswald 
 somehow fancied he saw her glance towards the 
 barracks in cantering by, as though she wanted 
 him to join her. In five minutes his horse was 
 round, and as he mounted, some brother officers 
 leaned out of the mess-room windows on the 
 ground floor, and chaffed him ; but not about 
 Lady Ambermere, for all save the Colonel were 
 unaware of his aim in this direction. 
 1 A penny for your thoughts, Ossy ? ' 
 ' Who have you put on those yellow gloves 
 for?'
 
 234 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 ' And he's stuck a pink in his button-hole ! 
 Chuck a roll at him.' 
 
 1 I'm going coursing,' said Oswald, as he 
 sprang lightly into the saddle. 
 
 1 Coursing what ? ' was the chorussed 
 shout. 
 
 ' Golden eggs,' he laughed, and turning his 
 bridle, ambled off; whilst his comrades ex- 
 changed remarks as to the admirable figure he 
 cut in the saddle, and as to his being a jolly 
 fellow all round. 
 
 Right down the Row went Oswald, riding 
 gaily amid desolation, for it was a season of the 
 year when nobody was supposed to be in town, 
 and not more than a score of equestrians could 
 be seen. Lady Ambermere had ridden down 
 to the end of the Row and returned, followed 
 at twenty yards' distance by her groom, in claret- 
 coloured livery. Opposite Albert Gate she met 
 Oswald, who had determined to carry off his 
 whole business without sentiment, but merrily, 
 a la hitssarde, and so saluted her smiling. 
 
 ' Mornin', Lady Ambermere. I'm in luck to 
 get you alone for once. You're my prisoner.' 
 
 1 Where will you take me to ? ' said she, as 
 he wheeled round beside her, to her left. 
 
 ' Anywhere out of Pounceforth's reach.' 
 
 1 Jealous ? ' said she. 
 
 ' Don't you think I have reason to be ? 
 You're all smiles and roses to the Colonel — but
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 235 
 
 when I call, you receive me like a dog in a 
 
 bowling alley.' 
 
 1 Why don't you stay away then ? ' 
 
 ' That's just it I can't' 
 
 1 Magnetic attraction I suppose ? ' 
 
 I Something very much like it I assure you/ 
 She laughed and quickened her pace : ' Well, 
 
 you and the Colonel will be on a footing of 
 equality after to-morrow, for I shall be out of 
 town. I am going into Norfolk to see one of 
 my girl friends married.' 
 
 ' You won't be away long I hope ? ' 
 
 I I don't think I shall be in town again till 
 Christmas ; for after the wedding I am going 
 to stay with some friends in Leicestershire — 
 then with others in the North.' 
 
 ' Leicestershire. Ah, that's Pounceforth's 
 county ! I'll be bound he posts down after you/ 
 
 1 I certainly hope to meet Colonel Pounce- 
 forth at times,' answered she demurely. 
 
 1 Often times,' he remarked pointedly. 
 
 1 Why not ? ' replied she, with perfect cool- 
 ness. 
 
 They drew in and proceeded at a walk. 
 Lady Ambermere was an excellent horse-woman 
 and sat with graceful ease her pretty black mare 
 fifteen hands high. She did not, indeed, like 
 Oswald's own sisters, seem born for the saddle 
 — her own best frame being the drawing-room, 
 the dinner-table or her miniature brougham —
 
 236 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 but as Oswald scanned her neat figure, her 
 pretty head, and the beaming blue eyes which 
 she occasionally turned on him, he bethought 
 him that so fascinating a tout ensemble was not 
 always to be found in a single day's journey, 
 and was worth struggling for. He did not 
 break the silence, so she broke it : 
 
 ' And pray what shall yoti be doing whilst I 
 am away ? No good, I fear/ 
 
 1 I shall think about you and wish you back.' 
 
 1 That's pretty, but only a wee-bit true ; you 
 will think of a good many other things — bets, 
 cards, dissipation of all sorts.' 
 
 'And whose fault will that be?' he rejoined, 
 meaningly. 
 
 I Why, your own, I presume. Who's else 
 should it be ? ' 
 
 'Yours in part. You might make of me 
 the quietest fellow alive if you would take the 
 trouble.' 
 
 I I find you quiet enough as it is. It's not 
 your noisiness I complain of,' said she, stooping 
 and patting her horse's neck with her white 
 glove. 
 
 ' You know what I mean,' answered Oswald. 
 ' You might make me something like what 
 Pounceforth is, if you were only half as nice 
 with me as you are with him.' 
 
 1 Ah, but I'm nice with Colonel Pounceforth 
 because by your own showing he is better than
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 237 
 
 you are. Try to become like him, and I shall 
 be nice with you.' 
 
 * How fond you seem of Pounceforth ! ' 
 
 1 I like him very much indeed,' she said. 
 
 1 And you don't like me a bit, eh ? so that 
 if I were to ask any favour of you, you would 
 be sure to say no ? ' 
 
 1 You seem to be conscious that any favour 
 you would ask would be an unreasonable one,' 
 said she, laughing, but with a heightened colour. 
 
 1 Depends what you call unreasonable. Sup- 
 posing I asked you not to go down to Leices- 
 tershire, but to return to town after that Norfolk 
 wedding ? ' 
 
 1 With what object ? ' 
 
 ' So that I might see you the oftener, and 
 tell you how fond I am of you — so that you 
 might get to like me by degrees, perhaps — and 
 consent one day to marry me ? ' All this he 
 uttered leaning towards her, and speaking in a 
 low beseeching tone. 
 
 1 Oh, there's a prospect ! ' exclaimed she, 
 blushing outright ; ' but are you in earnest, 
 Captain Carew ? ' 
 
 1 Ton my word I am,' he answered, touching 
 the region of his heart with the head of his 
 riding whip. 
 
 1 Well, then, supposing I, in my turn prayed 
 you for some favours to prove your regard for 
 me ? ' said she, becoming serious. ' Supposing I
 
 238 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 asked you not to bet or touch a card for one 
 whole year from this time ! Supposing I asked 
 you to do something to distinguish yourself and 
 make a woman proud to wear your name. Go 
 out for instance, and join that new fighting ex- 
 pedition on the North Indian frontier ! ' She 
 turned, gazing upon him with a glance full of 
 inquiry, and expecting to see him yield a joyous 
 assent. But to her intense mortification he 
 looked blue. If he had shown the slightest 
 alacrity to undergo the probation, she would 
 willingly have held him quit of the whole after 
 a months abstention from gambling ; nor would 
 it ever have seriously crossed her mind to let 
 him go and imperil his life in the jungles. But 
 to see him bite his lips and redden, was vexa- 
 tion and shame to her, and she could have 
 beaten him as he answered, stammering : — 
 
 ' You seem to think me an incorrigible 
 gamester, but I really am not, and to surrender 
 betting and cards would not be to give such a 
 proof of fortitude as you require ; as to the In- 
 dian expedition, why, you know, our brigade 
 are not sent out on that kind of service.' 
 
 1 And couldn't you exchange ? ' asked she, 
 her eyes flashing something like scorn. ' Don't 
 you think "that kind of service," as you con- 
 temptuously call it, needs as much bravery as 
 your changing of garrisons between London and 
 Windsor ? '
 
 A SOLDIER'S COURTSHIP. 239 
 
 1 Well, we have all the risks of railway acci- 
 dents and broken legs/ he replied, with well- 
 assumed gravity. ' They only risk dying of 
 marsh fever. Is that what you would have 
 me do ? ' 
 
 I I would have you display a soldier-like 
 spirit/ she retorted with considerable sharpness, 
 ' and remember, Captain Carew, that when you 
 offer a lady your name, you should try to make 
 the present worth accepting/ 
 
 He changed colour, but bowed to intimate 
 that he owned the justice of the correction, and 
 the same instant she repented having gone too 
 far. Presently when she became quite cool, she 
 tried to adopt a bantering tone, and to bring 
 back the dialogue to that point where Oswald 
 had made his declaration, but these endeavours 
 altogether failed. Oswald was deeply wounded, 
 and it was all he could do to maintain his com- 
 posure whilst he talked upon indifferent subjects. 
 The ride soon became awkward to both, and at 
 Lancaster Gate, Lady Ambermere said she 
 would go home. But as they were about to 
 separate, she looked at Oswald, and, half mad- 
 dened at the thought that she might have lost 
 him by her imprudent words, she said, smiling 
 and trying to catch his eye : 
 
 I I dare say after all I shall come back to 
 town after my Norfolk visit ; and if you promise 
 to be very good, I will see if I cannot allow you
 
 240 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 some of the privileges which you envy your 
 friend the Colonel.' 
 
 ' Oh, doubtless by the time you return I 
 shall be on my way to India/ he said with a 
 laugh, as he lifted his hat. 
 
 By his manner of avoiding her glance, she 
 felt that this was a renunciation, and that Os- 
 wald would never again ask her to become his 
 wife.
 
 241 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 1 WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK . . . ' 
 
 A good cry as soon as she got home was the 
 indispensable preliminary to all further action ; 
 but after that Lady Ambermere asked herself 
 piteously what she should do ? How could she 
 have been so silly as to say provoking things to 
 a man whom it had been her fondest wish to 
 please, and, alas ! how could he have been so 
 sensitive as to take them in earnest ? She was 
 moved to write him an apology, expressing her 
 frank regret at having pained him ; but it is the 
 misery of women in Lady Ambermere's position 
 that they dare never make an advance without 
 seeming to depart from the proper modesty of 
 their sex. Pride came to her relief at last, and 
 whispered that it was he, forsooth, and not she 
 who should make an apology, as having given 
 the first cause of provocation ; and that, in turn, 
 she had best let him alone, for that men, like 
 women, are most inclined to run after those who 
 do not run after them — a maxim which may be 
 true in some cases, but is not so in all. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 And during this while what was the hero of 
 Lady Ambermere's thoughts doing ? 
 
 The man who has relied for a supreme ven- 
 ture on a last coin and finds it to be a bad one 
 — the drowning soul in whose grasp the saving 
 cable snaps, experience what Oswald felt on 
 seeing the hopes which he had built on marriage 
 crumble into nothing. But mingling with this 
 feeling there was that angry, humiliated sensa- 
 tion known to the sportsman who has counted 
 on achieving a feat most easily, and fails in it. 
 We have seen a champion cricketer, who had 
 gone in to make his three figures off despicably 
 easy bowling, and who was sent out by the first 
 ball, retire from the wickets with such a face as 
 Oswald wore when he returned to barracks and 
 dismounted in the sight of the comrades who 
 had seen him start an hour before, fresh and 
 buoyant as Spring. 
 
 To make matters worse he felt half in love 
 now that he was spurned. Although morally 
 tingling under the lash of Lady Ambermere's 
 scorn, he could not but think with respect of 
 the little hand that had so smartly trounced 
 him. 
 
 He lunched off some game pie, with hock 
 and seltzer, and joined in a vigorous tirade of 
 abuse against all women in general, with young 
 Softus, the last arrived sub, whose best feelings 
 were being just then trampled upon by a French
 
 < WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. . . ' 243 
 
 actress. He next strolled out into the riding- 
 school to witness the performances of the said 
 broken-hearted Softus upon a new charger ; 
 then returned to the smoking-room, and played 
 at odds and evens for half-crowns with Folli- 
 combe, who was confined to barracks by a 
 sprained ankle, obtained in hopping a race over 
 some chairs. He might have wiled away the 
 afternoon in this intellectual companionship, if 
 Pounceforth had not strolled in, and by his 
 presence turned the barb of his recent dis- 
 appointment in the wound, and so put him to 
 flight. 
 
