curacy, it had been without understanding his true
intentions with regard to Whittingtonia. Something had evidently passed
between him and his father and brother, while on their way through
London, which had caused them to regard him as likely to be a thorn in
their side; and Phoebe could not but fear that he would meet them in no
spirit of conciliation, would rather prefer a little persecution, and
would lean to the side of pastoral rather than filial duty, whenever they
might clash. Even if he should refrain from speaking his full mind to
his father, he was likely to use no precautions with his brother, and
Phoebe was uneasy whenever either went up for their weekly visit of
inspection at the office.

Her mother gently complained. 'Honora Charlecote's doing, I suppose. He
should have considered more! Such a wretched place, no genteel family
near! Your papa would never let me go near it. But he must buy an
excellent living soon, where no one will know his connection with the
trade.'

The only sympathy Phoebe met with at home on Robert's ordination, was in
an unexpected quarter. 'Then your brother has kept his resolution,' said
Miss Fennimore. 'Under his reserve there is the temper that formed the
active ascetics of the middle ages. His doctrine has a strong mediaeval
tinge, and with sufficient strength of purpose, may lead to like
results.'

When Phoebe proudly told Miss Charlecote of this remark, they agreed that
it was a valuable testimony, both to the doctrines and the results.
Honor had had a letter from Robert, that made her feel by force of
contrast that Owen was more than three years from a like conception of
clerical duty.

The storm came at last. By order of the Court of Chancery, there was put
up for sale a dreary section of Whittingtonia, in dire decay, and remote
from civilization. The firm of Fulmort and Son had long had their eyes
on it, as an eligible spot for a palace for the supply of their
commodity; and what was their rage when their agent was out-bidden, and
the tenements knocked down to an unknown customer for a fancy price!
After much alarm lest a rival distiller should be invading their
territory, their wrath came to a height when it finally appeared that the
new owner of the six ruinous houses in Cicely Row was no other than the
Reverend Robert Mervyn Fulmort, with the purpose of building a church and
schools for Whittingtonia at his own expense.

Mervyn came home furious. Hig