rrible
reflections upon her own want of strength and endurance. To-day, too,
of all days, when God had been so good to her! "If I yield to the first
temptation like this, how shall I ever endure to the end?" cried Lucy,
and in her heart thought, with a certain longing, of the sacrament of
penance, and tried to think what she could do that would be most
disagreeable, to the mortifying of the flesh. Perhaps if she had
possessed a more lively sense of humour, another view of the subject
might have struck Lucy; but humour, fortunately for the unity of human
sentiment, is generally developed at a later period of life, and Lucy's
fit of passion only made her think with greater tenderness and
toleration of her termagants in Prickett's Lane.

The three who were left down-stairs were in their different ways
impressed by Lucy's passion. Jack Wentworth, being a man of humour and
cultivation, was amused, but respectful, as having still a certain
faculty of appreciating absolute purity when he saw it. As for
Wodehouse, he gave another rude laugh, but was cowed, in spite of
himself, and felt involuntarily what a shabby wretch he was,
recognising that fact more impressively from the contempt of Lucy's
pale face than he could have done through hours of argument. Miss
Wodehouse, for her part, though very anxious and nervous, was not
without an interest in the question under discussion. _She_ was not
specially horrified by her brother, or anything he could say or do. He
was Tom to her--a boy with whom she had once played, and whom she had
shielded with all her sisterly might in his first transgressions. She
had suffered a great deal more by his means than Lucy could ever
suffer, and consequently was more tolerant of him. She kept her seat
with the St Agnes in the chair behind, and watched the course of
events with anxious steadiness. She did not care for money any more
than Lucy did; but she could not help thinking it would be very
pleasant if she could produce one good action on "poor Tom's" part to
plead for him against any possible criticisms of the future. Miss
Wodehouse was old enough to know that her Rector was not an ideal
hero, but an ordinary man, and it was quite possible that he might
point a future moral now and then with "that brother of yours, my
dear." The elder sister waited accordingly, with her heart beating
quick, to know the decision, very anxious that she might have at least
one generous deed to record to the advant