 He hailed a cab, hied him to Jermyn Street, 
 and took a Turkish bath — one of the most suc- 
 cessful methods of killing time yet invented. 
 While melting in the second hot-room, in com- 
 pany with two hook-nosed Greek coffee-brokers,, 
 a fat man ' doing banting/ and a martyr twisted 
 by rheumatism into the shape of a 3, he had 
 ample time to reflect upon his predicaments, and 
 to laugh within himself at the absurdity of being 
 without means or prospects of any kind. He 
 did laugh, and in a bitter way. This day was 
 the turning point in his existence, for when to- 
 morrow's sun rose he must look before him and 
 choose, without trifling, what career he would 
 follow in future. His past life, with all its hopes 
 and opportunities, was gone ; he had been able 
 to make nothing of it — to spilt milk, burned 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 wood, or broken glass might it be likened — to 
 anything past repair and past crying for. 
 
 1 No man's foes but their own,' is a term that 
 had often been employed by people speaking of 
 Oswald and his brothers ; but they are words 
 full of all that is false and wrong. No man 
 lives to himself or for himself; he must have 
 others depending on him in some way or other, 
 and thus the moment he becomes a foe to him- 
 self, he must be a foe to them, and a foe to many 
 too, through his example. The man who injures 
 himself by destroying his own credit or character, 
 or by rendering himself unfit to perform his 
 appointed task in the labour-field of society, 
 works as much harm as if he actually injured 
 his neighbour ; so that, in fact, he who loves 
 himself too little, as well as he who loves 
 himself too much, is, at bottom, a selfish 
 man. 
 
 It was selfishness that made Oswald so indif- 
 ferent to the effects which his extravagant habits 
 might have on his family, to whom he should 
 have been a mainstay instead of an incumbrance. 
 His sisters' jewels had been pawned for his sake, 
 his brothers had pinched themselves, his father 
 had shed tears of despair over his ruinous 
 courses ; but all this did not throw over his 
 mind as much shadow as a flying leaf would 
 cast on a hill-side. He was not intentionally 
 cruel, and would have given his blood freely for
 
 < WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. 
 
 245 
 
 many of those whose hearts he wrung ; indeed 
 he valued his useless life so little that it occurred 
 to him as he lay on the hot stone slabs of the 
 Sudarium that if some neighbouring boiler were 
 suddenly to explode and blow him out of life, 
 that would be a satisfactory solution of his diffi- 
 culties — but here, again, was the mere selfishness 
 of a man who wants to throw off his shoulders 
 the burden which it is his duty to carry. Self- 
 ishness, moral cowardice, moral indolence, all 
 are one. To Oswald every method of extrica- 
 tion from his troubles suggested itself except 
 the right one — that of putting off the fine clothes 
 for which he could not pay, and girding up his 
 loins to honest toil. He was bound by so many 
 invisible fibres to this habit of luxury and idle- 
 ness, that his only thought was how he might 
 continue in them a little longer, at no matter 
 what future cost ; and he did cudgel his brains 
 so successfully for expedients that, by the time 
 he was in the shampooer's hands, he had plan- 
 ned a series of shooting visits to the country 
 seats of rich friends, with the indefinite idea that 
 he should hit upon something to do, or light 
 upon something worth picking up, as he blazed 
 at pheasants in the company of gouty lords, 
 and made himself agreeable to dowager ladies, 
 their lap-dogs, and all belongings. The matri- 
 monial venture he did not feel tempted to 
 embark in again, but quien sabe ? Some tender
 
 246 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 lamb, well clad with golden fleece, might fall 
 under his lupine fang, and if so he would not 
 neglect the spoil. And as Oswald thus made 
 v ignoble projects, like a very adventurer as he 
 i was becoming, the fat man ' doing banting,' and 
 : the tortured gentleman shaped like a 3 envied 
 his youth, bright looks, fine health, and shapely 
 limbs, each reflecting that he would give two- 
 thirds of his stowed wealth (and they were rich, 
 both of them) for these treasures, which are not 
 to be bought with money, and of which the 
 possessors always seem so careless. 
 
 Oswald left the hummum refreshed in body, 
 i reinvigorated in mind, and, turning into St. 
 James's Street, sauntered towards his club to 
 take a glass of sherry and bitters. 
 
 Now, this club of his was Pink's, one of the 
 most select among the select. It numbered not 
 more than three hundred members, the flower 
 of the fast portion of the aristocracy, and many 
 were the eligible candidates who had been put 
 up for ballot without success. The special 
 characteristics of the club were, that distin- 
 guished foreigners could be admitted to it as 
 honorary members ; and play was allowed ad 
 libitum and on parole, members being not com- 
 pelled to produce their stakes in ready money. 
 As much as 20,000/. in cheques had been 
 known to change hands there in the course of 
 an evening ; and after every such ' big night '
 
 < WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. . .' 247 
 
 some of the quieter members would move the 
 committee to restrict the stakes to such monies 
 as a player might have in his pockets, but they 
 were always over-ruled by the lovers of strong 
 sensations, who formed a majority. 
 
 There was no one in the reading-room or in 
 the smoking-room when Oswald entered, but 
 he heard voices coming from the direction of 
 the card-room, and went there. The perfume 
 of very mild Polish cigarettes saluted his nostrils 
 as he opened the door, and he descried half-a- 
 dozen members grouped round a table and 
 watching the Marquis of Felwood — the Duke 
 of Lowland's heir — playing at ecarte with a tall 
 stranger. The young Marquis, who was but 
 just of age, was throwing down the last card of 
 a losing rub, and he pushed back his chair on 
 catching sight of Oswald. 
 
 ' You're one too many for me to-day, prince,' 
 he said to his adversary, ' but here's a partner 
 who'll hold a hand with you till cock-crow.' 
 
 1 Hie, Carew, come and give a taste of your 
 quality, and don't be bashful !' cried another 
 voice. 
 
 1 What's the point ?' inquired Oswald, good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 ■ Fivers the point and a ten on the rub/ 
 answered Felwood. 'but you needn't be afraid 
 of ruining your man, he could buy up the lot 
 of us. Here, let me introduce you. — Prince,
 
 248 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Captain Carew of the 2nd Blues. — Carew, 
 Prince Karetkine of the Preobajentzki Guards. 
 And now if a thunderbolt were to crash on the 
 pair of you it would make away with a couple 
 of deuced good fellows.' 
 
 The Russian and the Englishman bowed, 
 liked each other at a glance, and sat down. 
 Oswald was not what is called a first-rate card 
 player ; great betting men seldom are, for the 
 two pursuits, though much alike in their results 
 — which is ruination — require different sets of 
 qualities. However, he could play a very fair 
 hand against any man, and at any game. And 
 he possessed the prime virtue of gamblers*, an 
 iron nerve which enabled him to maintain un- 
 ruffled composure whether he lost or won. In 
 this respect he was more than a match for his 
 rival, who, like very many of his countrymen, 
 was a strange compound of impetuosity and 
 phlegm, of finnikin graces and trooper-like 
 rowdiness, of diplomacy in mien and speech, 
 and of childishness in thought and action. The 
 banks of the Neva send forth to the western 
 capitals many magnificent young nobles, to 
 astonish social chroniclers by their reckless 
 prodigalities and personal charms ; and Prince 
 Nicholas Karetkine was one of these. He was 
 twenty-six years old, six feet high, and some 
 forty inches round the chest. In uniform he 
 must have looked splendid, and he cultivated a
 
 'WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. . .' 249 
 
 military appearance by his short cropped hair 
 and tawny moustache with long waxed tips ; 
 but what most struck you in him was his eyes 
 — large, blue, limpid, and soft as a boy's. His 
 smile was also full of boyish sweetness, and his 
 laugh most frank and ready, so that anyone 
 who had formed an estimate of him from his 
 physiognomy, without having seen him drink, 
 swear, or gamble, would have set him down for 
 an excellently behaved young man, of the sort 
 in whom maiden aunts delight. 
 
 Oswald felt in the breast of his coat for 
 his pocket-book, accepted the stakes which the 
 Prince proposed, cut for deal, and in three 
 minutes had lost 45/. In the second game he 
 scored three points to his adversary's five, and 
 lost 20/. ; the third game was love again for the 
 Russian, who scored once more 45/. ; in the 
 fourth game ' four all ' was marked, but Karet- 
 kine turned up the king, and 15/. went to swell 
 the total of Oswald's losings. A fifth, a sixth, 
 a ninth game followed, but luck remained 
 steadily in favour of the Russian ; and after 
 little more than an hour's play, Oswald had lost 
 300/. 
 
 1 You're off the track to-day,' observed Fel- 
 wood, who was watching the game at his elbow, 
 smoking an eighteen-penny cheroot. 
 
 ' He's too lucky in his love affairs,' remarked 
 somebody, alluding to a well-known proverb.
 
 250 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 i Egad no ! I know what it is. Why, how 
 can you think of playing against a Russian with 
 an opal »about you ?' exclaimed Lord Beaumaris 
 of the Grenadiers, and he pointed to an opal 
 and diamond ring on Oswald's finger. 
 
 * Why heigh to be sure, it's a glamour stone 
 in Russia, isn't it ? ' ejaculated Felwood. ' I 
 must have one about me somewhere ; ' and he 
 gravely scrutinised his personal adornments. 
 
 The Russian smiled one of his innocent 
 smiles, and said in capital English, with scarcely 
 an accent in it : — 
 
 1 We consider the opal to be unlucky in my 
 country, and I certainly should not think of 
 wearing one while playing.' 
 
 Oswald laughingly removed his ring, and 
 handed it to Beaumaris ; and from that moment, 
 by one of those strange coincidences which do 
 so much to perpetuate superstition, fortune 
 veered wholly to his side. All the kings fell to 
 him. Play as Karetkine would, he could not 
 score the point, and game after game was 
 marked to Oswald, who was fast winning back 
 all he had lost. The Russian's excitement rose 
 as he saw luck desert him, and some beads of 
 perspiration broke out on his brow ; he finished 
 by remarking that he should like a glass of ab- 
 sinthe, and proposed a suspension. At this 
 moment the balance of winnings showed 25/. in 
 his favour.
 
 l WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. . .' 251 
 
 Absinthe was rung for, and as most of the 
 company were not much versed in this drink, 
 Karetkine instructed them in the scientific pre- 
 paration of it ; but the brew which he mixed 
 for himself was twice as strong as the others, 
 even as Benjamin's mess exceeded that of his 
 ten brethren. It would have turned any Eng- 
 lish head — to say nothing of firing any English 
 brain — to have even sipped of the heady bever- 
 age which the Russian enjoyably swallowed in 
 large gulps, inhaling between-whiles the fumes 
 of pink-paper cigarettes ; but the Moscovites 
 are mighty quaffers, and of Karetkine it might 
 be said, once and for all, that, if never actually 
 drunk, he was always more or less under the 
 influence of drink. So are the generality of 
 young officers in the Russian Imperial Guards 
 (not in the Line, for there, means being nar- 
 rower, morals are staider). They drink brandy 
 before they are out of bed, to drive away the 
 blue-devils attendant upon the preceding night's 
 orgies ; at breakfast they take champagne, with 
 more brandy to follow ; in the afternoon, ab- 
 sinthe or vermouth ; in the evening anything or 
 everything ; till, getting drowsy, they have re- 
 course to strong glorias (black coffee mixed 
 with kirsch or cognac) to keep them awake till 
 bed-time. The effect of this rdgime is to make 
 them occasionally and wildly quarrelsome with 
 one another, but never so with strangers ; and
 
 252 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 it is a long while before it seems to operate 
 prejudicially on their healths. An officer of the 
 Guards will, thanks to the Russian climate, go 
 on for years and years looking much the same ; 
 but at the age of forty he perhaps pricks his 
 finger with a pin, catches a cold, or has an at- 
 tack of indigestion, and dies off — his constitution 
 having suddenly caved in like a house long un- 
 dermined by rats. 
 
