we will surely be able to convince him. I'll
humour him, for my part, as far as my conscience will allow me. We
must not give in to him, Frank. He will give it up if we show a very
firm front and yield nothing," said the Squire, looking with an
unusually anxious eye in his son's face.

"For my part, I will not enter into the controversy between the
Churches," said the Curate; "it is mere waste of time. I must confine
myself to the one point. If he must forsake us, he must, and I can't
stop him: but he must not forsake his wife."

"Tut--it's impossible!" said the Squire; "it's not to be thought of
for a moment. You must have given undue importance to something that
was said. Things will turn out better than you think." They were very
nearly at the great entrance when these words were said, and Mr
Wentworth took out his handkerchief and held it to his forehead to
veil the mark, until he could explain it, from the anxious eye of his
wife. "If the worst should come to the worst, as you seem to think,"
he said, with a kind of sigh, "I should at least be able to provide
for you, Frank. Of course, the Rectory would go to you; and you don't
seem to have much chance of Skelmersdale, so far as I can learn.
Leonora's a very difficult person to deal with. God bless my soul!"
exclaimed the Squire--"depend upon it, she has had something to do
with this business of Gerald's. She's goaded him into it, with her
Low-Church ways. She's put poor Louisa up to worrying him; there's
where it is. I did not see how your brother could possibly have fallen
into such a blunder of his own accord. But come to luncheon; you must
be hungry. You will think the boys grown, Frank; and I must ask you
what you think, when you have a little leisure, of Cuthbert and Guy."

So saying, the Squire led the way into the house; he had been much
appalled by the first hint of this threatened calamity, and was
seriously distressed and anxious still; but he was the father of many
sons, and the misfortunes or blunders of one could not occupy all his
heart. And even the Curate, as he followed his father into the house,
felt that Louisa's words, so calmly repeated, "Of course, the Rectory
will go to you," went tingling to his heart like an arrow, painfully
recalling him, in the midst of his anxiety, to a sense of his own
interests and cares. Gerald was coming up the avenue at the moment
slowly, with all the feelings of a man going to the stake. He was
looking at every