ot a soul in Wentworth to oppose--you know
there is not. Put anything you please in the church--preach how you
please--light the candles or anything. Gerald, you know it is true I
am saying--I am not trying to deceive you!" cried the poor soul,
bewildered in her folly and her grief.

"No, Louisa, no--only you don't understand," said her husband, with a
groan: he had raised his head, and was looking at her with a hopeless
gleam of impatience in the pity and anguish of his eyes. He took her
little hand and held it between his own, which were trembling with all
this strain--her little tender helpless woman's hand, formed only for
soft occupations and softer caresses; it was not a hand which could
help a man in such an emergency; it was without any grasp in it to
take hold upon him, or force of love to part--a clinging impotent
hand, such as holds down, but cannot raise up. He held it in a close
tremulous pressure, as she stood looking down upon him, questioning
him with eager hopeful eyes, and taking comfort in her ignorance from
his silence, and the way in which he held her. Poor Louisa concluded
she was yet to win the day.

"I will turn Puseyite too," she said with a strange little touch of
attempted laughter. "I don't want to have any opinions different from
my husband's; and you don't think your father is likely to do anything
to drive you out of the church? You have only given us a terrible
fright, dear," she continued, beginning to tremble again, as he shook
his head and turned away from her. "You did not really mean such a
dreadful thing as sending _me_ away. You could not do without me,
Gerald--you know you could not." Her breath was getting short, her
heart quickening in its throbs--the smile that was quivering on her
face got no response from her husband's downcast eyes. And then poor
Louisa lost all her courage; she threw herself down at his feet,
kneeling to him. "Oh, Gerald, it is not because you want to get rid of
me? You are not doing it for that? If you don't stay in the Rectory,
we shall be ruined--we shall not have enough to eat! and the Rectory
will go to Frank, and your children will be cast upon the world--and
what, oh what is it for, unless it is to get rid of me?" cried Mrs
Wentworth. "You could have as much freedom as you like here at your
own living--nobody would ever interfere or say what are you doing?
and the Bishop is papa's old friend. Oh, Gerald, be wise in time, and
don't throw away all ou