 The effect of absinthe on Karetkine was 
 always exhilarating, and so it proved on the 
 others. They were all men of the same set, 
 knowing one another intimately, and knowing 
 the same people ; so they fell to talking and 
 anecdoting in such pleasant wise that dinner- 
 time approached, and they voted it a pity that 
 such harmonious company should separate. It 
 was agreed they should dine together at Lim- 
 mer's, for cookery is seldom a strong point in 
 small clubs, and the chef at Pink's shone more 
 in the preparation of late hour broiled bones 
 and devils than in that of set dinners. Accord- 
 ingly they strolled out in a body to the cosiest 
 of sporting hotels, now no more, and were soon 
 accommodated with a private room, good fare 
 and smart attendance. This served but to 
 accelerate the flow of Karetkine's spirits. He 
 talked a good deal with Oswald, and the more 
 he did so the more he liked him ; Oswald, on his 
 side, was much taken with the Russian's pleasing
 
 ■ WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. . . ' 253 
 
 ways, and rather dazzled by his off-hand allu- 
 sions to his family estates, hundreds of miles in 
 extent, his myriads of beeves and sheep, and 
 his silver mine in the Oural Mountains. 
 
 So the dinner was a success, and after des- 
 sert and coffee — that is towards eleven — the 
 table was cleared for baccarat. But this play 
 was not very brisk somehow, and it chafed the 
 patience of the restless Russian ; who, having 
 now his full freight of liquor on board, craved 
 for stronger sensations. He proposed point- 
 blank to Oswald to play 150-point piquet at 
 10/. the point. 
 
 Ten pounds the point, i.e. the possibility of 
 losing 1,500/. in one game ! Oswald hesitated, 
 but, being a little ' sprung ' too, consented to 
 play at 5/. the point, but only for a single game. 
 
 As usual this resolution to stop after one 
 bout did not survive the throw of the first card. 
 Oswald and the Russian continued to play till 
 one by one all the lookers on dropped off and 
 went their ways ; they did not cease even after 
 they found themselves alone, but called for 
 mulled claret, and — more and more excited both 
 of them — went on for another two hours. The 
 Russian was the first to cry quarter, for his 
 hands were shaking so that he could hardly hold 
 his cards ; and as the games had been going 
 steadily against him, he declared that there was 
 no contending with his ill-luck, and that he
 
 254 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 would have his revanche to-morrow. The losses, 
 which had spread all over a sheet of note-paper, 
 were added up ; Karetkine drew out a small 
 cheque book, and with no more concern than 
 if he were writing down an address, signed 
 Oswald a cheque for seventeen thousand, five 
 hundred and five pounds.
 
 255 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 
 
 It was three o'clock in the morning when Oswald 
 parted from Karetkine in the moonlight at the 
 door of Long's Hotel, .where the Russian was 
 staying, and about midday when he was roughly 
 shaken out of sleep in his bed at barracks. He 
 sat up, rubbing his eyes, and saw Felwood and 
 Beaumaris. 
 
 1 1 say, Ossy, weren't you the last man with 
 Karetkine yesterday or this morning ? ' asked 
 the former, in a broken voice. 
 
 ■ Yes— why ? ' 
 
 1 Because the poor fellow is dead ! ' 
 
 ' Dead ? ' echoed Oswald, incredulously. 
 
 1 Yes, it's awful ! When his servant went 
 into his room this morning, he found him stark 
 in bed, with an empty bottle of chloral standing 
 on the right table.' 
 
 1 There's no saying yet whether it's accident 
 or a suicide,' proceeded Beaumaris. ' You don't 
 know whether he had any reason to kill himself ? 
 Who won of you two last night ? '
 
 256 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 I won,' stammered Oswald. ' There's the 
 prince's cheque for seventeen thousand pounds/ 
 
 The two noblemen examined the cheque, 
 which lay on the table, and their countenances 
 told plainly that they looked upon this as a clue 
 to the mysterious tragedy. Oswald had jumped 
 out of bed, and as he huddled on some clothes 
 his stupefaction increased. Karetkine had shown 
 no sign of distress on parting with him ; he had, 
 on the contrary, made an appointment to come 
 and lunch at the barracks at two o'clock. Of 
 this Oswald was certain, for his own agitation 
 consequent on his large winnings was so great 
 that he had lain for hours conning over the night's 
 events, without being able to procure sleep, and 
 this accounted for his still being in bed at noon. 
 He could not realize the horrible thing that had 
 occurred, but what reasoning power he was able 
 to muster suggested to him that Karetkine must, 
 like himself, have been sleepless, and have taken 
 an overdose of the hypnotic by an inadvertence. 
 
 ' It could only have been accident, surely ?' 
 he asked, as with a trembling hand he poured 
 water into his basin. 
 
 1 Egad ! let's hope so,' said Felwood, whose 
 features were quite distorted from inward 
 commotion. ' Such a rich fellow as he was 
 couldn't have been hipped for a sum like this.' 
 
 ' There's no saying — the worst of foreigners 
 is that it's impossible to ascertain whether the
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 257 
 
 account they give of themselves is true/ re- 
 marked Beaumaris, not less upset. ' They have 
 no " peerage " or " landed gentry " that you can 
 consult/ 
 
 1 There'll be a coroner s inquest, and the case 
 will make an awful row/ groaned Felwood, sit- 
 ting down and biting his nails. ' Egad — all our 
 names will be in the papers, and we shall have 
 to say what we were doing all last evening. 
 My governor will swear like a pagan.' 
 
 1 And I'm afraid everybody will pitch into 
 you, old fellow/ remarked kind-hearted Beau- 
 maris, with compassion, to Oswald. ' However, 
 it's not your fault, nor ours. Get dressed as fast 
 as you can, will you, for we must be off again to 
 the hotel. My trap is downstairs.' 
 
 Oswald went through summary ablutions, 
 dressed himself in dark clothes, and intimated 
 that he was ready. The three friends descended 
 and left the barracks through the private postern 
 in the Knightsbridge Road, where Lord Beau- 
 maris's brougham was standing. It was not a 
 vehicle large enough to contain all three, so the 
 owner climbed on the box. Oswald and Fel- 
 wood got inside, and both growing more nervous 
 every moment, scarcely exchanged a word till 
 they reached the hotel. 
 
 Here confusion and dismay seemed to reign, 
 not only among the proprietor and servants of 
 the establishment, but among the visitors stay- 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 ing in the hotel, all of whom were congregated 
 in the coffee-room, and discussing the event. 
 The coroner had been sent for, and had issued 
 his warrant for an inquest and a post-mortem 
 examination on the morrow. A doctor from 
 the Russian Embassy had arrived, and had 
 been trying, with the aid of the English phy- 
 sicians first summoned, to restore life, but in 
 vain ; and the Russian Ambassador was ex- 
 pected every minute to come and take posses- 
 sion of the deceased's effects and papers. 
 
 Oswald asked permission to view the body, 
 and was conducted with his two friends to one 
 of those unpretending — almost paltry — sleeping 
 chambers, which in English hotels — even the 
 best — are considered good enough for bache- 
 lors ; but which abroad would scarcely be 
 deemed fit for a bagman. Cheap wall-paper, 
 a common drugget carpet, two cane-bottom 
 chairs, and a sponge-bath made up the furniture, 
 along with a four-post bedstead, which occupied 
 more than half the space in the room. The 
 curtains of this bed were closed, but the Princes 
 weeping French valet, who was keeping watch, 
 drew them aside, and revealed the lifeless form 
 of his master. 
 
 If sudden death be ever awful it is particu- 
 larly so when it strikes those who have been 
 the recent companions of our pleasure-seeking. 
 Death seems to come then as a punisher. In
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 
 
 259 
 
 the uncertain light shed by two wax candles 
 (for the room, according to the Greek-Catholic 
 custom, had been darkened), Oswald saw fea- 
 tures illumined by none of the tranquil majesty 
 of repose, but bloated and grimacing — the fea- 
 tures of a man who has rolled out of this world 
 by a misadventure, drink-besotted. Felwood, 
 who had known the Prince for some weeks, was 
 much affected ; Oswald, having so lately made 
 his acquaintance, could feel no grief, but he 
 thrilled with an indefinable sensation of horror 
 as he reflected that if Karetkine had not met 
 him he might perhaps have been still alive. 
 This thought was so harrowing, that Oswald 
 mechanically cast his eyes about him for a 
 token of any sort that might disprove the theory 
 of suicide. He saw evidences of lavish per- 
 sonal luxuriousness. Ivory-backed brushes and 
 mirrors emblazoned with arms, dressing-case 
 fixtures mounted in pure gold studded with 
 turquoises, a watch whose back was encrusted 
 with diamonds — all these things and many more, 
 down to the rich sable travelling-rug, thrown 
 over the bed, spoke to the long-accustomed 
 habits of a wealthy man. Nothing in the apart- 
 ment bore the look of dilapidated fortunes, or of 
 anything approaching thereto ; and this was no 
 mean index, for our circumstances are betrayed 
 by many a tell-tale sign in our equipments. 
 
 Such little solace, however, as Oswald could 
 s 2
 
 2 6o THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 derive from outward appearances, was dispelled 
 when the Russian Ambassador arrived, for 
 this exalted personage concluded for felo-de- 
 se so soon as he was informed of the 17,000/. 
 cheque. His Excellency was a man of most 
 diplomatic mien and of painful politeness. He 
 viewed the corpse, muttered half-a-dozen words 
 of ritual, and made the sign of the cross over 
 it, as though he were, in the name of the Czar, 
 officially pardoning the liberty which a Russian 
 soul had taken to quit a Russian body without 
 Imperial leave. This done, he adjourned to a 
 neighbouring private room, and readily an- 
 swered all the questions which Oswald and the 
 two lords put to him. From these answers it ap- 
 peared that Prince Nicholas Karetkine was un- 
 doubtedly a man of eminent family, but that his 
 goings-on and his prospects at St. Petersburg 
 were much like those of Oswald himself in Lon- 
 don. The Karetkines were noble but innumer- 
 able, for more than a hundred of them had a 
 right to the title of prince ; they were rich 
 enough, and yet their estates, consisting chief! 
 of steppe land, yielded no such income as the 
 enormous acreage might lead an Englishman to 
 suppose. In fine, Prince Nicholas probably hac 
 an allowance of 1 0,000/., but he had for the lasi 
 five or six years been living at a rate quintuple 
 of that; and, though his family would, of course 
 pay any debts of honour that he might have in-
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 261 
 
 curred, yet it was obvious that this misguided 
 young man had had no moral right to contract 
 debts of any sort, and he had doubtless poisoned 
 himself to shirk the consequences which his fol- 
 lies must soon or late have entailed on him. 
 Such was the comfort which the Ambassador 
 brought to Oswald, and some of his remarks 
 having filtered through the ears of hotel waiters 
 into those of press-reporters, the evening papers 
 flourished sensational accounts of an ' Alleged 
 Suicide in High Life through Losses at 
 Cards.' 
 
