That mother, with all her generous imprudence and innocence of heart, was, her son well knew, the tenderest, the most indulgent, the most sympathetic of all his friends. Though the littlethe very little insight he had obtained into life and the world had made him think himself wiser than she was in some respects, nothing had ever come between them to disturb the boys halfadoring, halfprotecting love. He bethought himself of providing for her comfort, as she sat looking at him in the easychair, with her eyes smiling on him through their tears, patiently sipping the tea, which was a cold and doubtful infusion, nothing like the fragrant lymph of home. He poked the fire till it blazed, and drew her chair towards it, and hunted up a footstool which he had himself kicked out of the way, under the sofa, a month before. When he looked at the dear tender fresh old face opposite to him, in that close white cap which even now, after the long fatiguing journey, looked fresher and purer than other peoples caps and faces look at their best, a thaw came upon the young mans heart. Nature awoke and yearned in him. A momentary glimpse crossed his vision of a humble happiness long within his reach, which never till now, when it was about to become impossible for ever, had seemed real or practicable, or even desirable before. Mother, dear, said Vincent, with a tremulous smile, you shall come here, Susan and you, to me; and we shall all be together againand comfort each other, he added, with a deeper gravity still, thinking of his own lot. His mother did not answer in many words. She said, My own boy! softly, following him with her eyes. It was hard, even with Susans dreadful danger before her, to help being tearfully happy in seeing him againin being his guestin realising the full strength of his manhood and independence. She gave herself up to that feeling of maternal pride and consolation as she once more dried the tears which would come, notwithstanding all her efforts. Then he sat down beside her, and resigned himself to that confidential talk which can rarely be but between members of the same family. He had unburdened his mind unconsciously in his letters about Tozer and the deacons; and it cannot be told what a refreshment it was to be able to utter roundly in words his sentiments on all those subjects. The power of saying it out with no greater hindrance than her mild remonstrances, mingled, as they were, with questions which enabled him to complete his sketches, and smiles of amusement at his descriptive powers, put him actually in better humour with Salem. He felt remorseful and charitable after he had said his worst. And are you sure, dear, said Mrs. Vincent, at last resuming the subject nearest her heart, that you can go away tomorrow without neglecting any duty? You must not neglect a duty, Arthurnot even for Susans sake. Whatever happens to us, you must keep right. I have no duty to detain me, said Vincent, hastily. Then a sudden glow came over the young man, a flush of happiness which stole upon him like a thief, and brightened his own personal firmament with a secret unacknowledgable delight; but I must return early, he added, with a momentary hesitationfor if you wont think it unkind to leave you, mother, I am engaged to dinner. I should scarcely like to miss it, he concluded, after another pause, tying knots in his handkerchief, and taking care not to look at her as he spoke. To dinner, Arthur? I thought your people only gave teas, said Mrs. Vincent, with a smile. The Salem people do; but thisis not one of the Salem people, said the minister, still hesitating. In fact, it would be ungracious of me not to go, and cowardly, toofor that curate, I believe, is to meet meand Lady Western would naturally think Lady Western! said Mrs. Vincent, with irrestrainable pleasure; is that one of the great people in Carlingford? The good woman wiped her eyes again with the very tenderest and purest demonstration of that adoration of rank which is said to be an English instinct. I dont mean to be foolish, dear, she said, apologetically; I know these distinctions of society are not worth your caring about; but to see my Arthur appreciated as he should be, is She could not find words to say what it wasshe wound up with a little sob. What with trouble and anxiety, and pride and delight, and bodily fatigue added to all, tears came easiest that night. Vincent did not say whether or not these distinctions of society were worth caring about. He sat abstractedly, untying the knots in his handkerchief, with a faint smile on his face. Then, while that pleasurable glow remained, he escorted his mother to his own sleepingroom, which he had given up to her, and saw that her fire burned brightly, and that all was comfortable. When he returned to poke his solitary fire, it was some time before he took out the letter which had disturbed his peace. The smile died away first by imperceptible degrees from his face. He gradually erected himself out of the meditative lounge into which he had fallen; then, with a little start, as if throwing dreams away, he took out and examined the letter. The more he looked at it, the graver and deeper became the anxiety in his face. It had every appearance of being genuine in its bad writing and doubtful spelling. And Vincent started again with an unexplainable thrill of alarm when he thought how utterly unprotected his mothers sudden journey had left that little house in Lonsdale. Susan had no warning, no safeguard. He started up in momentary fright, but as suddenly sat down again with a certain indignation at his own thoughts. Nobody could carry her off, or do any act of violence; and as for taking advantage of her solitude, Susan, a straightforward, simpleminded English girl, was safe in her own pure sense of right. CHAPTER XIII. NEXT morning Mr. Vincent got up early, with an indescribable commotion in all his thoughts. He was to institute inquiries which might be life or death to his sister, but yet could not keep his mind to the contemplation of that grave necessity. A flicker of private hope and expectation kept gleaming with uncertain light over the dark weight of anxiety in his heart. He could not help, in the very deepest of his thoughts about Susan, breaking off now and then into a momentary digression, which suddenly carried him into Lady Westerns drawingroom, and startled his heart with a thrill of conscious delight, secret and exquisite, which he could neither banish nor deny. In and out, and round about that grievous doubt which had suddenly disturbed the quiet history of his family, this capricious fairy played, touching all his anxious thoughts with thrills of sweetness. It seemed an action involuntary to himself, and over which he had no power; but it gave the young man an equally involuntary and causeless cheer and comfort. It did not seem possible that any dreadful discovery could be made that day, in face of the fact that he was to meet Her that night. When he met his mother at breakfast, the recollection of Mrs. Hilyard and the charge she had committed to him, came to his mind again. No doubt Susan would take the wanderers inno doubt they were as safe in the cottage as it was possible to be in a humble inviolable English home, surrounded by all the strength of neighbours and friends, and the protection of a spotless life which everybody knew; but yet That was not what his strange acquaintance had expected or bargained for. He felt as if he had broken faith with her when he realised his mothers absence from her own house. Yet somehow he felt a certain hesitation in broaching the subject, and unconsciously prepared himself for doubts and reluctance. The certainty of this gave a forced character to the assumed easiness with which he spoke. You will go to see Mrs. Hilyard, he said; I owe it to her to explain that you were absent before her child went there. They will be safe enough at home, no doubt, with Susan; but still, you know, it would have been different had you been there. Yes, Arthur, said Mrs. Vincent, with an indescribable dryness in her voice. You will find her a very interesting woman, said her son, instinctively contending against that unexpressed doubtthe strangest contrast to her surroundings. The very sound of her voice carries one a thousand miles from Salem. Had I seen her in a palace, I doubt whether I should have been equally impressed by her. You will be interested in spite of yourself. It is, as you say, very strange, Arthur, said Mrs. Vincentthe dryness in her voice increasing to the extent of a short cough; when does your train start? Not till eleven, said Vincent, looking at his watch; but you must please me, and go to see her, mother. That reminds me, dear, said Mrs. Vincent, hurriedly, that now I am here, little as it suits my feelings, you must take me to see some of your people, Arthur. Mrs. Tufton, and perhaps the Tozers, you know. They might not like to hear that your mother had been in Carlingford, and had not gone to see them. It will be hard work visiting strangers while I am in this dreadful anxiety, but I must not be the means of bringing you into any trouble with your flock. Oh, never mind my flock, said Vincent, with some impatience; put on your bonnet, and come and see her, mother. Arthur, you are going by the first train, said his mother. There is abundant time, and it is not too early for her, persisted the minister. But it was not so easy to conquer that meek little woman. I feel very much fatigued today, she said, turning her eyes, mild but invincible, with the most distinct contradiction of her words to her sons face; if it had not been my anxiety to have all I could of you, Arthur, I should not have got up today. A journey is a very serious matter, dear, for an old woman. One does not feel it so much at first, continued this plausible defendant, still with her mild eyes on her sons face, secure in the perfect reasonableness of her plea, yet not unwilling that he should perceive it was a pretence; it is the next day one feels it. I shall lie down on the sofa, and rest when you are gone. And, looking into his mothers soft eyes, the young Nonconformist retreated, and made no more attempts to shake her. Not the invulnerability of the fortress alone discouraged himthough that was mildly obdurate, and proof to argumentbut a certain