erally attends an act of self-sacrifice, mingled with
an equally delicious feeling that the act, when accomplished, might turn
out no such great sacrifice after all--which it is to be feared is the
most usual way in which the sacrifices of youth are made--that the
Curate walked into the hall, passing his aunt Dora's toy terrier without
that violent inclination to give it a whack with his cane in passing
which was his usual state of feeling. To tell the truth, Lucy's letter
had made him at peace with all the world.

When, however, he entered the dining-room, where the family were still
at breakfast, Frank's serenity was unexpectedly disturbed. The first
thing that met his eyes was his aunt Leonora, towering over her
tea-urn at the upper end of the table, holding in her hand a letter
which she had just opened. The envelope had fallen in the midst of the
immaculate breakfast "things," and indeed lay, with its broad black
edge on the top of the snow-white lumps, in Miss Leonora's own
sugar-basin; and the news had been sufficiently interesting to suspend
the operations of tea-making, and to bring the strong-minded woman to
her feet. The first words which were audible to Frank revealed to him
the nature of the intelligence which had produced such startling
effects.

"He was always a contradictory man," said Miss Leonora; "since the
first hour he was in Skelmersdale, he has made a practice of doing
things at the wrong time. I don't mean to reproach the poor man now
he's gone; but when he has been so long of going, what good could it
do him to choose this particular moment, for no other reason that I
can see, except that it was specially uncomfortable to us? What my
brother has just been saying makes it all the worse," said Miss
Leonora, with a look of annoyance. She had turned her head away from
the door, which was at the side of the room, and had not perceived the
entrance of the Curate. "As long as we could imagine that Frank was to
succeed to the Rectory, the thing looked comparatively easy. I beg
your pardon, Gerald. Of course, you know how grieved I am--in short,
that we all feel the deepest distress and vexation; but, to be sure,
since you have given it up, somebody must succeed you--there can be no
doubt of that."

"Not the least, my dear aunt," said Gerald.

"I am glad you grant so much. It is well to be sure of something," said
the incisive and peremptory speaker. "It would have been a painful thing
for us at any