 Bad as this was it was made much worse on 
 the morrow, when the morning journals came 
 out. There happened to be no subjects of 
 interest before the public at that moment, and 
 it was the dull season of the year, when editors, 
 finding it no easy matter to fill their sheets, can 
 afford to give whole columns to matters of 
 comparatively slight import. Of this faculty, 
 on the present occasion, they made unstinted 
 use : not only very lengthy reports, but leading 
 articles were printed ; and a unanimous hope 
 was expressed ' that the high rank of the par- 
 ties supposed to be concerned in this melan- 
 choly affair would not be suffered to stand in 
 the way of the strictest investigation.' One 
 popular journal went so far as to state that all 
 society was interested in the exposure of men 
 who could deliberately wile a stranger into
 
 262 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 their company and win 17,500/. of him in a 
 night. 
 
 Has it ever struck the cultured pharisees 
 who admonish us through newspapers that 
 when men of position come under the hand of 
 the Law or of public opinion they have much 
 less chance of getting fair play than poorer 
 ones ? The very fear of seeming to be partial 
 renders the Judge harsh and the public pitiless. 
 Moreover, underlying the popular clamour for 
 investigation which arises whenever anything 
 unfortunate has taken place in high circles, there 
 lurks an itching curiosity, on the part of vulgar 
 people, to peer into the private lives of persons 
 above them. The love of justice has nothing 
 in common with such a trumpery sentiment. It 
 is ignorant, often persistent inquisitiveness, the 
 gratification of which has no other effect than to 
 beget a secret envy of practices, which hypo- 
 crisy, with a screaming tongue, affects to con- 
 demn. 
 
 The Coroner who was to conduct the in- 
 quiry into the causes of Prince Karetkine's 
 death was a fussy personage, imbued to the full 
 with all the ethics of cheap newspapers. He 
 saw in this calamity an occasion for asserting 
 himself before the world as a man who would 
 do justice without fear or favour ; and he pre- 
 pared to make things hot for Captain Carew 
 and the other gay young fellows of Pink's.
 
 LAWS AXD LAWS OF HOXOUR. 263 
 
 Oswald had written to Sir Peter to give him 
 a statement of the unhappy affair. Beaumaris 
 and Felwood had also written to their respec- 
 tive fathers ; and all three met at Long's, at the 
 hour of the inquest, clad in mourning and look- 
 ing wretched — Felwood much like a school-boy 
 fearing manual correction from his parent for 
 his share in the transaction. The jury having 
 viewed the body, were led into the largest 
 available sitting-room, which was already three 
 parts filled with solicitors, reporters, and dis- 
 tinguished persons, come to watch the proceed- 
 ings. The Coroner himself at the head of the 
 table, the jurymen settled round it, and the 
 three physicians who had held the post-mortem 
 then successively entered and deposed. All 
 were decidedly of opinion that the death was 
 simply due to inadvertence, and they explained 
 this by saying that the bottle of chloral, when 
 full, could only have contained a potion of 
 twelve grains, which, under ordinary circum- 
 stances, would not have been enough to kill the 
 prince. He had been in the habit of taking 
 chloral when unable to sleep, and his doses had 
 often been as high as six grains. Probably 
 he had swallowed this last fatal dose in the 
 dark, without noticing how much he took — 
 perhaps, however, he had deliberately doubled 
 his ordinary dose in the hope of obtaining a 
 quicker and sounder sleep than usual ; and,
 
 264 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 indeed, death would not have resulted had it 
 not been for the quantity of alcohol with which 
 the stomach was charged. This alcohol it was 
 which, increasing the normal force of the chloral, 
 had, as much as the drug itself, tended to pro- 
 duce death. Cross-examined as to whether 
 the absorption of a large quantity of alcoholic 
 liquor did not tend to drowsiness, and so ren- 
 dered recourse to hypnotics unnecessary, all 
 three doctors stated that great restlessness was 
 often the result of partial intoxication, and that 
 under the influence of such restlessness a man 
 would be naturally tempted to seek relief in 
 opiates or narcotics. 
 
 The crestfallen proprietor of Limmer's was 
 next called to put in, as evidence, the bill for the 
 last dinner of which the deceased had partaken ; 
 and then the Russian Ambassador volunteered 
 as a witness, not for the purpose of confirming 
 what he had said to Oswald and the two lords, 
 but in order to swear just the contrary. The 
 fact is that his Excellency would say privately 
 to noblemen, his equals, things which he would 
 not care to repeat before a parcel of tradesmen. 
 Speaking officially it was his business to vindi- 
 cate a member of the Russian aristocracy, who 
 had held a commission in the body-guard of 
 his Sovereign ; so he gravely gave Prince 
 Nicholas a high character for moral principles, 
 and smiled at the notion that such a distin-
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 265 
 
 guished person could have made away with him- 
 self for a paltry debt of 1 7,000/. ' Why,' said he 
 quietly, ' Prince Karetkine, his father, has three 
 hundred thousand heads of cattle, fifty thousand 
 acres of corn-land, 1 and pasture-lands which it 
 would take a horseman a full week to cross/ 
 (Sensation among the jury.) Questioned by 
 a mild juryman (who was very anxious to hear 
 the sound of his own voice addressing an am- 
 bassador), as to the stakes for which it was 
 usual for Russian noblemen to play at cards, his 
 Excellency answered, with exquisite courtesy, 
 that he had seen gentlemen play for twenty, 
 thirty, forty thousand pounds. Once, in the 
 pre-emancipation days, he had been present at 
 a game where a Boyard had played twenty 
 thousand serfs, the populations of fifteen vil- 
 lages, and lost them The mild juryman 
 
 collapsed. 
 
 The ambassador, actuated by the freema- 
 sonry which binds the aristocracies of all 
 countries to one another, had done his best for 
 Oswald Carew and his friends, and it was evi- 
 dent that now no verdict of suicide could be 
 returned ; but this did not satisfy the Coroner, 
 who was not going to be baulked of making an 
 impressive little speech on the vice of gambling, 
 
 1 There are whole districts of Southern Russia where the 
 wheat crops are left for year after year to rot, there being no 
 sale for them, owing to the lack of railways.
 
 266 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 the which all the papers would quote with laud- 
 atory comments. Oswald was requested to 
 stand forward, and as he was removing his 
 black glove to be sworn, the Coroner studied 
 the bill from Limmer's, and stroked his chin 
 with a consequential air. 
 
 ' Captain Carew,' said he, ' we may take it 
 for granted that you won of the deceased noble- 
 man seventeen thousand, five hundred and odd 
 pounds at a sitting, eh ? . . . Yes, that's a set- 
 tled thing. Well, may I ask you now whether 
 it is true that on a late occasion, at the Stil- 
 borough meeting, you lost very nearly the same 
 amount on one race ? ' 
 
 ' I object to that question,' interrupted the 
 family solicitor of the Carews, who was present. 
 ' I cannot see what relevancy it has to this 
 case.' 
 
 ' The relevancy will appear presently — all 
 in good time,' responded the Coroner. ' I will 
 not press the question if you do not like it, but, 
 I must tell the gentlemen of the jury that a 
 copy of a sporting paper, some weeks old, has 
 been handed me, which states Captain Carew's 
 losings by bets to have been over 16,000/.' 
 
 1 I hope that paper has not neglected to add 
 that the bets have all been paid,' said Oswald. 
 
 1 The bets have been paid, oh yes,' conceded 
 the Coroner, magnanimously, and he waved 
 down with his hand the family solicitor, who
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 267 
 
 had started to his legs again. ' But we will 
 leave that subject for the present. May I ask 
 you, Captain Carew, how many there were 
 present at the dinner at Limmer s Hotel ? ' 
 
 1 We were six in all/ answered Oswald. 
 
 ' Six in all. Well, gentlemen of the jury, 
 allow me to call your attention to the following 
 wine-items in this bill for six persons : " 2 bot- 
 tles of Madeira, 6 of Roederer's champagne, 2 
 of Hermitage Burgundy, 2 of 30-year port, 4 of 
 Chateau Lafitte claret, and 2 jugs of mulled 
 claret — not counting liqueurs — which makes a 
 wine bill of 190 shillings — nine pounds, ten." 
 Pretty well that is for six persons, is it not ? ' 
 
 The jury laughed and Oswald smiled ; but 
 the Coroner frowned, and looked as solemn as 
 Minos. 
 
 ' Well, sir,' he repeated, ' don't you think 
 190 shillings' worth of wine is a pretty good 
 quantity for six persons ? ' 
 
 ' It would be, no doubt, if we had drank it 
 all/ replied Oswald. 
 
 1 But you didn't drink it all ? You had high 
 priced wines uncorked for the mere pleasure of 
 the thing I suppose ? ' 
 
 ! A great deal of wine is often wasted at 
 these dinners — the number of bottles required 
 being left to the discretion of the waiters/ said 
 Oswald. ' However, I acknowledge we did drink 
 a fair amount/
 
 268 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 The doctors say in their evidence that the 
 deceased was intoxicated.' 
 
 ■ He certainly took more than any of us,' re- 
 plied Oswald, unguardedly. 
 
 I And how long had you known the deceased 
 when you began playing these games of cards ? ' 
 
 I I had been introduced to him the same day/ 
 1 And I believe you remained two hours 
 
 in his company after your friends had retired ? ' 
 
 1 About two hours I think.' 
 
 ' Well then, Captain Carew, we may take it 
 from your own lips that you did not scruple to 
 win seventeen thousand pounds of a drunken 
 man, who was almost a stranger to you, there 
 being no witnesses by you at the time ? ' 
 
 The solicitor, who had seen but too late the 
 trap into which his client was being drawn, rose 
 up and protested. Oswald, first recoiling as if 
 he had been stung, drew himself up with an 
 ingenuous blush, that would have cleared him 
 before any committee of gentlemen, and asked 
 firmly : 
 
 * What do you insinuate by that, Mr. Co- 
 roner ? ' 
 
 ' I mean, sir, that you took a very expe- 
 ditious means of winning back the money you 
 had lost at Stilborough,' retorted the Coroner, 
 with coarseness. 
 
 1 That is an imputation which all who know 
 me will despise as I do,' exclaimed Oswald,
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 269 
 
 with warmth, evoking by his words hearty 
 1 Hear, hears ' from Felwood, Beaumaris, some 
 other lords, a crowd of his brother officers, and 
 all the Carews, his brothers, who had somehow 
 jammed their way into the room. ' The truth 
 is,' added he, forgetting that he was not speak- 
 ing solely to the ears of those sympathisers, but 
 to those of the many-tongued blatant press, — 
 ' the truth is, I am afraid that towards the latter 
 part of our play at least, I was a little the worse 
 too for the mixture of wines we had been taking. 
 We were both excited and played wildly. I 
 had no conception of how much I had been 
 winning, and when the scores were added up, 
 the large total was quite a surprise to me.' 
 