uneasiness in the thought of that meeting, an inclination to postpone it, and stave off the thought of all that might follow, surprised himself in his own mind. Why he should be afraid of the encounter, or how any complication could arise out of it, he could not by any means imagine, but such was the instinctive sentiment in his heart. Accordingly he went up to London by the train, leaving Mrs. Hilyard unwarned, and his mother reposing on the sofa, from which, it is sad to say, she rose a few minutes after he was gone, to refresh herself by tidying his bookcase and looking over all his linen and stockings, in which last she found a very wholesome subject of contemplation, which relieved the pressure of her thoughts much more effectually than could have been done by the rest which she originally proposed. Arthur, for his part, went up to London with a certain nervous thrill of anxiety rising in his breast as he approached the scene and the moment of his inquiries; though it was still only by intervals that he realised the momentous nature of those inquiries, on the result of which poor Susans harmless girlish life, all unconscious of the danger that threatened it, hung in the balance. Poor Susan! just then going on with a brides preparations for the approaching climax of her youthful existence. Was she, indeed, really a bride, with nothing but truth and sweet honour in the contract that bound her, or was she the sport of a villanous pastime that would break her heart, and might have shipwrecked her fair fame and innocent existence? Her brother set his teeth hard as he asked himself that question. Minister as he was, it might have been a dangerous chance for Fordham, had he come at that moment without ample proofs of guiltlessness in the Nonconformists way. When he got to town, he whirled, as fast as it was possible to go, to the address where Susans guileless letters were sent almost daily. It was in a street off Piccadilly, full of lodginghouses, and all manner of hangerson and ministrants to the world of fashion. He found the house directly, and was somewhat comforted to find it really an actual house, and not a myth or Doubtful Castle, or a postoffice window. He knocked with the real knocker, and heard the bell peal through the comparative silence in the street, and insensibly cheered up, and began to look forward to the appearance of a real Mr. Fordham, with unquestionable private history and troops of friends. A quiet house, scrupulously clean, entirely respectable, yet distinct in all its features of lodginghouse; a groom in the area below, talking to an invisible somebody, also a man, who seemed to be cleaning somebody elses boots; upstairs, at the firstfloor balcony, a smart little tiger making a fashion of watering plants, and actually doing his best to sprinkle the conversational groom below; altogether a superabundance of male attendants, quite incompatible with the integrity of the small dwellingplace as a private house. Another man, who evidently belonged to the place, opened the door, interrupting Vincent suddenly in his observationsan elderly man, half servant, half master, in reality the proprietor of the place, ready either to wait or be waited on as occasion might require. Turning with a little start from his inspection of the attendant circumstances, Vincent asked, did Mr. Fordham live there? The man made a momentary but visible pause; whatever it might betoken, it was not ignorance. He did not answer with the alacrity of frank knowledge or simple noninformation. He paused, then said, Mr. Fordham, sir? looking intently at Vincent, and taking in every particular of his appearance, dress, and professional looks, with one rapid glance. Mr. Fordham, repeated Vincent, does he live here? Once more the man perused him, swiftly and cautiously. No, sir, he does not live here, was the second response. I was told this was his address, said Vincent. I perceive you are not ignorant of him; where does he live? I know his letters come here. There are a many gentlemen in the house in the course of the season, answered the man, still on the alert to find out Vincents meaning by his lookssometimes letters keep on coming months after they are gone. When we knows their home address, sir, we sends them; when we dont, we keeps them by us till we see if any owner turns up. Genleman of the name of Fordham?do you happen to know, sir, what part o the country he comes from? Theres the Lincolnshire Fordhams, as you know, sir, and the Northumberland Fordhams; but theres no genleman of that name lives here. I am sure you know perfectly whom I mean, said Vincent, in his heat and impatience. I dont mean Mr. Fordham any harmI only want to see him, or to get some information about him, if he is not to be seen. Tell me where he does live, or tell me which of his friends is in town, that I may ask them. I tell you I dont mean Mr. Fordham any harm. No, sir?nor I dont know as anybody means any harm, said the man, once more examining Vincents appearance. What was it as you were wishing to know? Though I aint acquainted with the genleman myself, the missis or some of the people may be. We have a many coming and going, and I might confuse a name.What was it as you were wishful to know? I wish to see Mr. Fordham, said Vincent, impatiently. I have told you, sir, he dont live here, said the guardian of the house. Then, look here; you dont deceive me, remember. I can see you know all about him, said Vincent; and, as I tell you, I mean him no harm; answer me one or two simple questions, and I will either thank or reward you as you like best. In the first place, Is this Mr. Fordham a married man? and, Has he ever gone by another name? As he asked these questions the man grinned in his face. Lord bless you, sir, we dont ask no such questions here. A genleman comes and has his rooms, and pays, and goes away, and gives such name as he pleases. I dont ask a certificate of baptism, not if alls right in the pay department. We dont take ladies in, being troublesome; but if a man was to have a dozen wives, what could we know about it? Sorry to disoblige a clergyman, sir; but as I dont know nothing about Mr. Fordham, perhaps youll excuse me, as its the busiest time of the day. Well, then, my good man, said Vincent, taking out his purse, tell me what friend he has that I can apply to; you will do me the greatest service, and I Sorry to disoblige a clergyman, as I say, said the man, angrily; but, begging your pardon, I cant stand jabbering here. I never was a spy on a genleman, and never will be. If you want to know, youll have to find out. Times money to me. With which the landlord of No. 10 Nameless Street, Piccadilly, shut the door abruptly in Vincents face. A postman was audibly approaching at the moment. Could that have anything to do with the sudden breaking off of the conference? The minister, exasperated, yet, becoming more anxious, stood for a moment in doubt, facing the blank closed door. Then, desperate, turned round suddenly, and faced the advancing Mercury. He had no letters for No. 10; he was hastening past, altogether regardless of Vincents look of inquiry. When he was addressed, however, the postman responded with immediate directness. Fordham, siryesa gentleman of that name lives at No. 10leastways he has his letters thereNo. 10where you have just been, sir. But they say he doesnt live there, said Vincent. Cant tell, sirhas his letters there, said the public servant, decidedly. More than ever perplexed, Vincent followed the postman to pursue his inquiries. What sort of a house is it? he asked. Highly respectable house, sir, answered the terse and decisive functionary, performing an astounding rap next door. In an agony of impatience and uncertainty, the young man lingered opposite the house, conscious of a helplessness and impotence which made him furious with himself. That he ought to be able to get to the bottom of it was clear; but that he was as far as possible from knowing how to do that same, or where to pursue his inquiries, was indisputable. One thing was certain, that Mr. Fordham did not choose to be visible at this address to which his letters were sent, and that it was hopeless to attempt to extract any information on the subject by such frank inquiries as the minister had already made. He took a halfhours walk, and thought it over with no great enlightenment on the subject. Then, coming back, applied once more at the highly respectable uncommunicative door. He had entertained hopes that another and more manageable adherent of the house might possibly appear this timea maid, or impressionable servitor of some description, and had a little piece of gold ready for the propitiatory tip in his hand. His hopes were, however, put to flight by the appearance of the same face, increased in respectability and composure by the fact that the owner had thrown off the jacket in which he had formerly been invested, and now appeared in a solemn black coat, the essence of respectable and dignified servitude. He fixed his eyes severely upon Vincent as soon as he opened the door. He was evidently disgusted by this return to the charge. Look here, said Vincent, somewhat startled and annoyed to find himself confronted by the same face which had formerly defied him; could you get a note conveyed from me to Mr. Fordham?the postman says he has his letters here. If he gets his letters here they come by the post, said the man, insolently. Theres a postoffice round the corner, but I dont keep one here. If one reaches him, another will. It aint nothing to me. But it is a great deal to me, said Vincent, with involuntary earnestness. You have preserved his secret faithfully, whatever it may be; but it surely cant be any harm to convey a note to Mr. Fordham. Most likely, when he hears my name, said the young man, with a little consciousness that what he said was more than he believed, he will see me; and I have to leave town this evening. You will do me a great service if you will save me the delay of the post, and get it delivered at once. And you may do Mr. Fordham a service too. The man looked with less certainty in Vincents face.Seems to me some people dont know what No means, when its said, he replied, with a certain relenting in his voice. Theres things as a genleman ought to know, sure enoughsomething happened in