with this sense of hopeless restraint and incapacity,
which is perhaps of all sensations the most humbling, that he went
down-stairs, and found lying on his breakfast table, the first thing
that met his eye, the note which Lucy Wodehouse had written to him on
the previous night. As he read it, the earth somehow turned to the sun;
the dubious light brightened in the skies. Unawares, he had been
wondering never to receive any token of sympathy, any word of
encouragement, from those for whom he had made so many exertions. When
he had read Lucy's letter, the aspect of affairs changed considerably.
To be sure, nothing that she had said or could say made any difference
in the facts of the case; but the Curate was young, and still liable to
those changes of atmosphere which do more for an imaginative mind than
real revolutions. He read the letter several times over as he lingered
through his breakfast, making on the whole an agreeable meal, and
finding himself repossessed of his ordinary healthful appetite. He even
canvassed the signature as much in reading as Lucy had done in writing
it--balancing in his mind the maidenly "truly yours" of that
subscription with as many ingenious renderings of its possible meaning
as if Lucy's letter had been articles of faith. "Truly mine," he said to
himself, with a smile; which indeed meant all a lover could require; and
then paused, as if he had been Dr Lushington or Lord Westbury, to
inquire into the real force of the phrase. For after all, it is not only
when signing the Articles that the bond and pledge of subscription means
more than is intended. When Mr Wentworth was able to tear himself from
the agreeable casuistry of this self-discussion, he got up in much
better spirits to go about his daily business. First of all, he had to
see his father, and ascertain what were the Squire's intentions, and how
long he meant to stay in Carlingford; and then--It occurred to the
Perpetual Curate that after that, politeness demanded that he should
call on the Miss Wodehouses, who had, or at least one of them, expressed
so frankly their confidence in him. He could not but call to thank her,
to inquire into their plans, perhaps to back aunt Leonora's invitation,
which he was aware had been gratefully declined. With these ideas in his
mind he went down-stairs, after brushing his hat very carefully and
casting one solicitous glance in the mirror as he passed--which
presented to him a very creditable refle