 1 Quite a pleasant surprise, I should think,' 
 sneered the coroner. ' You seem to have had 
 presence of mind enough though to see that you 
 got your cheque properly signed.' 
 
 ' That proper signing would prove rather 
 presence of mind on the part of him who 
 signed it,' rejoined Oswald, calmly. ' Here is the 
 cheque, and I hope it has entered nobody's mind 
 that after the prince's death I could have the 
 least intention of presenting it for payment.' 
 Saying which he tore it up, and threw the pieces 
 on the floor. 
 
 A murmur of approbation was heard, which the 
 coroner at once essayed to damp by remarking — 
 
 ' You are yielding, sir, to the constraint of
 
 270 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 public opinion, which, as you know, would not 
 sanction your retention of what I have no scru- 
 ple to call ill-gotten gain. It remains none the 
 less true that if Prince Karetkine had not been 
 led by you and your friends to this extravagant 
 dinner — if he had not remained playing and 
 drinking with you until such a preposterous hour 
 of the night, he would not have been dead at 
 this moment.' 
 
 The jury did not relish all the coroner's con- 
 clusions, and returned a verdict of accidental 
 self-poisoning ; but, for all this, Oswald left the 
 court under a cloud. He was not immediately 
 made conscious of this, for his friends pressed 
 round him, extending their hands, and warmly 
 blaming the coroner for his unmannerly asper- 
 sions ; but, on the morrow, all the respectable 
 journals took the coroner's view — so did nume- 
 rous persons who were regarded as arbiters of 
 the social code of honour — so, again, did most 
 ladies, and thus it soon came to pass that many 
 of Oswald's supporters, being indoctrinated by 
 their mothers and sisters, began to acknowledge 
 that the winning of 1 7,000/. from a tipsy Rus- 
 sian did wear a bad look. Oswald was assailed 
 by a gale of reprobation all the stiffer, as it was 
 fanned by that mass of quidnuncs, club-oracles, 
 and tea-table mentors, who, whenever any debate 
 on a point of honour arises range themselves 
 loudly and ostentatiously on the side of the
 
 LAWS AND LAWS OF HONOUR. 271 
 
 strictest points, so as not to let it be supposed 
 that their sense of honour is blunter than other 
 men's. It was in vain that Oswald's regimental 
 comrades and fellow-members of Pink's stood 
 by him ; a man's character is not made by his 
 friends, nor can the multitude of them always 
 save him. 
 
 Colonel Pounceforth, yielding to no petty 
 feeling of personal animosity, but conscientiously 
 believing that Oswald had grossly misbehaved 
 himself, suspended him from duty until the good 
 pleasure of the Horse Guards should be ascer- 
 tained ; but the Horse Guards did not wait for 
 the Colonel's application. Oswald received pe- 
 remptory intimation that he must send in his 
 papers — which, under the circumstances, was 
 tantamount to cashiering him with disgrace.
 
 272 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BOOTS. 
 
 Misfortunes hunt in packs. Oswald, having 
 been, as it were, expelled the Army, the appoint- 
 ment of his brother Philip to the military attache- 
 ship (which had been on the very eve of being 
 gazetted) was withdrawn ; so was Albert Carew's 
 nomination to the secretaryship of the Soap Tax 
 Commission. Both young men were told that 
 it was for their own interests that their names 
 should not appear in print just then. These 
 blows fell upon their father at the moment when 
 he was bowed down by the definite victory of 
 Mr. Pottinger in the matter of ' Stubb's Piece.' 
 That much disputed patch of earth had been put 
 up for auction, and Sir Peter's agent had bid 
 twice, three times as much as it was worth ; but 
 another agent was there, who was afterwards 
 ascertained to have acted for Mr. Pottinger, and 
 who showed a resolve to outbid at any price. 
 Sir Peter s agent, thinking that the person was 
 only the hireling of the Corporation, forcing the 
 sale so as to obtain for the ground a sum absurdly
 
 BOOTS. 273 
 
 in excess of its value, abandoned the competi- 
 tion in disgust; so Mr. Pottinger had the land 
 knocked down to him for 7,500/., and by the 
 same stroke ruined Sir Peter. 
 
 It has been well remarked that when our 
 spirits are still buoyant, though temporarily 
 lowered ; when our hopes are still bright, though 
 momentarily dimmed ; we dwell on our woes and 
 talk of the luxury of grief; but when sorrow 
 upon sorrow has weighed our spirits to the earth, 
 and all their buoyancy is gone ; when the bright- 
 ness of hope is departed ; when our tears have 
 all been shed, and a woe has come upon us that 
 no weeping can assuage, then do we feel that 
 grief is not a luxury, that memory is not a joy. 
 Then, shrinking with a tortured brain from the 
 fear of fresh infliction, we pray for power to 
 endure ; and yet, feeling all the anguish of 
 endurance, apply to occupation which may leave 
 us little time to remember, if it give us not a 
 fresh pursuit on which to spend our energies 
 instead of wasting them in grief. 
 
 Sir Peter Carew had not been accustomed 
 to bear trouble, and when he had wept all the 
 tears that his heart would yield, his hopeless 
 misery made him frantic. For several days he 
 stamped about the house, rageful, unreasonable, 
 and seeking for objects on which to vent his 
 wrath. His children were afraid to approach 
 him. As post after post brought tradesmen's 
 vol. 1. T
 
 274 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 letters which, now, were no longer respectful, 
 but insolent, and even menacing, he relieved his 
 mind by entering into a fiery correspondence 
 with his solicitor — stating that he was being 
 imposed upon, that he would resist all these 
 swindling claims in a law-court, especially those 
 made for goods supplied to his children during 
 their minorities. Credit to minors, indeed ! who- 
 ever heard of such an outrageous thing ? and the 
 solicitor commended these sayings, reiterating 
 in letters that cost 13^. \d. apiece, that neither 
 County Court nor Common Pleas would uphold 
 any claims on minors. It was at this period that 
 a project shaped itself in the Baronet's mind, 
 and was hourly proclaimed by him in complacent 
 terms, as if the idea of it refreshed him, of walk- 
 ing into Stilborough, and publicly tweaking Mr. 
 Pottinger by the nose. 
 
 In all this cruel juncture, the brunt of Sir 
 Peters choler was borne by Amy, who, alone 
 among his children, never shunned his society. 
 While the other sons and daughters would 
 scamper away like hares on hearing their 
 father's footsteps in a passage, and would con- 
 trive every pretext not to meet him at meal- 
 times, she was always at her post to bear him 
 company, and give him the truest solace for 
 grief, by enduring his reproaches with patience. 
 He was aware of the soothing effect which her 
 sweet presence had upon him — for his state
 
 BOOTS. 275 
 
 would have been woeful indeed without it — yet 
 he never bestowed on her any but hard words, 
 and took her poor, comparatively innocent, debts 
 for the burden of his most frequent objurgations. 
 Had he not always been a generous father ? 
 had she ever known him refuse a single thing 
 that pleased her whim ? why, then, had she 
 joined with all the rest in adding to his em- 
 barrassments, and not left him the comfort of 
 feeling that one at least amongst his children 
 was eood and dutiful ? 
 
 Amy had other sorrows to bear besides 
 these scoldings, for her married sisters were 
 now continually goading her to be more amiable 
 with Sir Giles Taplow, who, albeit he had not 
 yet proposed, had of late carried his addresses 
 so far that he could hardly, with any decency, 
 retreat. Amy was amiable enough with him, 
 Heaven knows ; but, oh the wretchedness of 
 these incessant visits from a man whose manners 
 and conversation became more and more re- 
 pulsive the more she grew familiar with them. 
 If only she could have discerned in them a 
 single noble quality, this might have redeemed 
 him. The bed of clay in which a solitary 
 diamond is found, passes for a rich soil ; so 
 when a woman is trying to esteem a man, will 
 the glitter of one small virtue argue the possi- 
 bility of many others lurking hidden. But Sir 
 Giles's nature possessed nothing which the most
 
 276 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 patient seeker, having unearthed, could prize as 
 a treasure. 
 
 He had ordered a new shooting coat, and 
 had his hair cut in Amy's honour ; and his 
 method of making love to her was to gossip 
 evil about all the people with whom they were 
 both acquainted. This he varied with disquisi- 
 tions upon his horses and dogs — how this mare 
 was off her feed and wanted purging ; how he 
 meant to cross his bull-dog's breed with Farmer 
 Dobbs's terrier bitch — and other kindred topics 
 suitable to a ladylike girl's ears. But he en- 
 tertained no doubt that his discourse was 
 instructive and amusing, or that it was listened 
 to with interest. One day he brought Amy a 
 present — a bull-pup, six weeks old, who had 
 already killed and eaten a mouse, and whom 
 he pulled out of his pocket by the tail. Hide- 
 ous as the growling little brute was, Amy's 
 heart warmed to it with a kind of eager- 
 ness at rescuing it from the clutches of such a 
 master, and it became her attached pet from 
 that day. 
 
 However, a moment did come at last when 
 Sir Giles Taplow seemed to behave like a man 
 and a gentleman. He continued to pay his 
 court after Oswald's disgrace a s he had done 
 before it, nor did he breathe a syllable indicating 
 that he had the remotest participation in the 
 bad opinion that was being everywhere ex-
 
 BOOTS. 277 
 
 pressed respecting the heir of the Carews. This 
 reserve let many of Sir Giles's acquaintances 
 into the secret of his attachment for Amy, for 
 it was the first time this gallant heart had 
 abstained from kicking a man who was down. 
 But he was not quite a free agent. He knew 
 that he had gone so far with x\my as to be 
 in danger of being called to account by her 
 brothers, or by those two valiant and vigilant 
 Captains, Warrener and Hunt, if he put any 
 slight on her ; and this being so, it was but 
 common prudence and policy to speak of his 
 future wife's relatives as he would have them 
 spoken of by others. It no doubt cost him an 
 effort to bridle his ill-natured tongue, but he 
 would have done even more for Amy's sake, 
 seeing that he loved her with a sensuous ad- 
 miration for her beauty, a selfish covetousness 
 of her goodness, sweetness, and domestic 
 qualities, and, that in fact, he wanted just such 
 a wife to be his slave at Taplow Court, and 
 would have no other. But he made sturdy 
 vows to himself, that once married he would 
 keep a tight knot on his purse-strings, and not 
 loosen them, even, if by refusing to do so, he 
 was the cause that all his wife's whole family 
 went to the Bankruptcy Court in the same 'bus. 
 Amy ascribed his fidelity to higher motives ; 
 and seeing him ready to brave public opinion 
 for her sake, felt the less compunction in sacri-
 
 278 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 ficing herself for his. This flow of gratitude on 
 her part towards the man who was ready to 
 stand by her and hers in misfortune, was the 
 one bright incident in a courtship which had 
 been dreary beyond compare. For, indeed, 
 Amy could cherish no illusions as to the extent 
 of the disgrace which Oswald had brought on 
 himself and his family, seeing that even his 
 brothers, when there was no stranger present, 
 blamed the ' clumsy ' way in which he had 
 acted. To her> therefore, who freely acquitted 
 Oswald of everything which others laid to his 
 charge, clumsiness included, it was the greater 
 relief and pride to see that Sir Giles appeared 
 to share her sentiments and, thought not a pin 
 the worse of Oswald since his trouble than 
 prior to it. 
 
