down to the sea, invaded him; they were
persistent. He was a worthy man, having within him the spiritual impulse
curiously ready to take the place where a material disappointment left
vacancy. The vulgar sort embrace the devil at that stage. Before the day
had sunk, Mr. Barmby's lowest wish was, to be a light, as the instrument
of his Church in her ministrations amid the haunts of sin and slime, to
such plain souls as Daniel Skepsey and Matilda Pridden. And he could
still be that, if Nesta, in the chapters of the future, changed her mind.
She might; for her good she would; he reserved the hope. His light was
one to burn beneath an extinguisher.

At the luncheon table of the Duvidney ladies, it was a pain to Dorothea
and Virginia to witness how poor the appetite their Nesta brought in from
the briny blowy walk. They prophesied against her chances of a good sleep
at night, if she did not eat heartily. Virginia timidly remarked on her
paleness. Both of them put their simple arts in motion to let her know,
that she was dear to them: so dear as to make them dread the hour of
parting. They named their dread of it. They had consulted in private and
owned to one another, that they did really love the child, and dared not
look forward to what they would do without her. The dear child's paleness
and want of appetite (they remembered they were observing a weak innocent
girl) suggested to them mutually the idea of a young female heart
sickening, for the old unhappy maiden reason. But, if only she might
return with them to the Wells, the Rev. Stuart Rem would assure her to
convince her of her not being quite, quite forsaken. He, or some one
having sanction from Victor, might ultimately (the ladies waiting
anxiously in the next room, to fold her on the warmth of their bosoms
when she had heard) impart to her the knowledge of circumstances, which
would, under their further tuition concerning the particular sentiments
of great families and the strict duties of the scions of the race, help
to account for and excuse the Hon. Dudley Sowerby's behaviour.

They went up to the drawing-room, talking of Skepsey and his tale of Miss
Pridden, for Nesta's amusement. Any talk of her Skepsey usually quickened
her lips to reminiscent smiles and speech. Now she held on to gazeing;
and sadly, it seemed; as if some object were not present.

For a vague encouragement, Dorothea said: 'One week, and we are back home
at Moorsedge!'--not so far from Cronid