the family or so; but you see, he dont live here; and since you stand it out so, I dont mind saying that hes a genleman as cant be seen in town today, seeing hes in the country, as Im informed, on urgent private affairs. Its uncommon kind of a clergyman, and a stranger, to take such an interest in my house, continued the fellow, grinning spitefully; but what I say first I say lasthe dont live here. And he is not in town? asked Vincent eagerly, without noticing the insolence of the speech. The man gradually closed the door upon himself till he had shut it, and stood outside, facing his persistent visitor. In town or out of town, he said, folding his arms upon his chest, and surveying Vincent with all the insolence of a lackey who knows he has to deal with a man debarred by public opinion from the gratifying privilege of knocking him down, there aint no more information to be got here. Such was the conclusion of Vincents attempted investigation. He went away at once, scarcely pausing to hear this speech out, to take the only means that presented themselves now; and going into the first stationers shop in his way, wrote a note entreating Mr. Fordham to meet him, and giving a friends address in London, as well as his own in Carlingford, that he might be communicated with instantly. When he had written and posted this note, Vincent proceeded to investigate the Directory and all the red and blue books he could lay his hands upon, for the name of Fordham. It was not a plentiful name, but still it occurred sufficiently often to perplex and confuse him utterly. When he had looked over the list of Fordhams in London, sufficiently long to give himself an intense headache, and to feel his undertaking entirely hopeless, he came to a standstill. What was to be done? He had no clue, nor the hope of any, to guide him through this labyrinth; but he had no longer any trust in the honour of the man whom his mother had so rashly received, and to whom Susan had given her heart. By way of the only precaution which occurred to him, he wrote a short note to Susan, begging her not to send any more letters to Mr. Fordham until her mothers return; and desiring her not to be alarmed by this prohibition, but to be very careful of herself, and wait for an explanation when Mrs. Vincent should return. He thought he himself would accompany his mother home. The note was written, as Vincent thought, in the most guarded terms; but in reality was such an abrupt, alarming performance, as was sure to drive a sensitive girl into the wildest fright and uncertainty. Having eased his conscience by this, he went back to the railway, and returned to Carlingford. Night had fallen before he reached home. Under any other circumstances, he would have encountered his mother after such an ineffectual enterprise, conscious as he was of carrying back nothing but heightened suspicion, with very uncomfortable feelings, and would have been in his own person too profoundly concerned about this dreadful danger which menaced his only sister, to be able to rest or occupy himself about other things. But the fact was, that whenever he relapsed into the solitary carriage in which he travelled to Carlingford, and when utterly quiet and alone, wrapped in the haze of din and smoke and speed which abstracts railway travellers from all the world,gave himself up to thought, the rosy hue of his own hopes came stealing over him unawares. Now and then he woke up, as men wake up from a doze, and made a passing snatch at his fears. But again and again they eluded his grasp, and the indefinite brightness which had no foundation in reason, swallowed up everything which interfered with its power. The effect of this was to make the young man preternaturally solemn when he entered the room where his mother awaited him. He felt the reality of the fear so much less than he ought to do, that it was necessary to put on twice the appearance. Had he really been as deeply anxious and alarmed as he should have been, he would naturally have tried to ease and lighten the burden of the discovery to his mother; feeling it so hazily as he did, no such precautions occurred to him. She rose up when he came in, with a face which gradually paled out of all its colour as he approached. When he was near enough to hold out his hand to her, Mrs. Vincent was nearly fainting. Arthur, she cried, in a scarcely audible voice, God have pity upon us; it is true I can see it in your face. Mother, compose yourself. I have no evidence that it is true. I have discovered nothing, cried Vincent, in alarm. The widow dropped heavily into her chair, and sobbed aloud. I can read it in your face, she said. Oh! my dear boy, have you seen thatthat villain? Does he confess it? Oh, my Susan, my Susan! I will never forgive myself; I have killed my child. From this passion it was difficult to recover her, and Vincent had to represent so strongly the fact that he had ascertained nothing certain, and that, for anything he could tell, Fordham might still prove himself innocent, that he almost persuaded his own mind in persuading hers. His letters might be taken in at a place where he did not live, for convenience sake, said Vincent. The man might think me a dun, or something disagreeable. Fordham himself, for anything we can tell, may be very angry about it. Cheer up, mother; things are no worse than they were last night. I give you my word I have made no discovery, and perhaps tomorrow may bring us a letter clearing it all up. Ah! Arthur, you are so young and hopeful. It is different with me, who have seen so many terrors come true, said the mother, who notwithstanding was comforted. As for Vincent, he felt neither the danger nor the suspense. His whole soul was engrossed with the fact that it was time to dress; and it was with a little conscious sophistry that he himself made the best of it, and excused himself for his indifference. I cant bear to leave you, mother, in such suspense and distress, he said, looking at his watch; butI have to be at Lady Westerns at halfpast six. Mrs. Vincent looked up with an expression of stupified surprise and pain for a moment, then brightened all at once. My dear, I have laid out all your things, she said, with animation. Do you think I would let you miss it, Arthur? Never mind talking to me. I shall hear all about it when you come home tonight. Now go, dear, or you will be late. I will come and talk to you when you are dressing, if you dont mind your mother? Well, perhaps not. I will stay here, and you can call me when you are ready, and I will bring you a cup of tea. I am sure you are tired, what with the fatigue and what with the anxiety. But you must try to put it off your mind, and enjoy yourself tonight. Yes, mother, said Vincent, hastening away; the tears were in her gentle eyes when she gave him that unnecessary advice. She pressed his hands fast in hers when he left her at last, repeating it, afraid in her own heart that this trouble had spoilt all the brightness of the opening hopes which she perceived with so much pride and joy. When he was gone, she sat down by the solitary fire, and cried over her Susan in an utter forlornness and helplessness, which only a woman, so gentle, timid, and unable to struggle for herself, could feel. Her son, in the mean time, walked down Grange Lane, first with a momentary shame at his own want of feeling, but soon, with an entire forgetfulness both of the shame and the subject of it, absorbed in thoughts of his reception there. With a palpitating heart he entered the dark garden, now noiseless and chill in winterly decay, and gazed at the lighted windows which had looked like distant planets to him the last time he saw them. He lingered looking at them, now that the moment approached so near. A remembrance of his former disappointment went to his heart with a momentary pang as he hesitated on the edge of his present happiness. Another moment and he had thrown himself again, with a degree of suppressed excitement wonderful to think of, upon the chances of his fate. Not alarming chances, so far as could be predicated from the scene. A small room, the smaller half of that room which he had seen full of the pretty crowd of the summerparty, the foldingdoors closed, and a curtain drawn across them; a fire burning brightly; groups of candles softly lighting the room in clusters upon the wall, and throwing a colourless soft illumination upon the pictures of which Lady Western was so proud. She herself, dropped amid billows of dark blue silk and clouds of black lace in a low easychair by the side of the fire, smiled at Vincent, and held out her hand to him without rising, with a sweet cordiality and friendliness which rapt the young man into paradise. Though Lucy Wodehouse was scarcely less pretty than the young Dowager, Mr. Vincent saw her as if he saw her not, and still less did he realise the presence of Miss Wodehouse, who was the shadow to all this brightness. He took the chair which Lady Western pointed to him by her side. He did not want anybody to speak; or anything to happen. The welcome was not given as to a stranger, but made him at once an intimate and familiar friend of the house. At once all his dreams were realised. The sweet atmosphere was tinged with the perfumy breath which always surrounded Her; the room, which was so fanciful and yet so homelike, seemed a reflection of her to his bewildered eyes; and the murmur of soft sound, as these two lovely creatures spoke to each other, made the most delicious climax to the scene; although the moment before he had been afraid lest the sound of a voice should break the spell. But the spell was not to be broken that night. Mr. Wentworth came in a few minutes after him, and was received with equal sweetness; but still the young Nonconformist was not jealous. It was he whose arm Lady Western appropriated, almost without looking at him as she did so, when they went to dinner. She had put aside the forms which were intended to keep the outer world at arms length. It was as her own closest personal friends that the little party gathered around the little table, just large enough for them, which was placed before the fire in the great diningroom. Lady Western was not a brilliant talker, but Mr. Vincent thought her smallest observation more precious than any utterance of genius. He listened to her with a fervour which few people showed when listening to him, notwithstanding his natural eloquence; but as to what he himself said in reply, he was entirely oblivious, and spoke like a man in a dream. When she clapped her pretty hands, and adjured the Churchman and the Nonconformist to fight out their quarrel, it was well for Vincent that Mr. Wentworth declined the controversy. The lecturer on Church and State was hors de combat; he was in charity with all men. The curate of St. Roques, whoblind and infatuated man!thought Lucy Wodehouse the flower of Grange Lane, did not come in his way. He might pity him, but it was a sympathetic pity. Mr. Vincent took no notice when Miss Wodehouse launched tiny arrows of argument at him.


