l
try to explain it if I can; but I can't--indeed I don't understand,"
cried the poor lady, in despair. "It is something about a bill--it was
something about a bill before; and I thought I could soften papa, and
persuade him to be merciful; but it has all turned to greater
wretchedness and misery. The first one was paid, you know, and I thought
papa might relent;--but--don't cast us off, Mr Wentworth--don't go and
denounce him; you might, but you will not. It would be justice, I
acknowledge," cried the weeping woman; "but there is something higher
than justice even in this world. You are younger than I am, and so is
Lucy; but you are better than me, you young people, and you must be more
merciful too. I have seen you going among the poor people and among the
sick, and I could not have done it; and you won't forsake me--oh, Mr
Wentworth, you won't forsake me, when you know that my trouble is
greater than I can bear!"

"I will not forsake you," said the Curate; "but tell me what it is. I
have been summoned to Carlingford by my brother, and I am bewildered
and disturbed beyond what I can tell you--"

"By your brother?" said Miss Wodehouse, with her unfailing instinct of
interest in other people. "I hope there is no trouble in your own
family, Mr Wentworth. One gets so selfish when one is in great
distress. I hope he is not ill. It sounds as if there was comfort in
the very name of a brother," said the gentle woman, drying her tears,
"and I hope it is so with you; but it isn't always so. I hope you will
find he is better when you get home. I am very, very sorry to hear
that you are in trouble too."

Mr Wentworth got up from his chair with a sigh of impatience. "Will
nobody tell me what is the matter?" he said. "Mr Wodehouse is ill, and
there is some mysterious cause for it; and you are miserable, and
there is a cause for that too; and I am to do something to set things
right without knowing what is wrong. Will you not tell me? What is it?
Has your--"

"Oh, Mr Wentworth, don't say anybody's name--don't speak so loud.
There may be a servant in the staircase or something," cried Miss
Wodehouse. "I hear somebody coming now." She got up to listen, her
face growing white with panic, and went a few steps towards the door,
and then tottered into another chair, unable to command herself. A
certain sick thrill of apprehension came over the Curate, too, as he
hastened forward. He could not tell what he was afraid of, or whether