er end of the room to refresh himself. "At the
same time," said the Rector, severely, coming back after a pause, "to
show any ill-feeling would be very unchristian either on your side or
mine. If I were to accept Harry Scarsfield's offer, Proctor and I
would do all we could to have young Wentworth appointed to
Carlingford. There is nobody just now at All-Souls to take the living;
and however much you may disapprove of him, my dear," said Mr Morgan,
with increasing severity, "there is nothing that I know to be said
against him as a clergyman. If you can make up your mind to consent to
it, and can see affairs in the same light as they appear to me, that
is what I intend to do--"

Mrs Morgan's stocking had dropped on her knees as she listened; then it
dropped on the floor, and she took no notice of it. When the Rector had
finally delivered himself of his sentiments, which he did in the voice
of a judge who was condemning some unfortunate to the utmost penalties
of the law, his wife marked the conclusion of the sentence by a sob of
strange excitement. She kept gazing at him for a few moments without
feeling able to speak, and then she put down her face into her hands.
Words were too feeble to give utterance to her feelings at such a
supreme moment. "Oh, William, I wonder if you can ever forgive me,"
sobbed the Rector's wife, with a depth of compunction which he, good
man, was totally unprepared to meet, and knew no occasion for. He was
even at the moment a little puzzled to have such a despairing petition
addressed to him. "I hope so, my dear," he said, very sedately, as he
came and sat down beside her, and could not refrain from uttering a
little lecture upon temper, which fortunately Mrs Morgan was too much
excited to pay any attention to. "It would be a great deal better if you
did not give way to your feelings," said the Rector; "but in the mean
time, my dear, it is your advice I want, for we must not take such a
step unadvisedly," and he lifted up the stocking that had fallen, and
contemplated, not without surprise, the emotion of his wife. The
excellent man was as entirely unconscious that he was being put up again
at that moment with acclamations upon his pedestal, as that he had at a
former time been violently displaced from it, and thrown into the
category of broken idols. All this would have been as Sanscrit to the
Rector of Carlingford; and the only resource he had was to make in his
own mind certain half-pitying