She was the only member of the party who seemed to recollect his heresies in respect to Church and Statewhich, indeed, he had forgotten himself, and the state of mind which led to them. No such world existed now as that cold and lofty world which the young man of genius had seen glooming down upon his life, and shutting jealous barriers against his progress. The barriers were opened, the coldness goneand he himself raised high on the sunshiny heights, where love and beauty had their perennial abode. He had gained nothingchanged in nothingfrom his former condition not even the golden gates of society had opened to the dissenting minister; but glorious enfranchisement had come to the young mans heart. It was not Lady Western who had asked him to dinnera distinction of which his mother was proud. It was the woman of all women who had brought him to her side, whose sweet eyes were sunning him over, whose voice thrilled to his heart. By her side he forgot all social distinctions, and all the stings contained in them. No prince could have reached more completely the ideal elevation and summit of youthful existence. Ambition and its successes were vulgar in comparison. It was a poetic triumph amid the prose tumults and downfalls of life. When the two young men were left over their wine, a somewhat grim shadow fell upon the evening. The curate of St. Roques and the minister of Salem found it wonderfully hard to get up a conversation. They discussed the advantages of retiring with the ladies as they sat glum and reserved opposite each othernot by any means unlike, and, by consequence, natural enemies. Mr. Wentworth thought it an admirable plan, much more sensible than the absurd custom which kept men listening to a parcel of old fogies, who retained the habits of the last generation; and he proposed that they should join the ladiesa proposal to which Vincent gladly acceded. When they returned to the drawingroom, Lucy Wodehouse was at the piano; her sister sat at table with a patternbook before her, doing some impossible pattern in knitting; and Lady Western again sat languid and lovely by the fire, with her beautiful hands in her lap, relieved from the dark background of the billowy blue dress by the delicate cambric and lace of her handkerchief. She was not doing anything, or looking as if she could do anything. She was leaning back in the low chair, with the rich folds of her dress sweeping the carpet, and her beautiful ungloved hands lying lightly across each other. She did not move when the gentlemen entered. She turned her eyes to them, and smiled those sweet welcoming smiles, which Vincent knew well enough were for both alike, yet which made his heart thrill and beat. Wentworth (insensible prig!) went to Lucys side, and began to talk to her over her music, now and then appealing to Miss Wodehouse. Vincent, whom no man hindered, and for whose happiness all the fates had conspired, invited by those smiling eyes, approached Lady Western with the surprised delight of a man miraculously blessed. He could not understand why he was permitted to be so happy. He drew a chair between her and the table, and, shutting out the other group by turning his back upon them, had her all to himself. She never changed her position, nor disturbed her sweet indolence, by the least movement. The fire blazed no longer. The candles, softly burning against the wall, threw no very brilliant light upon this scene. To Vincents consciousness, bewildered as he was by the supreme delight of his position, they were but two in a new world, and neither thing nor person disturbed the unimaginable bliss. But Miss Wodehouse, when she raised her eyes from her knitting, only saw the young Dowager leaning back in her chair, smiling the natural smiles of her sweet temper and kind heart upon the young stranger whom she had chosen to make a protg of. Miss Wodehouse silently concluded that perhaps it might be dangerous for the young man, who knew no better, and that Lady Western always looked well in a blue dress. Such was the outside worlds interpretation of that triumphant hour of Vincents life. How it went on he never could tell. Soft questions, spoken in that voice which made everything eloquent, gently drew from him the particulars of his life; and sweet laughter, more musical than that song of Lucys to which the curate (dull clod!) gave all his attention, rang silvery peals over the name of Tozer and the economics of Salem. Perhaps Lady Western enjoyed the conversation almost half as much as her worshipper did. She was amused, most delicate and difficult of all successes. She was pleased with the reverential devotion which had a freshness and tender humility conjoined with sensitive pride which was novel to her, and more flattering than ordinary adoration. When he saw it amused her, the young man exerted himself to set forth his miseries with their ludicrous element fully developed. They were no longer miseries, they were happinesses which brought him those smiles. He said twice enough to turn him out of Salem, and make him shunned by all the connection. He forgot everything in life but the lovely creature beside him, and the means by which he could arouse her interest, and keep her ear a little longer. Such was the position of affairs, when Miss Wodehouse came to the plain part of her pattern, where she could go on without counting; and seeing Lady Western so much amused, became interested and set herself to listen too. By this time Vincent had come to more private concerns. I have been inquiring today after some one whom my mother knows, and whom I am anxious to hear about, said Vincent. I cannot discover anything about him. It is a wild question to ask if you know him, but it is just possible; there are such curious encounters in life. What is his name? said Lady Western, with a smile as radiant as a sunbeam. His name is FordhamHerbert Fordham I do not know where he comes from, nor whether he is of any profession; nor, indeed, anything but his name. I have been in town today Here Vincent came to a sudden stop. He had withdrawn his eyes from that smile of hers for the moment. When he raised them again, the beautiful picture was changed as if by magic. Her eyes were fixed upon him dilated and almost wild. Her face was deadly pale. Her hands, which had been lying lightly crossed, grasped each other in a grasp of sudden anguish and selfcontrol. He stopped short with a pang too bitter and strange for utterance. At that touch all his fancies dispersed into the air. He came to himself strangely, with a sense of chill and desolation. In one instant, from the height of momentary bliss down to the miserable flat of conscious unimportance. Such a downfall was too much for man to endure without showing it. He stopped short at the aspect of her face. You have been in town today? she repeated, pointedly, with white and trembling lips. And could hear nothing of him, said Vincent, with a little bitterness. He was not to be heard of at his address. Where was that? asked Lady Western again, with the same intent and anxious gaze. Vincent, who was sinking down, down in hopeless circles of jealousy, miserable fierce rage and disappointment, answered, 10 Nameless Street, Piccadilly, without an unnecessary word. Lady Western uttered a little cry of excitement and wonder. She knew nothing of the black abyss into which her companion had fallen any more than she knew the splendid heights to which her favour had raised him; but the sound of her own voice recalled her to herself. She turned away from Vincent and pulled the bell which was within her reachpulled it once and again with a nervous twitch, and entangled her bracelet in the bellpull, so that she had to bend over to unfasten it. Vincent sat gloomily by and looked on, without offering any assistance. He knew it was to hide her troubled face and gain a moment to compose herself; but he was scarcely prepared for her total avoidance of the subject when she next spoke. They are always so late of giving us tea, she said, rising from her chair, and going up to Miss Wodehouse I can see you have finished your pattern; let me see how it looks. That is pretty; but I think it is too elaborate. How many things has Mary done for this bazaar, Mr. Wentworth?and do tell us when is it to be? What did Vincent care for the answer? He sat disenchanted in that same place which had been his bower of bliss all the evening, watching her as she moved about the room; her beautiful figure went and came with a certain restlessness, surely not usual to her, from one corner to another. She brought Miss Wodehouse something to look at from the worktable, and fetched some music for Lucy from a window. She had the tea placed in a remote corner, and made it there; and insisted on bringing it to the Miss Wodehouses with her own hands. She was disturbed; her sweet composure was gone. Vincent sat and watched her under the shade of his hands, with feelings as miserable as ever moved man. It was not sorrow for having disturbed her;feelings much more personal, mortification and disappointment, and, above all, jealousy, raged in his heart. Warmer and stronger than ever was his interest in Mr. Fordham now. After a miserable interval, he rose to take his leave. When he came up to her, Lady Westerns kind heart once more awoke in his behalf. She drew him aside after a momentary struggle with herself. I know that gentleman, she said, quickly, with a momentary flush of colour, and shortening of breath; at least I knew him once; and the address you mention is my brothers address. If you will tell me what