ust be some mistake,
that the girl had been overtaken by a wild desire to "pull their legs" as
dear Charlie would say. With the hope of getting this view confirmed,
they lay in wait for the old nurse who took the baby out, and obtained
the information, shortly imparted: "Oh, yes; Miss Noel's. Her 'usband
was killed--poor lamb!" And they felt rewarded. They had been sure there
was some mistake. The relief of hearing that word "'usband" was intense.
One of these hasty war marriages, of which the dear Vicar had not
approved, and so it had been kept dark. Quite intelligible, but so sad!
Enough misgiving however remained in their minds, to prevent their going
to condole with the dear Vicar; but not enough to prevent their roundly
contradicting the rumours and gossip already coming to their ears. And
then one day, when their friend Mrs. Curtis had said too positively:
"Well, she doesn't wear a wedding-ring, that I'll swear, because I took
very good care to look!" they determined to ask Mr. Lauder. He
would--indeed must--know; and, of course, would not tell a story. When
they asked him it was so manifest that he did know, that they almost
withdrew the question. The poor young man had gone the colour of a
tomato.

"I prefer not to answer," he said. The rest of a very short interview
was passed in exquisite discomfort. Indeed discomfort, exquisite and
otherwise, within a few weeks of Noel's return, had begun to pervade all
the habitual congregation of Pierson's church. It was noticed that
neither of the two sisters attended Service now. Certain people who went
in the sincere hope of seeing Noel, only fell off again when she did not
appear. After all, she would not have the face! And Gratian was too
ashamed, no doubt. It was constantly remarked that the Vicar looked very
grave and thin, even for him. As the rumours hardened into certainty,
the feeling towards him became a curious medley of sympathy and
condemnation. There was about the whole business that which English
people especially resent. By the very fact of his presence before them
every Sunday, and his public ministrations, he was exhibiting to them, as
it were, the seamed and blushing face of his daughter's private life,
besides affording one long and glaring demonstration of the failure of
the Church to guide its flock: If a man could not keep his own daughter
in the straight path--whom could he? Resign! The word began to be
thought about, but not yet s