his friend. "If I were you, Frank, I should not think so much about
it."

"Yes, you would, old boy, if it touched you as it does me. It isn't
that the chapel should be there. I could have built a chapel for them
with my own hands on the same spot, if it had been necessary."

"I don't see what there is to annoy you."

"This annoys me,--that after all my endeavours, there should be
people here, and many people, who find a gratification in doing that
which they think I shall look upon as an annoyance. The sting is
in their desire to sting, and in my inability to show them their
error, either by stopping what they are doing, or by proving myself
indifferent to it. It isn't the building itself, but the double
disgrace of the building."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

FEMALE MARTYRDOM.

Early in February Captain Marrable went to Dunripple to stay with
his uncle, Sir Gregory, and there he still was when the middle of
March had come. News of his doings reached the ladies at Loring, but
it reached them through hands which were not held to be worthy of a
perfect belief,--at any rate, on Mary Lowther's part. Dunripple Park
is in Warwickshire, and lies in the middle of a good hunting country.
Now, according to Parson John, from whom these tidings came, Walter
Marrable was hunting three days a week; and, as Sir Gregory himself
did not keep hunters, Walter must have hired his horses,--so said
Parson John, deploring that a nephew so poor in purse should have
allowed himself to be led into such heavy expense. "He brought home
a little ready money with him," said the parson; "and I suppose he
thinks he may have his fling as long as that lasts." No doubt Parson
John, in saying this, was desirous of proving to Mary that Walter
Marrable was not dying of love, and was, upon the whole, leading a
jolly life, in spite of the little misfortune that had happened to
him. But Mary understood all this quite as well as did Parson John
himself; and simply declined to believe the hunting three days a
week. She said not a word about it, however, either to him or to her
aunt. If Walter could amuse himself, so much the better; but she was
quite sure that, at such a period of his life as this, he would not
spend his money recklessly. The truth lay between Parson John's
stories and poor Mary's belief. Walter Marrable was hunting,--perhaps
twice a week, hiring a horse occasionally, but generally mounted by
his uncle, Sir Gregory. He hunted; but did so a