you want to know, I will ask for you. My brother and he used not to be friends, but I suppose. What did you want to know? Only, said Vincent, with involuntary bitterness, if he was a man of honour, and could be trusted; nothing else. The young Dowager paused and sighed; her beautiful eyes softened with tears. Oh, yesyes; with lifeto death! she said, with a low accompaniment of sighing, and a wistful melancholy smile upon her lovely face. Vincent hastened out of the house. He ventured to say nothing to himself as he went up Grange Lane in the starless night, with all the silence and swiftness of passion. He dared not trust himself to think. His very heart, the physical organ itself, seemed throbbing and bursting with conscious pain. Had she loved this mysterious stranger whose undecipherable shadow hung over the ministers path? To Vincents fancy, nothing else could account for her agitation; and was he so true, and to be trusted? Poor gentle Susan, whom such a fate and doom was approaching as might have softened her brothers heart, had but little place in his thoughts. He was not glad of that favourable verdict. He was overpowered with jealous rage and passion. Alas for his dreams! Once more, what downfall and overthrow had come of it! once more he had come down to his own position, and the second awakening was harder than the first. When he got home, and found his mother, affectionately proud, waiting to hear all about the great lady he had been visiting, it is impossible to express in words the intolerable impatience and disgust with himself and his fate which overpowered the young man. He had a bad headache, Mrs. Vincent said, she was sure, and he did not contradict her. It was an unspeakable relief to him when she went to her own room, and delivered him from the tender scrutiny of her eyesthose eyes full of nothing but love, which, in the irritation of his spirit, drove him desperate. He did not tell her about the unexpected discovery he had made. The very name of Fordham would have choked him that night. CHAPTER XIV. THE next morning brought no letters except from Susan. Fordham, if so true as Lady Western called him, was not, Vincent thought with bitterness, acting as an honourable man should in this emergency. But perhaps he might come to Carlingford in the course of the day, to see Susans brother. The aspect of the young minister was changed when he made his appearance at the breakfast table. Mrs. Vincent made the most alarmed inquiries about his health, butstopped abruptly in making them by his short and ungracious answercame to a dead pause; and with a pang of fright and mortification, acknowledged to herself that her son was no longer her boy, whose entire heart she knew, but a man with a life and concerns of his own, possibly not patent to his mother. That breakfast was not a cheerful meal. There had been a long silence, broken only by those anxious attentions to each others personal comfort, with which people endeavour to smooth down the embarrassment of an intercourse apparently confidential, into which some sudden unexplainable shadow has fallen. At last Vincent got up from the table, with a little outbreak of impatience. I cant eat this morning; dont ask me. Mother, get your bonnet on, said the young man; we must go to see Mrs. Hilyard today. Yes, Arthur, said Mrs. Vincent, meekly; she had determined not to see Mrs. Hilyard, of whom her gentle respectability was suspicious; but, startled by her sons looks, and by the evident arrival of that period, instinctively perceived by most women, at which a man snatches the reins out of his advisers hand, and has his way, the alarmed and anxious mother let her arms fall, and gave in without a struggle. The fact is, I heard of Mr. Fordham last night, said Vincent, walking about the room, lifting up and setting down again abstractedly the things on the table. Lady Western knows him, it appears; perhaps Mrs. Hilyard does too. Lady Western knows him? Oh, Arthur, tell mewhat did she say? cried his mother, clasping her hands. She said he could be trustedwith lifeto death, said Vincent, very low, with an inaudible groan in his heart. He was prepared for the joy and the tears, and the thanksgiving with which his words were received; but he could not have believed, how sharply his mothers exclamation, God bless my Susan! now I am happy about her, Arthur. I could be content to die, would go to his heart. Susan, yes;it was right to be happy about her; and as for himself, who cared? He shut up his heart in that bitterness; but it filled him with an irritation and restlessness which he could not subdue. We must go to Mrs. Hilyard; probably she can tell us more, he said, abruptly; and there is her child to speak of. I blame myself, he added, with impatience, for not telling her before. Let us go now directlynever mind ringing the bell; all that can be done when we are out. Dinner? oh, for heavens sake, let them manage that! Where is your bonnet, mother? the air will do me good after a bad night. Yes, dear, said Mrs. Vincent, moved by this last argument. It must be his headache, no doubt, she tried to persuade herself. Stimulated by the sound of his footstep in the next room, she lost very little time over her toilette. Perhaps the chill January air, sharp with frost, air full of natural exhilaration and refreshment, did bring a certain relief to the young Nonconformists aching temples and exasperated temper. It was with difficulty his mother kept time with his long strides, as he hurried her along the street, not leaving her time to look at Salem, which was naturally the most interesting point in Carlingford to the ministers mother. Before she had half prepared herself for this interview, he had hurried her up the narrow bare staircase which led to Mrs. Hilyards lodgings. On the landing, with the door half open, stood Lady Westerns big footman, fully occupying the narrow standingground, and shedding a radiance of plush over the whole shabby house. The result upon Mrs. Vincent was an immediate increase of comfort, for surely the woman must be respectable to whom people sent messages by so grand a functionary. The sight of the man struck Vincent like another pang. She had sent to take counsel, no doubt, on the evidently unlookedfor information which had startled her so last night. Come in, said the inhabitant of the room. She was folding a note for which the footman waited. Things were just as usual in that shabby place. The coarse stuff at which she had been working lay on the table beside her. Seeing a woman with Vincent, she got up quickly, and turned her keen eyes upon the newcomer. The timid doubtful mother, the young man, somewhat arbitrary and selfwilled, who had brought his companion there against her will, the very look, half fright, half suspicion, which Mrs. Vincent threw round the room, explained matters to this quick observer. She was mistress of the position at once. Take this to Lady Western, John, said Mrs. Hilyard. She may come when she pleasesI shall be at home all day; but tell her to send a maid next time, for you are much too magnificent for Back Grove Street. This is Mrs. Vincent, I know. Your son has brought you to see me, and I hope you have not come to say that I was too rash in asking a Christian kindness from this young mans mother. If he had not behaved like a paladin, I should not have ventured upon it; but when a young man conducts himself so, I think his mother is a good woman. You have taken in my child? She had taken Mrs. Vincent by both hands, and placed her in a chair, and sat down beside her. The widow had not a word to say. What with the praise of her son, which was music to her earswhat with the confusion of her own position, she was painfully embarrassed and at a loss, and anxiously full of explanations. Susan has, I have no doubt; but I am sorry I left home on Wednesday morning, and we did not know then they were expected; but we have a spare room, and Susan, I dont doubt The fact is, my mother had left home before they could have reached Lonsdale, interposed Vincent; but my sister would take care of them equally well. They are all safe. A note came this morning announcing their arrival. My mother, said the young man, hastily, returns almost immediately. It will make no difference to the strangers. I am sure Susan will make them comfortable, and the beds would be well aired, said Mrs. Vincent; but I had sudden occasion to leave home, and did not even know of it till the night before. My dear, she said, with hesitation, did you think Mrs. Hilyard would know? I brought Susans note to show you, she added, laying down that simple performance in which Susan announced the receipt of Arthurs letter, and the subsequent arrival of a governesslady, and the most beautiful girl that ever was seen. The latter part of Susans hurried note, in which she declared this beautiful girl to be very odda sort of grownup baby, was carefully abstracted by the prudent mother. The strange woman before them took up the note in both her hands and drank it in, with an almost trembling eagerness. She seemed to read over the words to herself again and again with moving lips. Then she drew a long breath of relief. Miss Smith is the model of a governesslady, she said, turning with a composure wonderfully unlike that eagerness of anxiety to Mrs. Vincent againshe never writes but on her day, whatever may happen; and yesterday did not happen to be her day. Thank you; it is Christian charity. You must not be any loser meantime, and we must arrange these matters before you go away. This is not a very imposing habitation, she said, glancing round with a movement of her thin mouth, and comic gleam in her eyebut that makes no difference, so far as they are concerned. Mr. Vincent knows more about me than he has any right to know, continued the strange woman, turning her head towards him for the moment with an amused glancea man takes one on trust sometimes, but a woman must always explain herself to a woman perhaps, Mr. Vincent, you will leave us together while I explain my circumstances to your mother? Oh, I am sure itit is not necessary, said Mrs. Vincent, half alarmed; but, Arthur, you were to ask What were you to ask? said Mrs. Hilyard, laying her hand with an involuntary movement upon a tiny note lying open on the table, to which Vincents