to. The incomprehensibleness of
women is an old theory, but what is that to the curious wondering
observation with which wives, mothers, and sisters watch the other
unreasoning animal in those moments when he has snatched the reins out
of their hands, and is not to be spoken to! What he will make of it in
those unassisted moments, afflicts the compassionate female understanding.
It is best to let him come to, and feel his own helplessness. Such was
Mrs Proctor's conclusion, as, vexed, distressed, and helpless, she leant
back in her chair, and wiped a few tears of disappointment and vexation
out of her bright old eyes.

The Rector saw this movement, and it once more excited him to speech.
"But you shall have a house in Oxford, mother," he cried--"you shan't go
back to Devonshire--where I can see you every day, and you can hear all
that is going on. Bravo! that will be a thousand times better than
Carlingford."

It was now Mrs Proctor's turn to jump up, startled, and put her hand on
his mouth and point to the door. The Rector did not care for the door;
he had disclosed his sentiments, he had taken his resolution, and now
the sooner all was over the better for the emancipated man.

Thus concluded the brief incumbency of the Reverend Morley Proctor. He
returned to Oxford before his year of grace was over, and found
everybody very glad to see him; and he left Carlingford with universal
good wishes. The living fell to Morgan, who wanted to be married, and
whose turn was much more to be a working clergyman than a classical
commentator. Old Mrs Proctor got a pretty house under shelter of the
trees of St Giles's, and half the under-graduates fell in love with the
old lady in the freshness of her second lifetime. Carlingford passed
away like a dream from the lively old mother's memory, and how could
any reminiscences of that uncongenial locality disturb the recovered
beatitude of the Fellow of All-Souls?

Yet all was not so satisfactory as it appeared. Mr Proctor paid for his
temporary absence. All-Souls was not the Elysium it had been before that
brief disastrous voyage into the world. The good man felt the stings of
failure; he felt the mild jokes of his brethren in those Elysian fields.
He could not help conjuring up to himself visions of Morgan with his new
wife in that pretty rectory. Life, after all, did not consist of books,
nor were Greek verbs essential to happiness. The strong emotion into
which his own failure had