ar Jack think
of coming to us; and what a happiness it is to think that he sees the
error of his ways!" cried poor Miss Dora, drying her tears. "And oh,
Frank, my dear boy, I trust you will take warning by your brother, and
not run into temptation," continued the anxious aunt, remembering all
her troubles. "If you were to go wrong, it would take away all the
pleasure of life."

"That is just what I was thinking," said aunt Cecilia from her
easy-chair.

"For, oh, Frank, my dear," said Miss Dora, much emboldened by this
support, "you must consider that you are a clergyman, and there are a
great many things that are wrong in a clergyman that would not matter in
another man. Oh, Leonora, if you would speak to him, he would mind you,"
cried the poor lady; "for you know a clergyman is quite different;" and
Miss Dora again stopped short, and the three aunts looked at the
bewildered Curate, who, for his part, sat gazing at them without an idea
what they could mean.

"What have I been doing that would be right in another man?" he said,
with a smile which was slightly forced; and then he turned to Jack, who
was laughing softly under his breath, and stroking his silky beard. The
elder brother was highly amused by the situation altogether, but Frank,
as was natural, did not see it in the same light. "What have you been
saying?" said the indignant Curate; and his eyes gave forth a sudden
light which frightened Miss Dora, and brought her in to the rescue.

"Oh, Frank, he has not been saying anything," cried that troubled
woman; "it is only what we have heard everywhere. Oh, my dear boy, it
is only for your good I ever thought of speaking. There is nobody in
the world to whom your welfare is so precious," said poor Miss Dora.
"Oh, Frank, if you and your brother were to have any difference, I
should think it all my fault--and I always said you did not mean
anything," she said, putting herself and her eau-de-Cologne between
the two, and looking as if she were about to throw herself into the
Curate's arms. "Oh, Frank, dear, don't blame any one else--it is my
fault!" cried aunt Dora, with tears; and the tender-hearted foolish
creature kept between them, ready to rush in if any conflict should
occur, which was a supposition much resented by the Curate of St
Roque's.

"Jack and I have no intention of fighting, I daresay," he said, drawing
his chair away with some impatience; and Jack lay back on the sofa and
stroked his beard, and lo