eyes had already wandered. The fact is, he said, following her hand with his eyes, that my mother came up to inquire about some one called Fordham, in whom she is interested. Lady Western knows him, said Vincent, abruptly, looking in Mrs. Hilyards face. Lady Western knows him. You perceive that she has written to ask me about him this morning. Yes, said Mrs. Hilyard, looking at the young man, not without a shade of compassion. You are quite right in your conclusions; poor Alice and he were in love with each other before she married Sir Joseph. He has not been heard of for a long time. What do you want to know, and how is it he has showed himself now? It is for Susans sake, cried Mrs. Vincent, interposing; oh, Mrs. Hilyard, you will feel for me better than any onemy only daughter! I got an anonymous letter the night before I left. I am so flurried, I almost forget what night it wasTuesday nightwhich arrived when my dear child was out. I never kept anything from her in all her life, and to conceal it was dreadfuland how we got through that night Mother, the details are surely not necessary now, said her impatient son. We want to know what are this mans antecedents and his characterthat is all, he added, with irrestrainable bitterness. Mrs. Hilyard took up her work, and pinned the long coarse seam to her knee. Mrs. Vincent will tell me herself, she said, looking straight at him with her amused look. Of all her strange peculiarities, the faculty of amusement was the strangest. Intense restrained passion, anxiety of the most desperate kind, a wild will which would pause at nothing, all blended with and left room for this unfailing perception of any ludicrous possibility. Vincent got up hastily, and, going to the window, looked out upon the dismal prospect of Salem, throwing its shabby shadow upon those dreary graves. Instinctively he looked for the spot where that conversation must have been held which he had overheard from the vestry window; it came most strongly to his mind at that moment. As his mother went through her story, how Mr. Fordham had come accidentally to the househow gradually they had admitted him to their friendshiphow, at last, Susan and he had become engaged to each otherher son stood at the window, following in his mind all the events of that evening, which looked so long ago, yet was only two or three evenings back. He recalled to himself his rush to the telegraph office; and again, with a sharp stir of opposition and enmity, recalled, clear as a picture, the railwaycarriage just starting, the flash of light inside, the face so clearly evident against the vacant cushions. What had he to do with that face, with its eagle outline and scanty long locks? Somehow, in the meshes of fate he felt himself so involved that it was impossible to forget this man. He came and took his seat again with his mind full of that recollection. The story had come to a pause, and Mrs. Hilyard sat silent, taking in with her keen eyes every particular of the gentle widows character, evidently, as Vincent could see, following her conduct back to those springs of gentle but imprudent generosity and confidence in what people said to her, from which her present difficulties sprang. And you admitted him first? said Mrs. Hilyard, interrogatively, because? She paused. Mrs. Vincent became embarrassed and nervous. It was very foolish, very foolish, said the widow, wringing her hands; but he came to make inquiries, you know. I answered him civilly the first time, and he came again and again. It looked so natural. He had come down to see a young relation at school in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Hilyard uttered a sudden exclamationvery slight, low, scarcely audible; but it attracted Vincents attention. He could see that her thin lips were closed, her figure slightly erected, a sudden keen gleam of interest in her face. Did he find his relation? she asked, in a voice so ringing and distinct that the young minister started, and sat upright, bracing himself for something about to happen. It did not flash upon him yet what that meaning might be; but his pulses leapt with a prescient thrill of some tempest or earthquake about to fall. No; he never could find herit did not turn out to be our Lonsdale, I thinkwhat is the matter? cried Mrs. Vincent; you both know something I dont knowwhat has happened? Arthur, have I said anything dreadful?oh, what does it mean? Describe him if you can, said Mrs. Hilyard, in a tone which, sharp and calm, tingled through the room with a passionate clearness which nothing but extreme excitement could give. She had taken Mrs. Vincents hand, and held it tightly with a certain compassionate compulsion, forcing her to speak. As for Vincent, the horrible suspicion which stole upon him unmanned him utterly. He had sprung to his feet, and stood with his eyes fixed on his mothers face with an indescribable horror and suspense. It was not her he saw. With hot eyes that blazed in their sockets, he was fixing the gaze of desperation upon a picture in his mind, which he felt but too certain would correspond with the faltering words which fell from her lips. Mrs. Vincent, for her part, would have thrown herself wildly upon him, and lost her head altogether in a frightened attempt to find out what this sudden commotion meant, had she not been fixed and supported by that strong yet gentle grasp upon her hand. Describe himtake time, said her strange companion againnot looking at her, but waiting in an indescribable calm of passion for the words which she could frame in her mind before they were said. Tall, said the widows faltering alarmed voice, falling with a strange uncertainty through the intense stillness, in single words, with gasps between; nota very young manaquilinewith a sort of eaglelooklight hairlong and thin, and as fine as silkvery light in his beard, so that it scarcely showed. Oh, God help us! what is it? what is it?You both know whom I mean. Neither of them spoke; but the eyes of the two met in a single look, from which both withdrew, as if the communication were a crime. With a shudder Vincent approached his mother; and, speechless though he was, took hold of her, and drew her to him abruptly. Was it murder he read in those eyes, with their desperate concentration of will and power? The sight of them, and recollection of their dreadful splendour, drove even Susan out of his mind. Susan, poor gentle soul!what if she broke her tender heart, in which no devils lurked? Mother, comecome, he said, hoarsely, raising her up in his arm, and releasing the hand which the extraordinary woman beside her still clasped fast. The movement roused Mrs. Hilyard as well as Mrs. Vincent. She rose up promptly from the side of the visitor who had brought her such news. I need not suggest to you that this must be acted on at once, she said to Vincent, who, in his agitation, saw how the hand, with which she leant on the table, clenched hard till it grew white with the pressure. The man we have to deal with spares nothing. She stopped, and then, with an effort, went up to the halffainting mother, who hung upon Vincents arm, and took her hands and pressed them close. We have both thrust our children into the lions mouth, she cried, with a momentary softening. Go, poor woman, and save your child if you can, and so will Iwe are companions in misfortune. And you are a priest, why cannot you curse him? she exclaimed, with a bitter cry. The next moment she had taken down a travellingbag from a shelf, and, kneeling down by a trunk, began to transfer some things to it. Vincent left his mother, and went up to her with a sudden impulse, I am a priest, let me bless you, said the young man, touching with a compassionate hand the dark head bending before him. Then he took his mother away. He could not speak as he supported her downstairs; she, clinging to him with double weakness, could scarcely support herself at all in her agitation and wonder when they got into the street. She kept looking in his face with a pitiful appeal that went to his heart. Tell me, Arthur, tell me! She sobbed it out unawares, and over and over before he knew what she was saying. And what could he tell her? We must go to Susanpoor Susan! was all the young man could say. CHAPTER XV. MRS. VINCENT came to a dead stop as they passed the doors of Salem, which were ajar, taking resolution in the desperateness of her uncertaintyfor the feelings in the widows mind were not confined to one burning impulse of terror for Susan, but complicated by a wonderful amount of flying anxieties about other matters as well. She knew, by many teachings of experience, what would be said by all the connection, when it was known that the ministers mother had been in Carlingford without going to see anybodynot even Mrs. Tufton, the late ministers wife, or Mrs. Tozer, who was so close at hand. Though her heart was racked, Mrs. Vincent knew her duty. She stopped short in her fright and distress with the mild obduracy of which she was capable. Before rushing away out of Carlingford to protect her daughter, the mother, notwithstanding her anxiety, could not forget the injury which she might possibly do by this means to the credit of her son. Arthur, the chapel is openI should like to go in and rest, she said, with a little gasp; and oh, my dear boy, take a little pity upon me! To see the state you are in, and not to know anything, is dreadful. You must have a vestry, where one could sit down a littlelet us go in. A vestryyes; it will be a fit place, cried Vincent, scarcely knowing what he was saying, and indeed worn out with the violence of his own emotions. This little persistent pause of the widow, who was not absorbed by any one passionate feeling, but took all the common cares of life with her into her severest trouble, awoke the young man to himself. He, too, recollected that this enemy who had stolen into his house was not to be reached by one wild rush, and that everything could not be suffered to plunge after Susans happiness into an indiscriminate gulf of ruin. All his own duties pricked at his heart with bitter reminders in that moment when he stood by the door of Salem, where two poor women were busy inside, with pails and brushes, preparing for Sunday. The minister, too, had to prepare for Sunday. He could not dart forth, breathing fire