 So the wooing proceeded, and it was on a 
 Sunday afternoon that it became patent matters 
 were coming to a head between the pair, and 
 that Sir Giles intended to propose. He had 
 come to luncheon in a glossy frock-coat, in dark 
 blue scarf with a gold fox-head pin, and new 
 dogskin gloves of a flaming brick colour. His 
 reddish beard had a suspicion of oil in it. It is 
 not sure that his handkerchief was not perfumed. 
 He gazed with stolid fixity at the meats, but 
 scarcely partook of them. He spoke little, and 
 drank much less than usual. Everybody divined 
 there was something in the wind, and felt
 
 BOOTS. 279 
 
 uneasy, as if that something was chilly. Amy, 
 who could not but guess, too, felt as any girl 
 must feel who is about to be asked to pledge 
 herself for life to a man whom she does not 
 love. She w T as pale — save when Sir Giles's 
 eyes lighted on her, then she turned crimson — 
 and she wished that anything on earth might 
 happen to delay the consummation yet one or 
 two days longer. 
 
 Luncheon over, Sir Peter, who was unwell, 
 and had complained of draughts during the 
 meal (there were none, but these were almost 
 the only words he had spoken from first to last), 
 retired to his study for a nap. Amy, glancing 
 at the clock, remarked that it was her turn to 
 take an afternoon class at the Stilborough Sun- 
 day School, and asked if any of her sisters 
 would accompany her. Mrs. Warrener and 
 Mrs. Hunt would have been delighted, said 
 they, but they had letters to write ; Isabel and 
 Georgina were, in the same breath, declared to 
 be not quite well, and would stay at home in 
 case visitors called ; Jack, the only brother 
 staying in the house, consequently volunteered 
 to escort his sister, and Sir Giles said he would 
 go too, to see the children put through their 
 religious facings. But it is probable that Jack 
 received private instructions from his elder sis- 
 ters, for no sooner had the three walked a hun- 
 dred yards across the park, than he muttered
 
 2 8o THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 something about having forgotten his handker- 
 chief and going back for it. He requested Amy 
 and the Baronet to walk on, and said he would 
 overtake them. 
 
 Now Sir Giles had rehearsed a little set 
 preamble which he meant to deliver immediately 
 he should be left alone with Amy. It began 
 thus : ' H'm ! do you know I've been spending 
 my morning in a queer way : I've been trying 
 to choose among patterns for new drawing- 
 room curtains ' — and this, for an entrde en 
 mature, as the French term it, would not have 
 been bad, for it would have led up to the obser- 
 vation that curtain-choosing was lady's work. 
 Did Amy understand curtains ? — did she think 
 she could be persuaded to take an interest in 
 these particular curtains ? — and in the room 
 where they were to hang ? — and in the house 
 that contained that room ? &c, &c. ; until the 
 owner of curtains, room, and house finally intro- 
 duced himself as a suppliant for interest too. 
 Unfortunately, Sir Giles was prevented from 
 delivering even the first phrase of this exor- 
 dium, owing to distressing circumstances. He 
 was wearing new boots, and these boots were 
 tight ! 
 
 No man can be sprightly, tender, eloquent, 
 insinuating in tight boots. Let the doubter try. 
 Sir Giles had, whilst Amy was putting on her 
 bonnet, sat near the fire and toasted his soles
 
 BOOTS. 281 
 
 reflectively in the fender, till the leather of 
 these boots had shrunk and hardened as if it 
 were converted into tin — stiff, angular tin, with 
 the angles all inside, and pressing on the ten- 
 derest parts of the feet. This occasioned the 
 wearer excruciating agony when he began to 
 walk on a pebbly path. His progress was a 
 hobble ; his face puckered itself up into an ex- 
 pression betokening that if a lady had not been 
 present he might have used strong language 
 about his shoemaker. Amy could not ignore 
 the predicament. She had started at a quick 
 pace and with beating heart, to make the jour- 
 ney as short as possible ; but her companion 
 dropped astern, he ended by halting altogether, 
 and Amy was obliged to turn. Sir Giles was 
 leaning on his umbrella, a picture of pain, trying 
 to look jolly. 
 
 1 It's these blessed boots,' said he, with a 
 wry attempt at a smile. 
 
 After this window curtains and matrimony 
 receded perforce into the background, and the 
 dialogue took a shoe-leathery turn. Sir Giles 
 was not suffering from tight boots — he hastened 
 to say — what caused him pain was a bruise 
 where a colt, whom he had been breaking in 
 the other day, had trodden on his foot, just be- 
 low the instep — 'just here you see.' Amy knew, 
 she said, that Sir Giles was very brave with 
 horses, but she counselled him to be more care-
 
 282 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 fill with colts. Sir Giles (modestly) thought 
 that as a fact few men could hold a candle to 
 him in throwing a leg over a restive bit of 
 horse-flesh. Had Amy noticed the little tit he 
 was riding the other day when that parson fel- 
 low was here ? ' Your black cob ?' asked Amy. 
 1 Yes, the black cob : well, by Jove, the first 
 time I got astride him, he flew with me slap at 
 a lamp-post ; if I had been riding him with the 
 snaffle only I was as dead as King John' — 
 'Oh!' — from Amy. 'Fact,' avouched Sir Giles; 
 'and what should you have said if you had 
 heard of my being dead, Miss Amy ? ' ' Least 
 said, soonest mended, Sir Giles,' was Amy's 
 adroit answer. ' What, shouldn't you have 
 cared more than that ? ' inquired the Baronet ; 
 and thus, after all, the conversation was gliding 
 on to a sentimental incline, when a turn in the 
 road brought Stilborough steeple into view. It 
 occurred to Sir Giles that if he were to indulge 
 in amorous speeches now he should not have 
 time to finish before the porch were reached ; 
 for, though he and Amy were walking slowly, 
 the distance between Royster and the town was 
 not far. Better, thought he, defer proposals 
 till after church, and have the thing out plea- 
 santly under the trees of the park, coming back. 
 The main requisite to him for the moment was 
 to sit down and rest, so that his boots might 
 cool and resume their elasticity.
 
 BOOTS. 283 
 
 Rest proved all the easier to procure, as it 
 turned out that Amy and her companion had 
 altogether miscalculated the time, and had ar- 
 rived much later than they expected. The 
 clock at the Hall must have been out of reckon- 
 ing, and Sir Giles's lameness must have doubled 
 the expenditure of minutes on the road ; any- 
 how, the Sunday school was well-nigh ended, 
 and the first bell was ringing for service when 
 they came to the porch. This, though dis- 
 appointing to Amy, suited the book of Sir 
 Giles, for it relieved him from the necessity of 
 pacing about on the pavement till the church 
 doors were opened. He and Amy parted in 
 the nave, she going to sit among the little people 
 whom she ought to have been teaching for the 
 past hour, he limping his way towards Sir Peter 
 Carew's pew. This pew was a gigantic strong- 
 hold of the old fashion, with high oak walls and 
 red curtains ; the only such one that had with- 
 stood the innovations of the late Vicar, who 
 had cut down all the others to modern dimen- 
 sions. It stood immediately under the pulpit. 
 
 Now, sitting here alone and invisible, Sir 
 Giles mused upon his boots. They were not 
 cooling so fast as he could have wished, not by 
 any means. The First Lesson was already 
 being read and it was evident that, unless the 
 process of refrigeration were artificially accele- 
 rated, his feet would be as tightly pinched by-
 
 284 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 and-by as now. What if he were to give the 
 boots fairer play by taking them off ? . . . They 
 would then have the benefit of fresh air, and in 
 such a tank as the pew was, it would be easy to 
 put them on again after service, unseen. 
 
 From the conception of this facile plan to 
 its execution, needed no more time than was 
 required for Sir Giles to set both hands firmly 
 on the ledge of the seat on either side of him 
 and give himself a purchase. He then raised 
 his left leg, and, applying to its heel the toe of 
 his right foot, tugged hard as at a bootjack ; 
 but, the leather being so new and slippery, the 
 heel parted swiftly from the toe and darted back 
 on the operator's right shin with all the force 
 of a sounding kick. A monosyllable, rhyming 
 audibly with lamb, exploded forthwith. The 
 Baronet stooped to rub his bruised limb ; but 
 in a minute, recommenced by reversing the ex- 
 periment — that is, by resting the right heel upon 
 the left toe. This time the boots flew asunder 
 as before, but the battering power of the re- 
 leased heel spent itself upon Sir Giles's hat, 
 standing under the pew seat, and made a noise 
 loud enough to cause every worshipper in 
 church to prick up his ears. Sir Giles remained 
 mum a moment, and despondingly decided for 
 taking off his boots in the most natural way 
 with his hands. Unfortunately, nature, in fashion- 
 ing him so fat, had not intended that he should
 
 BOOTS. 285 
 
 remove new boots without mechanical assist- 
 ance. It was only with the utmost tugging, 
 perspiring, and gasping, that he succeeded in 
 wrenching off the left boot, but the right one 
 would not be dislodged on any terms. Sir 
 Giles burst off the two hind buttons of his pan- 
 taloons in the retching effort to bend himself 
 double ; he hurt his hands and tore his gloves ; 
 the blood had flowed to his head in such a hot 
 tide that he thought he should break a blood- 
 vessel ; but it was of not the slightest use, for 
 all he did was to shift the boot into some sort 
 of diagonal position, much more discomforting 
 than at first, his heel being partially raised 
 inside, and jammed against a crease made by 
 his efforts to stamp the foot down into its 
 original location. Here was a fix ! and, to make 
 matters worse, the Baronet, as he dropped his 
 arms by his side, and raised his glance with the 
 woe-begone air of a man who feels himself 
 baffled, perceived that he was distinctly visible 
 from the raised desk of the parish clerk on the 
 other side of the nave, and that this functionary 
 had been observing his little games with the 
 eye of astonishment and horror. 
 
 1 Con — found the boots ! ' muttered Sir Giles, 
 and he hastily elaborated a new resolution. He 
 would put on his left boot again as he best 
 could, and, pressing a handkerchief against his 
 face to make the congregation believe he was
 
 286 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 suffering from nasal hemorrhage, he would hob- 
 ble out of church through the vestry (which was 
 the shortest cut), walk thence across the road to 
 the Red Lion, hire a trap and drive off home 
 to put on other boots. Taplow Court was but 
 three miles distant, and by driving hard he 
 should be able to get there and back within an 
 hour, which was the time that would probably 
 be needed to finish the service with the sermon. 
 This he did ; and if ever girl felt a relief at 
 obtaining a day's respite from a dreaded fate, 
 it was Amy, when she saw him vanish through 
 the vestry door, and hoped she should not see 
 him again till the morrow.
 
 287 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 A vestry is a private room, and Sir Giles had 
 no actual business to cross it in order to abridge 
 his via doloi'osa ; but this consideration did not 
 trouble him ; nor did he scruple to borrow the 
 Vicar's waterproof mackintosh when he found 
 it was raining. The sky had been cloudy all 
 day, and the rain now falling was a misty drizzle, 
 with wind, of the kind against which an um- 
 brella in a dog-cart offers no protection. Sir 
 Giles had more affection for his new coat than 
 for his new boots and did not wish it spoiled ; 
 he unhooked the mackintosh from a peg, where 
 it was hanging in contiguity to last week's sur- 
 plice for Monday's wash, and found it wrapped 
 him up most comfortably. He looked like a 
 cabman in it. 
 
