not a charming prospect, not to say that it involved a
renunciation of the district for the present at least, and possibly for
ever; for if Mr Wentworth could not marry as long as he was a perpetual
curate, it followed of necessity that he could not marry until he had left
Carlingford--an idea which Lucy turned over in her mind very seriously
as she walked home, for this once unattended. A new light seemed to be
thrown upon the whole matter by this thought. To consent to be married
simply for her own happiness, to the disadvantage in any respect of her
husband, was an idea odious to this young woman, who, like most young
women, preferred to represent even to herself that it was for _his_
happiness that she permitted herself to be persuaded to marry; but if
duty were involved, that was quite another affair. It was quite evident
to Lucy, as she walked towards Grange Lane, that the Curate would not be
able to find any one to take her place in the district; perhaps
also--for she was honest even in her self-delusions--Lucy was aware that
she might herself have objections to the finding of a substitute; and
what then? Was the great work to be interrupted because she could not
bear the idea of possibly diminishing some of his external comforts by
allowing him to have his way, and to be what he considered happy? Such
was the wonderful length to which her thoughts had come when she reached
the garden-door, from which Mr Wentworth himself, flushed and eager,
came hastily out as she approached. So far from explaining his
unaccountable absence, or even greeting her with ordinary politeness,
the young man seized her by the arm and brought her into the garden with
a rapidity which made her giddy. "What is it--what do you mean?" Lucy
cried with amazement as she found herself whirled through the sunshine
and half carried up the stairs. Mr Wentworth made no answer until he had
deposited her breathless in her own chair, in her own corner, and then
got down on his knee beside her, as men in his crazy circumstances are
not unapt to do.

"Lucy, look here. I was a perpetual curate the other day when you said
you would have me," said the energetic lover, who was certainly out of
his wits, and did not know what he was saying--"and you said you did
not mind?"

"I said it did not matter," said Lucy, who was slightly piqued that he
did not recollect exactly the form of so important a decision. "I knew
well enough you were a perpetual curate. Has