en in his hour of success, was insufficient to
fortify the simple soul of his humble admirer against that ominous sound
of the unseen rain, and against the flashes of sudden lightning that
seemed to blaze into his heart. He could not help thinking of his
father's sick-bed in those midnight hours, and of all the melancholy
array of lost years which had made him no longer "a gentleman, as he
used to be," but a skulking vagabond in his native place; and his
penitence lasted till after he had had his breakfast and Mr Wentworth
was gone. Then perhaps the other side of the question recurred to his
mind, and he began to think that if his father died there might be no
need for his banishment; but Mr Wentworth knew nothing of this change in
his _protege's_ sentiments, as he went quickly up Grange Lane. Wharfside
and all the district had lain neglected for three long days, as the
Curate was aware, and he had promised to call at No. 10 Prickett's Lane,
and to look after the little orphan children whom Lucy had taken charge
of. His occupations, in short, both public and private, were
overpowering, and he could not tell how he was to get through them; for,
in addition to everything else, it was Friday, and there was a litany
service at twelve o'clock at St Roque's. So the young priest had little
time to lose as he hurried up once again to Mr Wodehouse's green door.

It was Miss Wodehouse who came to meet the Curate as soon as his
presence was known in the house--Miss Wodehouse, and not Lucy, who
made way for her sister to pass her, and took no notice of Mr
Wentworth's name. The elder sister entered very hurriedly the little
parlour down-stairs, and shut the door fast, and came up to him with
an anxious inquiring face. She told him her father was just the same,
in faltering tones. "And oh, Mr Wentworth, has anything happened?" she
exclaimed, with endless unspeakable questions in her eyes. It was so
hard for the gentle woman to keep her secret--the very sight of
somebody who knew it was a relief to her heart.

"I want you to give me full authority to act for you," said the
Curate. "I must go to Mr Wodehouse's partner and discuss the whole
matter."

Here Miss Wodehouse gave a little cry, and stopped him suddenly. "Oh,
Mr Wentworth, it would kill papa to know you had spoken to any one.
You must send him away," she said, breathless with anxiety and terror.
"To think of discussing it with any one when even Lucy does not
know--!" She sp