e, perpetrated another of
the basest kind, what was the good of wasting strength in behalf of a
wretch so abandoned? Why should such a man be permitted to live to bring
shame and misery on everybody connected with him? and why, when noxious
vermin of every other description were hunted down and exterminated,
should the vile human creature be spared to suck the blood of his
friends? Mr Wentworth grew sanguinary in his thoughts as he leaned back
in his chair, and tried to return to the train of reflection which
Elsworthy's arrival had banished. That was totally impossible, but
another train of ideas came fast enough to fill up the vacant space. The
Curate saw himself hemmed in on every side without any way of escape. If
he could not extract any information from Wodehouse, or if Wodehouse
denied any knowledge of Rosa, what could he do to clear himself from an
imputation so terrible? and if, on the other hand, Wodehouse did not
come back, and so pleaded guilty, how could he pursue and put the law
upon the track of the man whom he had just been labouring to save from
justice, and over whose head a criminal prosecution was impending? Mr
Wentworth saw nothing but misery, let him turn where he would--nothing
but disgrace, misapprehension, unjust blame. He divined with the
instinct of a man in deadly peril, that Elsworthy, who was a mean enough
man in common circumstances, had been inspired by the supposed injury he
had sustained into a relentless demon; and he saw distinctly how strong
the chain of evidence was against him, and how little he could do to
clear himself. As his miseries grew upon him, he got up, as was natural,
and began to walk about the room to walk down his impatience, if he
could, and acquire sufficient composure to enable him to wait for the
time when Wodehouse might be expected to arrive. Mr Wentworth had
forgotten at the moment that Mrs Hadwin's room was next to his study,
and that, as she stood putting on her cap, his footsteps vibrated along
the flooring, which thrilled under her feet almost as much as under his
own. Mrs Hadwin, as she stood before her glass smoothing her thin little
braids of white hair, and putting on her cap, could not but wonder to
herself what could make Mr Wentworth walk about the room in such an
agitated way. It was not by any means the custom of the Perpetual
Curate, who, up to the time of his aunts' arrival in Carlingford, had
known no special disturbances in his individual career.