and have always had respectable people about
me. If my wife's family are turning wrong, isn't that bad enough on
me without your coming to say such things as this to me? Really, Mr.
Fenwick, if you'd think of it, you wouldn't be so hard."

"She may die in a ditch, then, for you?" said the Vicar, whose
feeling against the ironmonger was much stronger than it had been
against the farmer. He could say nothing further, so he turned
upon his heel and marched down the length of the shop, while the
obsequious tradesman followed him,--again bowing and rubbing his
hands, and attending him to his carriage. The Vicar didn't speak
another word, or make any parting salutation to Mr. Jay. "Their
hearts are like the nether millstone," he said to himself, as he
drove away, flogging his horse. "Of what use are all the sermons?
Nothing touches them. Do unto others as you think they would do unto
you. That's their doctrine." As he went home he made up his mind that
he would, as a last effort, carry out that scheme of taking Carry
with him to the mill;--he would do so, that is, if he could induce
Carry to accompany him. In the meantime, there was nothing left to
him but to leave her with Mrs. Stiggs, and to pay ten shillings a
week for her board and lodging. There was one point on which he could
not quite make up his mind;--whether he would or would not first
acquaint old Mrs. Brattle with his intention.

He had left home early, and when he returned his wife had received
Mary Lowther's reply to her letter.

"She will come?" asked Frank.

"She just says that and nothing more."

"Then she'll be Mrs. Gilmore."

"I hope so, with all my heart," said Mrs. Fenwick.

"I look upon it as tantamount to accepting him. She wouldn't come
unless she had made up her mind to take him. You mark my words.
They'll be married before the chapel is finished."

"You say it as if you thought she oughtn't to come."

"No;--I don't mean that. I was only thinking how quickly a woman may
recover from such a hurt."

"Frank, don't be ill-natured. She will be doing what all her friends
advise."

"If I were to die, your friends would advise you not to grieve; but
they would think you very unfeeling if you did not."

"Are you going to turn against her?"

"No."

"Then why do you say such things? Is it not better that she should
make the effort than lie there helpless and motionless, throwing her
whole life away? Will it not be much better for Harry Gilmore