door,
to beg him not to speak to Mr Waters of _anything particular_--"For papa
has no confidence in him," she said, anxiously. The Curate was nearly
driven to his wits' end as he hastened out. He forgot the clouds that
surrounded him in his anxiety about this sad household; for it seemed
but too evident that Mr Wodehouse had made no special provision for his
daughters; and to think of Lucy under the power of her unknown brother,
made Mr Wentworth's blood boil.

The shutters were all put up that afternoon in the prettiest house in
Grange Lane. The event took Carlingford altogether by surprise; but
other events just then were moving the town into the wildest
excitement; for nothing could be heard, far or near, of poor little
Rosa Elsworthy, and everybody was aware that the last time she was
seen in Carlingford she was standing by herself in the dark, at Mr
Wentworth's garden-door.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Mrs Morgan was in the garden watering her favourite ferns when her
husband returned home to dinner on the day of Mr Wodehouse's death. The
Rector was late, and she had already changed her dress, and was removing
the withered leaves from her prettiest plant of maidenhair, and
thinking, with some concern, of the fish, when she heard his step on the
gravel; for the cook at the Rectory was rather hasty in her temper, and
was apt to be provoking to her mistress next morning when the Rector
chose to be late. It was a very hot day, and Mr Morgan was flushed and
uncomfortable. To see his wife looking so cool and tranquil in her
muslin dress rather aggravated him than otherwise, for she did not
betray her anxiety about the trout, but welcomed him with a smile, as
she felt it her duty to do, even when he was late for dinner. The Rector
looked as if all the anxieties of the world were on his shoulders, as he
came hurriedly along the gravel; and Mrs Morgan's curiosity was
sufficiently excited by his looks to have overcome any consideration but
that of the trout, which, however, was too serious to be trifled with;
so, instead of asking questions, she thought it wiser simply to remind
her husband that it was past six o'clock. "Dinner is waiting," she said,
in her composed way; and the Rector went up-stairs to wash his hands,
half disposed to be angry with his wife. He found her already seated at
the head of the table when he came down after his rapid ablutions; and
though he was not particularly quick of perception, Mr Morgan perc