 His departure had ruffled the mind of the 
 clerk, to whom his presence in church was not 
 a familiar sight, and who struggled to compre- 
 hend why a gentleman should come into church 
 for the purpose of trying to take off his boots,
 
 288 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 and, having failed, dart out again without say- 
 ing ' with your leave 'or 'by your leave/ The 
 unravelling of such a problem was too intricate 
 work for the worthy man who had sing-songed 
 1 ah-men ' through his nose in Stilborough 
 Church for the past thirty years, so he contented 
 himself with emitting a more sonorous ' ah-men ' 
 than usual at the end of the prayer for 'all 
 sorts and conditions of men ' (amongst whom the 
 puzzling baronet would remain included despite 
 his truancy), and the service pursued the even 
 tenour of its way. 
 
 Prayers, an anthem, more prayers, then a 
 hymn ; and at afternoon service, when the con- 
 gregation is ordinarily thin, when the responses 
 seem to lose themselves in the gaps of unoccu- 
 pied seats in the pews, and when the singing is 
 apt to straggle into false notes through insuffi- 
 ciency of voices, it may seem to some that the 
 service is less impressive than at matins ; and 
 yet the reader may perhaps agree that to those 
 who go to church for the sake of worshipping, 
 these afternoon services have a charm not always 
 to be met with at those of the morning. 
 
 Devout as we may wish to be at morning 
 prayer, we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that 
 we are attending a grand parade of fellow sin- 
 ners in that finery, concerning which their god- 
 fathers and godmothers made certain rash pro- 
 mises on their behalf at their baptism. Our
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 289 
 
 fellow sinner, Mr. Pottinger, junior, has got a 
 new necktie ; — blue with vertical orange stripes 
 — our attractive fellow sinneresses, the Misses 
 Pettigrew (three) have bloomed out in fresh 
 pink bonnets ; that excellent fellow sinner, Mrs. 
 Poltisham, wife of the doctor, is sporting a new 
 silk gown, made as we charitably presume, out 
 of the hat-bands presented by the undertaker at 
 the funerals of different ailing sinners whom her 
 husband has assisted into a better world. Then 
 there is no end to the fellow sinners whose 
 appearance has altered in some minute point 
 or other since the previous Sabbath. One is 
 letting his beard sprout, another has a cold in 
 the head, a third has assumed a proud look and 
 high stomach on the strength of a bit of luck 
 that has befallen him, a fourth has grown hag- 
 gard and feeble under the stroke of sudden 
 calamity ; and all these things must be made 
 mental note of; for do they not supply the stock 
 out of which we shall draw chat for the fireside, 
 and gossip for the market-place, during all the 
 ensuing week ? Well-a-day ! it is in vain that 
 we endeavour to lend our attention to the list of 
 good things which we are imploring of heaven 
 — daily bread, health and wealth, victories for 
 our Queen, wisdom and understanding for the 
 nobility, unity, peace, and concord for all na- 
 tions ! Still, ever and anon will our butterfly 
 thoughts flit, for the banns of marriage pub- 
 vol. 1. u
 
 290 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 Iished between Mr. Thompson and Miss Jack- 
 son set us a cogitating ; and we must join in the 
 special prayer for some one who has been sick 
 and desires to return thanks that Providence has 
 rescued him from the boluses of Dr. Poltisham ; 
 and a promise of a sermon next Sunday by the 
 Right Rev. Bishop of Killaloo elates us, and 
 an announcement of a collection, this day, in 
 aid of the Antipodesian Mission depresses; so 
 that thus we pass from one sensation to the 
 other at this morning service, which is so well 
 thronged by fellow sinners that a non-local sin- 
 ner with a white hat, w T ho comes in during the 
 Psalms, can be accommodated with a seat no- 
 where but on a chair near the font, whence he 
 stares stonily at the stained-glass windows, the 
 communion plate, and the Misses Pettigrew, 
 and sets speculation rife as to what can be the 
 particular line of sinfulness which he follows for 
 a living — the artistic, the commercial, or the 
 legal ? 
 
 But at afternoon service fewer incidents 
 divert us, and the paucity of worshippers 
 seems to draw a more familiar bond between 
 those who are present. It is the service for 
 widows, old maids, aged men who have outlived 
 their families — for all who have no cheerful home 
 to keep them indoors during the hours between 
 noon and dusk. Also maid-servants, redolent 
 of yellow soap and lavender, abound, sharing
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 291 
 
 their hymn-books with whiskered Jeames and 
 John, or with seductive young fellow sinners in 
 the cheesemongering or grocering station of life. 
 Perhaps a suckling, puling baby or two waiting 
 to be christened, add a kind of homeliness to the 
 general scene ; and over such a comparatively 
 commonplace congregation the minister does 
 not think of scattering the flowers of rhetoric 
 that fall from his morning sermons. He preaches 
 less about doctrine, and more about duty ; less 
 of mystery, more of faith ; and his words, may- 
 be, gain in force what they lose in elevation. 
 
 On the present afternoon Paul Rushbrand was 
 in his happiest vein. He was not indifferent to 
 the clouds which had been thickening over 
 Royster Hall, Amy's home, and he had been 
 much concerned to think that she would be in 
 sadness on her scapegrace brothers account ; 
 but after all the troubles of the Carews (so far as 
 he had heard of them) were money troubles, and 
 he could not bring himself to look upon these as 
 incurable. It had not reached him that Amy 
 was on the point of being engaged to Sir Giles 
 Taplow. If he called to mind her tears in 
 Royster Park, he attributed them to causes be- 
 yond his ken ; and he remembered that through- 
 out the dinner she had seemed to shrink from 
 Sir Giles, and to look upon him with aversion. 
 This filled him with a bliss which he could not 
 know to be love, for we seldom do label the word 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 1 love ' on the first sweet, overpowering sensa- 
 tions which flood our erst empty hearts when we 
 begin to realise that we are living in a day-dream 
 of vague, ecstatic hopes. Enough that Paul 
 lived on Amy ; on thoughts of her ; recollections 
 of her ; hopes about her ; and this was reason 
 sufficient why he should make very passionate 
 love in his afternoon sermon. 
 
 Make love in a sermon ? Oh, yes, and why 
 not, since the poet and the painter, the tale 
 writer, the musician, insert in their works pas- 
 sages and touches which are not meant for the 
 eyes and ears of all, but only for certain eyes and 
 ears. This is often the resource of shy minds 
 who will express with pen and pencil things they 
 would not dare say face to face ; but occasionally 
 the declaration bursts forth unconsciously, flowing 
 like water over the banks of an overfull river ; 
 and thus it was with Paul. He had ascended 
 the pulpit, intending to preach extempore (as he 
 mostly did) from the text : ' He will not suffer 
 you to be tempted above that ye are able ; ' but as 
 he was turning over the leaves of his Bible, 
 during the singing of the hymn, his eyes settled 
 first on Amy, then on this verse in one of the 
 Gospels : 'And there was a marriage in Cana 
 of Galilee! It seemed like an inspiration ; he 
 caught it, and preached a sermon on the holiness 
 of marriage, where it is a sincere union of two 
 hearts.
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 293 
 
 The burden of all he said might be repeated 
 in the old law that ' marriages are made in 
 Heaven.' Jesus had sanctified the Cananite 
 wedding by his presence ; and by turning water 
 into wine God demonstrated that marriage was 
 rightly made an occasion of peculiar rejoicing. 
 In the Roman wedding rite it was customary for 
 the bride to say : Ubi tu Gains ego Gaza,' and so 
 Jewish brides repeated the words of Ruth to her 
 mother-in-law, Naomi : ' Whither thou goest I 
 will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge ; thy 
 people shall be my people, and thy God my God.' 
 No completer act of self-surrender could be made 
 by a woman, and if it behoved her to consult 
 with her heart, and see that it was not made 
 amiss, that is, thoughtlessly, so was it most bind- 
 ing on the man to see that he comprehended it, 
 and was equal to the heavy, yet blessed, respon- 
 sibilities which it laid upon him. Marriage was 
 a mutual compact to love, honour, and cherish, 
 and it was especially necessary that honour should 
 exist, each for each, for without it there could 
 be no security of happiness. The woman who 
 pledged herself submissively to obey a man all 
 her life, and who said to him : ' Thy God shall 
 be my God,' must be able to respect his judg- 
 ment, his honesty, and his love of truth ; likewise 
 the man, who promised faithful worship and pro- 
 tection, must respect the woman's gentleness and 
 purity. Yet, in outward appearance, honour was
 
 294 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 an element wanting in occasional marriages 
 which usually had the divine blessing on them 
 — as, for instance, when a virtuous woman out of 
 deep love married a man of ruined character, 
 whom she knew to have been dishonest, and per- 
 haps to be so still, but whom she hoped, by her 
 tenderness and her example, to redeem. Such 
 devoted women were justly termed heroines or 
 angels, though by a seeming contradiction the 
 world gave no praise to the man who acted 
 similarly, marrying a debased woman in hopes 
 of saving her. The explanation of this was that 
 the self-sacrifice of woman in marriage was much 
 greater than that of the man, for whereas a man 
 in marrying might be said only to take to himself 
 a servant, the woman undoubtedlv Qr a ve herself 
 a master. And whenever a woman was found to 
 betroth herself to a man freely, spontaneously, it 
 was obvious that honour for him must be felt by 
 her, despite appearances, for love clothes with 
 honour those on whom it is lavished ; it makes 
 their faces to shine, their persons to be sweet, 
 their very faults to seem comely. No matter 
 what the world might say of a man, the woman 
 who loved should endow him with virtues 
 he did not possess — make excuses for his past 
 failings, hope better things of him in the future, 
 and go on ever hoping to the end. Thus it 
 was that the vagaries of real love were all 
 pardonable in the sight of Heaven, as our Lord
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 295 
 
 decreed when he said of Mary Magdalen : ' She 
 hath loved much, and much shall be forgiven 
 her.' Love was, in fact, the finest quintessence 
 of charity. But woe to the foolish or mercenary 
 marriages that were contracted without love, for 
 these must be founded upon perjury. There 
 could be no true promise to cherish or obey him 
 or her whom one's heart did not inwardly glorify ; 
 and if two persons were joined together without 
 having resolved to blend their two beings into 
 one by mutual trust, self-denial, and adoration, 
 the tie that bound them must very soon prove 
 irksome. Worldly calculation might plan fine 
 schemes of wedded bliss, but it could not forge 
 that mystic link which united those whom God 
 had truly joined together, and which held them 
 fast, side by side, for mutual support, aid and 
 comfort in the hour of trial. Therein was the 
 proof, God's blessing on marriage, that when love 
 had drawn a man and woman together they could 
 know no despair, for while each remained true 
 to the other, they combated adversity with a 
 doubled strength and doubled hopes. 
 
