w-born dualism came
immediately into play, to the great amazement of his companion. Mr
Wentworth talked, and talked well; but his eyes were still abstracted,
his mind was still otherwise occupied; and Mr Proctor, whose own
intelligence was in a state of unusual excitement, perceived the fact
without being at all able to explain it. An hour passed, and both the
gentlemen looked at their watches. The Curate had left them abruptly
enough, with little apology; and as neither of them had much interest
in the other, nor in the conversation, it was natural that the host's
return should be looked for with some anxiety. When the two gentlemen
had said all they could say about Italy--when Mr Proctor had given a
little sketch of his own experiences in Rome, to which his companion
did not make the usual response of narrating his--the two came to a
dead pause. They had now been sitting for more than two hours over
that bottle of Lafitte, many thoughts having in the mean time crossed
Mr Proctor's mind concerning the coffee and the Curate. Where could he
have gone? and why was there not somebody in the house with sense
enough to clear away the remains of dessert, and refresh the wearied
interlocutors with the black and fragrant cup which cheers all
students? Both of the gentlemen had become seriously uneasy by this
time; the late Rector got up from the table when he could bear it no
longer. "Your brother must have been called away by something
important," said Mr Proctor, stiffly. "Perhaps you will kindly make my
excuses. Mr Morgan keeps very regular hours, and I should not like to
be late--"

"It is very extraordinary. I can't fancy what can be the reason--it
must be somebody sick," said Gerald, rising too, but not looking by
any means sure that Frank's absence had such a laudable excuse.

"Very likely," said the late Rector, more stiffly than ever. "You are
living here, I suppose?"

"No; I am at Miss Wentworth's--my aunt's," said Gerald. "I will walk
with you;" and they went out together with minds considerably excited.
Both looked up and down the road when they got outside the garden-gate:
both had a vague idea that the Curate might be visible somewhere in
conversation with somebody disreputable; and one being his friend and
the other his brother, they were almost equally disturbed about the
unfortunate young man. Mr Proctor's thoughts, however, were mingled with
a little offence. He had meant to be confidential and brotherly, a