Dante.'

'I cannot wish it to be otherwise with her,' said Mrs. Prendergast
gravely.

'No! It is a bad speculation,' said Lucilla, sadly. 'She will never
wish half her life could be pulled out like defective crochet; nor wear
out good people's forbearance with her antics. I did think they were
outgrown, and beat out of me, and that your nephew was too young; but I
suppose it is ingrain, and that I should be flattered by the attentions
of a he-baby of six months old! But I'll do my best, Mrs. Prendergast; I
promise you I'll not be the schoolmistress abroad in the morning, and you
shall see what terms I will keep with Mr. Beaumont.'

Mrs. Prendergast was less pleased after than before this promise. It was
again that freedom of expression that the girl had learnt among the
Charterises, and the ideas that she accepted as mere matters of course,
that jarred upon the matron, whose secluded life had preserved her in far
truer refinement. She did not know how to reply, and, as a means of
ending the discussion, gave her Mr. Prendergast's letter, but was amazed
at her reception of it.

'Passed the living! Famous! He will stick to Wrapworth to the last
gasp! That is fidelity! Pray tell him so from me.'

'You had better send your message through Dr. Prendergast. We cannot but
be disappointed, though I understand your feeling for Wrapworth, and we
are sorry for the dispirited tone about the letter.'

'Well he may be, all alone there, and seeing poor Castle Blanch going to
rack and ruin. I could cry about it whenever I think of it; but how much
worse would it have been if he had deserted too! As long as he is in the
old vicarage there is a home spot to me in the world! Oh, I thank him, I
do thank him for standing by the old place to the last.'

'It is preposterous,' thought Mrs. Prendergast. 'I won't tell the
Doctor. He would think it so foolish in him, and improper in her; I
verily believe it is her influence that keeps him at Wrapworth! He
cannot bear to cross her wishes nor give her pain. Well, I am thankful
that Sarah is neither beautiful nor attractive.'

Sincere was Lucilla's intention to resume her regular habits, and put a
stop to Francis Beaumont's attentions, but the attraction had already
gone so far that repression rendered him the more assiduous, and often
bore the aspect (if it were not absolutely the coyness) of coquetry.
While deprecating from her heart any attachment on his part, her vanity