man should
die, you'd change your tone;" and then he stopped short and looked
suspiciously at the Curate. "There's no will, and I'm the heir," he
said, with sullen braggadocio. Mr Wentworth was still young, and this
look made him sick with disgust and indignation.

"Then you can take your chance," he said, impatiently, making a hasty
step to the door. He would not return, though his ungrateful guest
called him back, but went away, much excited and disgusted, to see if
the fresh air outside would restore his composure. On his way
down-stairs, he again met Sarah, who was hovering about in a restless
state of curiosity. "I've made a bed for you, please, sir, in the little
dressing-room," said Sarah; "and, please, Cook wants to know, wouldn't
you have anything to eat?" The question reminded Mr Wentworth that he
had eaten nothing since luncheon, which he took in his father's house.
Human nature, which can bear great blows with elasticity so wonderful,
is apt to be put out, as everybody knows, by their most trifling
accessories, and a man naturally feels miserable when he had had no
dinner, and has not a place to shelter him while he snatches a necessary
mouthful. "Never mind; all the rooms are occupied to-night," said the
Perpetual Curate, feeling thoroughly wretched. But Cook and Sarah had
arranged all that, being naturally indignant that their favourite
clergyman should be put "upon" by his disorderly and unexpected guests.

"I have set your tray, sir, in missis's parlour," said Sarah, opening
the door to that sanctuary; and it is impossible to describe the sense
of relief with which the Perpetual Curate flung himself down on Mrs
Hadwin's sofa, deranging a quantity of cushions and elaborate
crochet-work draperies without knowing it. Here at least he was safe
from intrusion. But his reflections were far from being agreeable as
he ate his beef-steak. Here he was, without any fault of his own,
plunged into the midst of a complication of disgrace and vice. Perhaps
already the name of Lucy Wodehouse was branded with her brother's
shame; perhaps still more overwhelming infamy might overtake, through
that means, the heir and the name of the Wentworths. And for himself,
what he had to do was to attempt with all his powers to defeat
justice, and save from punishment a criminal for whom it was
impossible to feel either sympathy or hope. When he thought of Jack
up-stairs on the sofa over his French novel, the heart of the Curate
b