"Of course I know it might easily be all up with me," he said, in a
troubled voice. "If she is beginning to compare--" He broke off, not
liking to betray all he felt, and then said, by the help of a little
bitterness, "But I thought you were friendly to me."

"So I am; that is why we are here. But I have had a strong disposition
to be otherwise. I have said to myself, 'If there is a likelihood of
that youngster doing himself harm, why should you interfere? Aren't
you worth as much as he is, and don't your sixteen years over and above
his, in which you have gone rather hungry, give you more right to
satisfaction than he has? If there's a chance of his going to the
dogs, let him--perhaps you could nohow hinder it--and do you take the
benefit.'"

There was a pause, in which Fred was seized by a most uncomfortable
chill. What was coming next? He dreaded to hear that something had
been said to Mary--he felt as if he were listening to a threat rather
than a warning. When the Vicar began again there was a change in his
tone like the encouraging transition to a major key.

"But I had once meant better than that, and I am come back to my old
intention. I thought that I could hardly _secure myself_ in it better,
Fred, than by telling you just what had gone on in me. And now, do you
understand me? I want you to make the happiness of her life and your
own, and if there is any chance that a word of warning from me may turn
aside any risk to the contrary--well, I have uttered it."

There was a drop in the Vicar's voice when he spoke the last words He
paused--they were standing on a patch of green where the road diverged
towards St. Botolph's, and he put out his hand, as if to imply that the
conversation was closed. Fred was moved quite newly. Some one highly
susceptible to the contemplation of a fine act has said, that it
produces a sort of regenerating shudder through the frame, and makes
one feel ready to begin a new life. A good degree of that effect was
just then present in Fred Vincy.

"I will try to be worthy," he said, breaking off before he could say
"of you as well as of her." And meanwhile Mr. Farebrother had gathered
the impulse to say something more.

"You must not imagine that I believe there is at present any decline in
her preference of you, Fred. Set your heart at rest, that if you keep
right, other things will keep right."

"I shall never forget what you have done," Fred answered. "I can't