be done. Also, now that he has seen them more closely, he knows better
the nature of those wolves in sheep's clothing, who are thirsting for the
blood of their victim, and exulting so clamorously over its anticipated
early fall into their clutches. The spirit behind the Church is true,
though her letter--true once--is now true no longer. The spirit behind
the High Priests of Science is as lying as its letter. The Theobalds,
who do what they do because it seems to be the correct thing, but who in
their hearts neither like it nor believe in it, are in reality the least
dangerous of all classes to the peace and liberties of mankind. The man
to fear is he who goes at things with the cocksureness of pushing
vulgarity and self-conceit. These are not vices which can be justly laid
to the charge of the English clergy.

Many of the farmers came up to Ernest when service was over, and shook
hands with him. He found every one knew of his having come into a
fortune. The fact was that Theobald had immediately told two or three of
the greatest gossips in the village, and the story was not long in
spreading. "It simplified matters," he had said to himself, "a good
deal." Ernest was civil to Mrs Goodhew for her husband's sake, but he
gave Miss Wright the cut direct, for he knew that she was only Charlotte
in disguise.

A week passed slowly away. Two or three times the family took the
sacrament together round Christina's death-bed. Theobald's impatience
became more and more transparent daily, but fortunately Christina (who
even if she had been well would have been ready to shut her eyes to it)
became weaker and less coherent in mind also, so that she hardly, if at
all, perceived it. After Ernest had been in the house about a week his
mother fell into a comatose state which lasted a couple of days, and in
the end went away so peacefully that it was like the blending of sea and
sky in mid-ocean upon a soft hazy day when none can say where the earth
ends and the heavens begin. Indeed she died to the realities of life
with less pain than she had waked from many of its illusions.

"She has been the comfort and mainstay of my life for more than thirty
years," said Theobald as soon as all was over, "but one could not wish it
prolonged," and he buried his face in his handkerchief to conceal his
want of emotion.

Ernest came back to town the day after his mother's death, and returned
to the funeral accompanied by myself. He wan