oke with so much haste and fright that it was scarcely
possible to make out her last words.

"Nevertheless I must speak to Mr Waters," said the Curate; "I am going
there now. He knows all about it already, and has a warrant for _his_
apprehension; but we must stop that. I will undertake that it shall be
paid, and you must give me full authority to act for you." When Miss
Wodehouse met the steady look he gave her, she veered immediately from
her fright at the thought of having it spoken of, to gratitude to him
who was thus ready to take her burden into his hands.

"Oh, Mr Wentworth, it is so good of you--it is like a brother!" said
the trembling woman; and then she made a pause. "I say a brother," she
said, drawing an involuntary moral, "though we have never had any good
of ours; and oh, if Lucy only knew--!"

The Curate turned away hastily, and wrung her hand without being aware
of it. "No," he said, with a touch of bitterness, "don't let her know.
I don't want to appeal to her gratitude;" and with that he became
silent, and fell to listening, standing in the middle of the room, if
perhaps he might catch any sound of footsteps coming down-stairs.

"She will know better some day," said Miss Wodehouse, wiping her eyes;
"and oh, Mr Wentworth, if papa ever gets better--!" Here the poor lady
broke down into inarticulate weeping. "But I know you will stand by
us," she said, amid her tears; "it is all the comfort I have--and
Lucy--"

There was no sound of any footstep on the stair--nothing but the
ticking of the timepiece on the mantelshelf, and the rustling of the
curtains in the soft morning breeze which came through the open
window, and Miss Wodehouse's crying. The Curate had not expected to
see Lucy, and knew in his heart that it was better they should not
meet just at this moment; but, notwithstanding this, it was strange
how bitter and disappointed he felt, and what an impatient longing he
had for one look of her, even though it should be a look which would
drive him frantic with mortified love and disappointed expectation. To
know that she was under the same roof, and that she knew he was here,
but kept away, and did not care to see him, was gall to his excited
mind. He went away hastily, pressing poor Miss Wodehouse's hand with a
kind of silent rage. "Don't talk about Lucy," he said, half to
himself, his heart swelling and throbbing at the sound of the name. It
was the first time he had spoken it aloud to any ear