 Thus preached Paul. Perhaps, the yellow- 
 soap and lavender-scented abigails thought he 
 spoke too much of the obedience due from 
 women to their lords ; and perhaps the lords 
 aforesaid — Jeames, John, and the cheesemon- 
 gering young gentlemen — didn't ' quite see " 
 the fun of denying themselves all their days
 
 296 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 for these fragrant Janes and Marias. But these 
 judged after their kind. Amy had been listen- 
 ing with all her heart, and every sentence had 
 thrilled her with a sensation which was not 
 painful, but at first rather pleasing. She was 
 in the position of a prisoner who has just ob- 
 tained a temporary reprieve, and who, though 
 knowing that a dreaded doom still hangs over 
 her, indulges in exuberant hopes on the strength 
 of her unexpected relief. Paul's words painted 
 to her imagination a happy scene of home life, 
 such as all women crave for ; and her own 
 fancy filled up his sketches with living forms — 
 her own first — but whose was the other ? Well 
 his was as yet a form without a face, the dim 
 half-seen image of a man whom she might love 
 with all her soul, who should be brave, gentle, 
 kind, and wholly good ; consequently it was not 
 the face of Sir Giles Taplow. 
 
 All this lasted till Paul had finished speak- 
 ing, then suddenly the brightness within her 
 was darkened. She saw the hard reality of her 
 coming dreary engagement to Sir Giles, and 
 thought that Paul had heard of it, and had 
 wished by his sermon to warn her against the 
 loveless match. This made her cheek flame, 
 and her pride was in a way hurt and confounded 
 by his presumption. What could he know of 
 her feelings ? And if he guessed that she neither 
 loved nor honoured Sir Giles, why did he not
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 297 
 
 do her the justice to conclude that she was not 
 acting of her own free will ? ' Oh, kind Heaven ! 
 have pity on me, for have I any free will in this 
 matter ? ' she moaned, as she buried her face in 
 her hands, after the service. ' What am I to 
 do ? . . . Where does my duty lie ? If I say 
 "No" when I am asked to marry Sir Giles, 
 how shall I bear my sisters' reproaches, and 
 my own self-reproaches too, for I shall never 
 cease accusing myself for having hesitated to 
 assist my family through selfishness. Oh, 
 Heaven, guide me, guide me!' . . . 
 
 When she rose from her knees, tearful and 
 heart-sore, Amy's most pressing wish was to 
 get out of the church as soon as possible. She 
 shrank from meeting- the vicar's gaze, which 
 she made sure would be bent on her in reproof. 
 
 But it was fated that she should not get out 
 as she desired, for it continued to rain, and Sir 
 Giles had not returned. Amy had not brought 
 an umbrella either, neither had her brother Jack 
 come ; all things, in short, conspired against 
 her, and she stood under the porch wondering 
 what she should do. The congregation were 
 hurrying out with exclamations of disgust at 
 having to face the drizzle, and that worse mud, 
 so injurious to Sunday garments. Skirts were 
 pulled high enough to reveal wide expanses of 
 white underclothing ; and handkerchiefs were 
 tied, over beflowered bonnets, and charitable
 
 298 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 souls, having umbrellas, made shift to huddle 
 other souls under them ; and not a soul amidst 
 all these damp, struggling, distraught souls took 
 any notice of Amy, who was presently left 
 standing alone. 
 
 In this situation she was found by the ver- 
 ger, a rosy-faced official. He had divested 
 himself of his serge gown, and gone his round 
 of the pews to see that no valuables had been 
 left there, and now he had come to lock the 
 doors. But his gallantry caught fire on behold- 
 ing Sir Peter's cavalierless daughter, and he 
 made her the offer to choose between two acts 
 of service — the loan of a gingham, or the fetch- 
 ing of a fly from the Red Lion. Amy chose, 
 with thanks, that he should fetch a fly if it 
 would not take too long. ' It would not take 
 'arf a minute, miss,' said he, and was about to 
 start, when a voice was heard calling him from 
 inside the church. 
 
 I Duddes ! ' 
 
 ' Yessir — beg pardon, miss, that's the vicar's, 
 voice/ and Duddes vanished behind the inner 
 red-baize door. 
 
 ' I can't find my waterproof, Duddes. Some- 
 body must have taken it from the vestry,' Paul 
 said, and was distinctly heard by Amy. 
 
 ' When did you last see it, sir ? ' asked the 
 rosy verger. 
 
 I I was wearing it when I came to church.
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 299 
 
 The clerk suggests that Sir Giles Taplow may 
 have taken it ? ' 
 
 1 Very likely, I should think, sir/ replied 
 Duddes, as if that was a very happy thought of 
 the clerk's. 
 
 ' Well, but I wish he had had the grace to 
 empty the pockets then/ remarked Paul, dis- 
 pleased, ' there was something of value to me in 
 one of them.' 
 
 ' Money, sir ?' asked Duddes. 
 
 1 No, no, more valuable than money/ 
 
 As he said this, Paul pushed the door, and 
 unexpectedly confronted Amy. He started, 
 and both coloured. 
 
 ' My brother Jack ought to have come to 
 fetch me, and I am waiting for a fly/ explained 
 Amy, being the first to speak. 
 
 1 But, pray don't wait here in the wet and 
 cold,' begged Paul, civilly. ' Let me take you 
 to the vicarage ; my mother will be delighted 
 to see you/ 
 
 ' No, thank you, not to-day, though I pro- 
 mise to come and make acquaintance with Mrs. 
 Rushbrand some other time.' 
 
 ' No time is so good as the present. But if 
 you won't come and be made comfortable for 
 half an hour with a fire and a cup of tea, at 
 least step inside the church till Duddes can run 
 over to the hotel.' 
 
 This Amy did, but would not advance
 
 300 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 beyond the font, which, being under the organ- 
 loft, stood in a semi-obscurity that veiled the 
 play of her features. She began by apologising 
 for her absence from the Sunday school, which 
 led to a five minutes' conversation about the 
 proficiency of the divers young catechumens 
 in their theoretical duty towards Heaven and 
 their neighbour. Then, the fly not having yet 
 come, there was an awkward pause. Amy im- 
 pulsively broke it, for she was smitten with a 
 sudden desire to have it out with the vicar, and 
 ascertain whether he had been preaching at 
 her or not. 
 
 1 That was quite a nice sermon of yours, 
 Mr. Rushbrand. I suppose I may congratulate 
 you on being soon about to enter the blessed 
 state ? ' 
 
 'Why ? Because I preached about mar- 
 riage ? ' said Paul with his boyish shyness steal- 
 ing over him, so that he dared not lessen the 
 distance between himself and Amy which the 
 intervening font kept between them. ' Oh, no, 
 Miss Carew. I am not going ' 
 
 ' If not you, then some one of your congre- 
 gation, I presume ? You would hardly have 
 preached us a wedding sermon without having 
 a bride or bridegroom in view.' 
 
 'Well there are marriages in the parish 
 almost every week, you know. This week, for 
 instance, young Mr. Thompson, the baker, is
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 301 
 
 going to marry Miss Jackson, the plumber's 
 daughter.' 
 
 1 Heigho ! I'm afraid Miss Jackson must 
 be a very bad girl, since you launch such hard 
 things at her.' 
 
 ' Hard things ? ' 
 
 1 Why, yes — telling her that unless she was 
 ready to fall down and worship Mr. Thompson 
 and look up to him as an aethereal being there 
 was no chance of her union being a happy one.' 
 
 1 Ethereal being ! No — he weighs fifteen 
 stone.' 
 
 1 And is horribly floury about the hair and 
 clothes and all that ? ' 
 
 ' I can't gainsay it,' rejoined Paul, smiling. 
 
 1 Well then, why ignore the moral, which is, 
 that girls cannot always get the husbands they 
 would like — Adonises, Admirable Crichtons, 
 or what not — and that it is consequently very 
 unfair on them if they are made to suffer 
 because they cannot bestow other sentiments 
 on their husbands but such as these are calcu- 
 lated to inspire ? ' 
 
 * Surely, though, a baker can inspire love ?' 
 
 1 Oh, yes. I suppose Miss Jackson was 
 taken by his seductive manner of handing the 
 half-quartern loaves out of his cart.' 
 
 1 Say, rather, by his giving honest weight 
 and baking such beautiful top-crusts,' responded 
 Paul in the same vein of pleasantry. ' The
 
 3 02 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 truth is, I believe the pair are very fond of 
 each other.' 
 
 'It is fortunate that it turns out so, but it 
 might have happened that they felt for each 
 other nothing beyond a commonplace regard.' 
 
 ' In that case they would hardly have be- 
 come affianced,' remarked Paul. 
 
 ' I don't know. Take this case,' answered 
 Amy in an argumentative way. ' Supposing Mr. 
 Thompson had been in love with Miss Jackson 
 — we will concede that much — but that Miss 
 Jackson had not been in love, in fact, had not 
 liked Mr. Thompson at all ; only, that to please 
 her family, who had very, very particular 
 reasons for desiring the match, she had con- 
 sented to marry the baker, resolving to be a 
 good, faithful wife to him and to act in all things 
 as if she did love him ? ' 
 
 ' Can you simulate love ? ' interrupted Paul 
 dubiously. 
 
 1 N — no-no, you cannot,' said Amy quickly, 
 k but that is the man's affair if he chooses to be 
 content with what his wife can give him. I am 
 supposing that Miss Jackson had owned to Mr. 
 Thompson the true state of her feelings, and 
 that they had married in the understanding that 
 she was to do her best — be kind, devoted, 
 sweet-tempered with him, and all that — do you 
 mean to say that if she fulfilled her part of the 
 compact like a true-hearted woman Heaven
 
 A SERMON ON MARRIAGE. 303 
 
 would frown on her and cause her life to be 
 wretched ? ' 
 
 1 What a question, Miss Carew ! What can 
 have put such thoughts as these in your head ? ' 
 observed Paul, perplexed. 
 
 ' They were suggested by your sermon on 
 the cause of loveless marriages,' said Amy, 
 coolly ; ' but please answer my query, Mr. 
 Rushbrand. Do you hold that a girl who from 
 generous motives married a man whom she did 
 not like, and who did her duty by him equally 
 as if he had been the man of her free choice — do 
 you hold that such a girl commits a heinous sin 
 and deserves to be cursed ? ' 
 
 ' Heaven forbid,' answered Paul anxiously, 
 for he was beginning to detect a disquieting sig- 
 nificance in these strange interrogatories. ' The 
 sin, if any, would rest upon those who com- 
 pelled her to this sacrifice, and on the man who 
 accepted it.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Mr. Rushbrand. That is all 
 I wanted to know ; and now, good-bye, for I 
 hear the fly coming.' 
 
 The sleeve of a sealskin jacket touched 
 Paul's wrist, a pair of soft eyes beamed their 
 light into his, and a small hand was laid in 
 his own. Her fingers clasped round it and 
 there was an instant's pressure — but who 
 gave it, he or she ? The next moment she 
 was gone.
 
 3 04 THAT ARTFUL VICAR. 
 
 By the time Amy reached Royster, her 
 sisters were on the hot coals of expectation. 
 Seeing her alight alone from the fly, they has- 
 tened into the hall. 
 
 ' Well ? ' inquired they eagerly, as they 
 barred her passage. ' Well, is it all over ? 
 Has he proposed ? ' 
 
 1 No, his boots were too tight,' answered 
 Amy, maliciously ; and she brushed by, enjoying 
 the effects of her joke. 
 
 # 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET 
 
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