and flame at a moments notice, upon the serpent who had entered his Eden. Even at this dreadful moment, in all the fever of such a discovery, the touch of his mothers hand upon his arm brought him back to his lot. He pushed open the mean door, and led her into the scene of his weekly labours with a certain sickening disgust in his heart which would have appalled his companion. She was a dutiful woman, subdued by long experience of that inevitable necessity against which all resistance fails; and he a passionate young man, naturally a rebel against every such bond. They could not understand each other; but the mothers troubled face, all conscious of Tufton and Tozer, and what the connection would say, brought all the weight of his own particular burden back upon Vincents mind. He pushed in past the pails with a certain impatience which grieved Mrs. Vincent. She followed him with a pained and disapproving look, nodding, with a faint little smile, to the women, who no doubt were members of the flock, and might spread an evil report of the pastor, who took no notice of them. As she followed him to the vestry, she could not help thinking, with a certain strange mixture of pain, vexation, and tender pride, how different his dear father would have been. But Arthur, dear boy, has my quick temper, sighed the troubled woman. After all, it was her fault rather than her sons. This is a very nice room, said Mrs. Vincent, sitting down with an air of relief; but I think it would be better to close the window, as there is no fire. You were always very susceptible to cold, Arthur, from a child.


And now, my dear boy, we are undisturbed, and out of those dreadful glaring streets where everybody knows you. I have not troubled you, Arthur, for I saw you were very much troubled; but, oh! dont keep me anxious now. Keep you anxious! You ask me to make you anxious beyond anything you can think of, said the young man, closing the window with a hasty and fierce impatience, which she could not understand. Good heavens, mother! why did you let that man into your innocent house? Who is he, Arthur? asked Mrs. Vincent, with a blanched face. He is Vincent stopped with his hand upon the window where he had overheard that conversation, a certain awe coming over him. Even Susan went out of his mind when he thought of the dreadful calmness with which his strange acquaintance had promised to kill her companion of that night. Had she started already on this mission of vengeance? A cold thrill came over him where he stood. I cant tell who he is, he exclaimed, abruptly, throwing himself down upon the little sofa; but it was to be in safety from him that Mrs. Hilyard sent her daughter to Lonsdale. It was he whom she vowed to kill if he found the child. Ah!he is, cried the young man, springing to his feet again with a sudden pang and smothered exclamation as the truth dawned upon him, Lady Westerns brother. What other worse thing he is I cannot tell. Ruin, misery, and horror at the leastdeath to Susannot much less to me. To you? Oh, Arthur, have pity upon me, my heart is breaking, said Mrs. Vincent. Oh, my boy, my boy, whom I would die to save from any trouble! dont tell me I have destroyed you. That cannot be, Arthurthat cannot be! The poor minister did not say anythinghis heart was bitter within him. He paced up and down the vestry with dreadful thoughts. What was She to him if she had a hundred brothers? Nothing in the world could raise the young Nonconformist to that sweet height which she made beautiful; and far beyond that difference came the cruel recollection of those smiles and tearspathetic, involuntary confessions. If there was another man in the world whom she could trust with lifeto death! what did it matter though a thousand frightful combinations involved poor Vincent with her kindred? He tried to remind himself of all this, but did not succeed. In the mean time, the fact glared upon him that it was her brother who had aimed this deadly blow at the honour and peace of his own humble house; and his heart grew sad with the thought that, however indifferent she might be to him, however unattainable, here was a distinct obstacle which must cut off all that bewildering tantalising intercourse which at present was still possible, notwithstanding every other hindrance. He thought of this, and not of Susan, as the floor of the little vestry thrilled under his feet. He was bitter, aggrieved, indignant. His troubled mother, who sat by there, half afraid to cry, watching him with frightened, anxious, uncomprehending eyes, had done him a sharp and personal injury. She could not fancy how it was, nor what she could have done. She followed him with mild tearful glances, waiting with a womans compelled patience till he should come to himself, and revolving thoughts of Salem, and supply for the pulpit there, with an anxious pertinacity. But in her way Mrs. Vincent was a wise woman. She did not speakshe let him wear himself out first in that sudden apprehension of the misfortune personal to himself, which was at the moment so much more poignant and bitter than any other dread. When he had subsided a littleand first of all he threw up the window, leaning out, to his mothers great vexation, with a total disregard of the draught, and receiving the chill of the January breeze upon his heated browshe ventured to say, gently, Arthur, what are we to do? To go to Lonsdale, said Vincent. When we came in here, I thought we could rush off directly; but these women outside there, and this place, remind me that I am not a free man, who can go at once and do his duty. I am in fetters to Salem, mother. Heaven knows when I may be able to get away. Sunday must be provided for first. No natural immediate action is possible to me. Hush, Arthur dearoh, hush! Your duty to your flock is above your duty even to your sister, said the widow, with a tremulous voice, timid of saying anything to him whose mood she could not comprehend. You must find out when the first train starts, and I will go. I have been very foolish, faltered the poor mother, as you say, Arthur; but if my poor child is to bear such a dreadful blow, I am the only one to take care of her. Susanhere she made a pause, her lip trembled, and she had all but broken into tearswill not upbraid me, dear. You must not neglect your duty, whatever happens; and now let us go and inquire about the train, Arthur, and you can come on Monday, after your work is over; and, oh! my dear boy, we must not repine, but accept the arrangements of Providence. It was what your dear father always said to his dying day. Her face all trembling and pale, her eyes full of tears which were not shed, her tender humility, which never attempted a defence, and those motherly, tremulous, wistful advices which it now for the first time dawned upon Mrs. Vincent her son was not certain to take, moved the young Nonconformist out of his personal vexation and misery. This will not do, he said. I must go with you; and we must go directly. Susan may be less patient, less believing, less ready to take our word for it, than you imagine, mother. Come; if there is anybody to be got to do this preaching, the thing will be easy. Tozer will help me, perhaps. We will waste no more time here. I am quite rested, Arthur dear, said Mrs. Vincent; and it will be right for me to call at Mrs. Tozers too. I wish I could have gone to Mrs. Tuftons, and perhaps some others of your people. But you must tell them, dear, that I was very hurriedandand not very well; and that it was family business that brought me here. I do not see they have any business with the matter, said the rebellious minister. My dear, it will of course be known that I was in Carlingford; and I know how things are spoken of in a flock, said Mrs. Vincent, rising; but you must tell them all I wanted to come, and could notwhich, indeed, will be quite true. A ministers family ought to be very careful, Arthur, added the muchexperienced woman. I know how little a thing makes mischief in a congregation. Perhaps, on the whole, I ought not to call at Mrs. Tozers, as there is no time to go elsewhere. But still I should like to do it. One good friend is often everything to a young pastor. And, my dear, you should just say a word in passing to the women outside. By way of improving the occasion? said Vincent, with a little scorn. Mother, dont torture yourself about me. I shall get on very well; and we have plenty on our hands just now without thinking of Salem. Come, come; with this horrible cloud overhanging Susan, how can you spare a thought for such trifles as these? Oh, Arthur, my dear boy, must not we keep you right? said his mother; are not you our only hope? If this dreadful news you tell me is true, my child will break her heart, and I will be the cause of it; and Susan has no protector or guardian, Arthur dear, that can take care of her, but you. Wiping her eyes, and walking with a feeble step, Mrs. Vincent followed her son out of Salem; but she looked up with gentle interest to his pulpit as she passed, and said it was a cold day to the cleaners, with anxious carefulness. She was not carried away from her palpable standingground by any wild tempest of anxiety. Susan, whose heart would be broken by this blow, was her mothers special object in life; but the thought of that coming sorrow which was to crush the girls heart, made Mrs. Vincent only the more anxiously concerned to conciliate and please everybody whose influence could be of any importance to her son. So they came out into the street together, and went on to Tozers shop. She, tremulous, watchful, noting everything; now lost in thought as to how the dreadful truth was to be broken to Susan; now in anxious plans for impressing upon Arthur the necessity of considering his peoplehe, stinging with personal wounds and bitterness, much more deeply alarmed than his mother, and burning with consciousness of all the complications which she was totally ignorant of. Fury against the villain himself, bitter vexation that he was Lady Westerns brother, anger at his mother for admitting, at Susan for giving him her heart, at Mrs. Hilyard for he could not tell what, because she had added a climax to all, burned in Vincents mind as he went on to George Street with his mother leaning on his arm, who asked him after every wayfarer who