concerned, if it weren't for the girls and the
little children. But I always thought I could have sworn by Frank,"
said the old man, mournfully. He was ever so much older since he had
said these words before in the long lime avenue at Wentworth Hall.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

The little assembly which met in the vestry of Carlingford Church to
inquire into the conduct of the Perpetual Curate, had so many different
interests in hands when it dispersed, and so much to do, that it is
difficult for the narrator of this history to decide which thread should
be taken up first. Of all the interlocutors, however, perhaps Mr Proctor
was the one who had least succeeded in his efforts to explain himself,
and accordingly demands in the first place the attention of an impartial
historian. The excellent man was still labouring under much perplexity
when the bed of justice was broken up. He began to recollect that Mr
Wentworth's explanation on the previous night had convinced him of his
innocence, and to see that it was indeed altogether inconceivable that
the Curate should be guilty; but then, other matters still more
disagreeable to contemplate than Mr Wentworth's guilt came in to darken
the picture. This vagabond Wodehouse, whom the Curate had taken in at
his sister's request--what was the meaning of that mystery? Mr Proctor
had never been anyhow connected with mysteries; he was himself an only
son, and had lived a straightforward peaceable life. Neither he nor his
estimable parents, so far as the late Rector was aware, had ever done
anything to be ashamed of; and he winced a little at the thought of
connecting himself with concealment and secrecy. And then the Curate's
sudden disappearance on the previous evening perplexed and troubled him.
He imagined all kinds of reasons for it as he walked down Grange Lane.
Perhaps Miss Wodehouse, who would not receive himself, had sent for Mr
Wentworth; perhaps the vagabond brother was in some other scrape, out of
which he had to be extricated by the Curate's assistance. Mr Proctor was
perfectly honest, and indeed determined, in his "intentions;" but
everybody will allow that for a middle-aged lover of fifty or
thereabouts, contemplating a sensible match with a lady of suitable
years and means, to find suddenly that the object of his affections was
not only a penniless woman, but the natural guardian of an equally
penniless sister, was startling, to say the least of it. He was a true
man, and