made him
his curate, and had heard no complaints, except from a few puritanical
souls. These he looked on as barbarians, and had calmly ignored them and
their prejudices ever since he transferred his library from St. John's
College, Cambridge, to St. Peter's Rectory, and that was thirty years
ago.

This sudden substitute of an utter stranger for Dr. Fynes afflicted
Grace Carden not a little, and her wedding-day began with a tear or two
on that account. But, strange as it may appear, she lived to alter her
mind, and to thank and bless Mr. Beresford for taking her old friend's
place on that great occasion.

But while the bride dressed for church, and her bridemaids and friends
drove up, events were taking place to deal with which I must retrograde
a step.

Jael Dence having gone to Woodbine Villa, Mrs. Little and her brother
dined tete-a-tete; and the first question she asked was, "Why where is
Jael?"

"Don't you know? gone to Woodbine Villa. The wedding is to-morrow."

"What, my Jael gone to that girl's wedding!" And her eyes flashed with
fire.

"Why not? I am going to it myself."

"I am sorry to hear you say so--very sorry."

"Why, she is my godchild. Would you have me affront her?"

"If she is your godchild, Henry is your nephew."

"Of course, and I did all I could to marry him to Grace; but, you see,
he would be wiser than me."

"Dear Guy, my poor Henry was to blame for not accepting your generous
offer; but that does not excuse this heartless, fickle girl."

Raby's sense of justice began to revolt. "My dear Edith, I can't bear
to hear you speak so contemptuously of this poor girl, who has so nearly
died for love of your son. She is one of the noblest, purest, most
unselfish creatures I ever knew. Why judge so hastily? But that is the
way with you ladies; it must be the woman who is in the wrong. Men are
gods, and women devils; that is your creed."

"Is HENRY going to marry another?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then what excuse can there be for her conduct? Does wrong become right,
when this young lady does it? It is you who are prejudiced, not I. Her
conduct is without excuse. I have written to her: she has replied, and
has offered me no excuse. 'Forgive me,' she says, 'and forget me.' I
shall never forgive her; and you must permit me to despise her for a few
years before I forget her."

"Well, don't excite yourself so. My poor Edith, some day or other
you will be sorry you ever said a word against