her's life to," said the Squire. "Who is the sister? Is she--is
there any--any entanglement that I don't know of? It will be better
for all of us if you tell me plainly," said the old man, with a
querulous sound in his voice. He forgot the relationship of his own
girls to Jack, and groaned within himself at what appeared almost
certain evidence that the sister of a criminal like Wodehouse had got
possession of Frank.

"Miss Wodehouse is about the same age as my aunt Dora," said the
Curate. It was an exaggeration which would have gone to the poor
lady's heart, but Frank Wentworth, in the unconscious insolence of his
youth, was quite unaware and careless of the difference. Then he
paused for a moment with an involuntary smile. "But I am a clergyman,
sir," he continued, seriously. "If a man in my position is good for
anything, it is his business to help the helpless. I could do no good
in any other way--I took him into my house."

"Frank," said the Squire, "I beg your pardon. I believe in my heart
you're true and honest. If I were not driven out of my senses by one
thing and another," said Mr Wentworth, with bitterness. "They make me
unjust to you, sir--unjust to you! But never mind; go on. Why didn't
you tell these fellows what you've told me? That would have settled
the business at once, without any more ado."

"Mr Morgan is a great deal too much prejudiced against me to believe
anything I said. I thought it better to let him prove to himself his
own injustice; and another still more powerful reason--" said the
Curate.

"Stop, sir, stop; I can't follow you to more than one thing at a time.
Why is Mr Morgan prejudiced against you?" said the Squire, once more
sitting upright and recommencing his examination.

Frank Wentworth laughed in spite of himself, though he was far from
being amused. "I know no reason, except that I have worked in his
parish without his permission," he answered, briefly enough, "for
which he threatened to have me up before somebody or other--Dr
Lushington, I suppose, who is the new Council of Trent, and settles
all our matters for us nowadays," said the Curate, not without a
little natural scorn, at which, however, his father groaned.

"There is nothing to laugh at in Dr Lushington," said the Squire. "He
gives you justice, at all events, which you parsons never give each
other, you know. You ought not to have worked in the Rector's parish,
sir, without his permission. It's like shooting in ano