passed them, Who was that? It was not wonderful that the young man gradually grew into a fever of excitement and restless misery. Everything conspired to exasperate him,even the fact that Sunday came so near, and could not be escaped. The whirl of his brain came to a climax when Lady Westerns carriage drove past, and through the mist of his wretchedness he saw the smile and the beautiful hand waved to him in sweet recognition. Oh heaven! to bring tears to those eyes, or a pang to that heart!to have her turn from him shuddering, or pass him with cold looks, because her brother was a villain, and he the avenger of that crime! His mother, almost running to keep up with his unconsciously quickened pace, cast pitiful looks at him, inquiring what it was. The poor young fellow could not have told even if he would. It was a combination of miseries, sharply stimulated to the intolerable point by the mission on which he had now to enter Tozers shop. We heard you was come, maam, said Tozer, graciously, and in course was looking for a call. I hope you are going to stay awhile and help us take care of the pastor. He dont take that care of himself as his friends would wish, said the butterman. Mr. Vincent, sir, Ive a deal to say to you when youre at leisure. Old Mr. Tufton, he has a deal to say to you. We are as anxious as ever we can be, us as are old stagers, to keep the minister straight, maam. Hes but a young man, and hes come into a deal of popularity, and any one more thought on in our connection, I dont know as I would wish to see; but it wouldnt do to let him have his head turned. Them lectures on Church and State couldnt but be remarked, being delivered, as you may say, in the world, all on us making a sacrifice to do our duty by our fellowcreaturs, seein what we had in our power. But man is but mortal; and us Salem folks dont like to see no signs of that weakness in a pastor; its our duty to see as his heads not turned. Indeed, I trust there is very little fear of that, said Mrs. Vincent, roused, and set on the defensive. My dear boy has been used to be appreciated, and to have people round him who could understand him. As for having his head turned, that might happen to a man who did not know what intelligent approbation was; but after doing so well as he did at college, and having his dear fathers approval, I must say I dont see any cause to apprehend that, Mr. Tozer. I am not surprised at all, for my part,I always knew what my Arthur could do. No more of this, said Vincent, impatiently. Look here, I have come on a special business. Can any one be got, do you think, to preach on Sunday? I must go home with my mother today. Today! Tozer opened his eyes, with a blank stare, as he slowly took off his apron. You was intimated to begin that course on the Miracles, Mr. Vincent, if youll excuse me, on Sunday. Salem folks is a little sharp, I dont deny. It would be a great disappointment, and I cant say I think as it would be took well if you was to go away. I cant help that, said the unfortunate minister, to whom opposition at this moment was doubly intolerable. The Salem people, I presume, will hear reason. My mother has come upon Family business, interrupted Mrs. Vincent, with the deepest trembling anxiety. Arthur dear, let me explain it, for you are too susceptible. My son is all the comfort we have in the world, Mr. Tozer, said the anxious widow. I ought not to have told him how much his sister wanted him, but I was rash, and did so; and now I ought to bear the penalty. I have made him anxious about Susan; but, Arthur dear, never mind; you must let me go by myself, and on Monday you can come. Your dear father always said his flock was his first duty, and if Sunday is a special day, as Mr. Tozer says Oh, Pa, is it Mrs. Vincent? and you keep her in the shop, when we are all as anxious as ever we can be to see her, said Phbe, who suddenly came upon the scene. Oh, please to come upstairs to the drawingroom. Oh, I am so glad to see you! and it was so unkind of Mr. Vincent not to let us know you were coming. Mamma wanted to ask you to come here, for she thought it would be more comfortable than a bachelors rooms; and we did think the minister would have told us, said Phbe, with reproachful looks; but now that you have come back again, after such a long time, please, Mr. Vincent, let your mother come upstairs. They say you dont think us good enough to be trusted now; but oh, I dont think you could ever be like that! continued Phbe, pausing by the door as she ushered Mrs. Vincent into the drawingroom, and giving the minister an appealing remonstrative glance before she dropped her eyelids in virginal humility. Poor Vincent paused too, disgusted and angry, but with a certain confusion. To fling out of the house, dash off to his rooms, make his hasty preparations for the journey, was the impulse which possessed him; but his mother was looking back with wistful curiosity, wondering what the two could mean by pausing behind her at the door. I am exactly as I was the last time I saw you, which was on Tuesday, he said, with some indignation. I will follow you, please. My mother has no time to spare, as she leaves todaycan Mrs. Tozer see her? She has been agitated and worn out, and we have not really a moment to spare. Appearingly notnot for your own friends, Mr. Vincent, said Mrs. Tozer, who now presented herself. I hope I see you well, maam, and proud to see you in my house, though I will say the minister dont show himself not so kind as was to be wished. Phbe, dont put on none o your pleading looksfor shame of yourself, Miss! If Mr. Vincent has them in Carlingford as he likes better than any in his own flock, it aint no concern of ours. Its a thing well known as the Salem folks are all in trade, and dont drive their carriages, nor give themselves up to this world and vanity. I never saw no good come, for my part, of folks sacrificing theirselves and their good money as Tozer and the rest set their hearts on, with that Music Hall and them advertisings and thingsnot as I was meaning to upbraid you, Mr. Vincent, particular not before your mother, as is a strangerbut we was a deal comfortabler before them lectures and things, and taking off your attention from your own flock. Before this speech was finished, the whole party had assembled in the drawingroom, where a newlylighted fire, hastily set light to on the spur of the moment by Phbe, was sputtering drearily. Mrs. Vincent had been placed in an armchair at one side, and Mrs. Tozer, spreading out her black silk apron and arranging her cap, set herself doggedly on the other, with a little toss of her head and careful averting of her eyes from the accused pastor. Tozer, without his apron, had drawn a chair to the table, and was drumming on it with the blunt round ends of his fingers; while Phbe, in a slightly pathetic attitude, ready for general conciliation, hovered near the minister, who grew red all over, and clenched his hand with an emphasis most intelligible to his frightened mother. The dreadful pause was broken by Phbe, who rushed to the rescue. Oh, Ma, how can you! cried that young ladyyou were all worrying and teasing Mr. Vincent, you know you were; and if he does know that beautiful lady, said Phbe, with her head pathetically on one side, and another glance at him, still more appealing and tenderly reproachfulandand likes to go to see heritsits the naturalest thing that ever was. Oh, I knew he never could think anything of anybody else in Carlingford after Lady Western! and I am sure, whatever other people may say, IInever can think Mr. Vincent was to blame. Phbes words were interrupted by her feelingsshe sank back into a seat when she had concluded, and put a handkerchief to her eyes. As for Tozer, he still drummed on the table. A certain human sympathy was in the mind of the butterman, but he deferred to the readier utterance of his indignant wife. I never said it was any concern of ours, said Mrs. Tozer. It aint our way to court nobody as doesnt seek our company; but a minister as weve all done a deal to make comfortable, and took an interest in equal to a son, and has been made such a fuss about as I never see in our connectionits disappointing, I will say, to see him agoing off after worldly folks that dont care no more about religion than I do about playing the piano. Not as Phbe doesnt play the piano better than mostbut such things aint in my thoughts. I do say its disappointing, and gives folks a turn. If shes prettylookinas she may be, for what I can tellit aint none of the pastors business. Them designing ladies is the ruin of a young man; and when he deserts his flock, as are making sacrifices, and goes off after strangers, I dont say if its right or wrong, but I say its disappointin, and what wasnt looked for at Mr. Vincents hands. Vincent had listened up to this point with moderate selfrestraintpartially, perhaps, subdued by the alarmed expression of his mothers face, who had fixed her anxious eyes upon him, and vainly tried to convey telegraphic warnings; but the name of Lady Western stung him. What is all this about? he asked, with assumed coldness. Nobody supposes, surely, that I am to render an account of my private friends to the managers of the chapel. It is a mistake, if it has entered any imagination. I shall do nothing of the kind. There is enough of this. When I neglect my duties, I presume I shall hear of it more seriously. In the mean time, I have real business in hand. But, Arthur dear, I daresay some one has misunderstood you, said his mother; it always turns out so. I came the day before yesterday, Mrs. Tozer. I left home very suddenly in great anxiety, and I was very much fatigued by the journey, and I must go back today. I have been very selfish, taking my son away from his usual occupations. Never mind me, Arthur dear; if you have any business, leave me to rest a little with Mrs. Tozer. I can take such a liberty here, because I know she is such a friend of yours. Dont keep Mr. Tozer away from his business on my account. I know what it is when time is valuable. I will just stay a little with Mrs. Tozer, and you can let me know when it is time for the train. Yes, I came up very hurriedly, said the gentle diplomatist, veiling her anxiety as she watched the gloomy countenances round her. We had heard some bad news; I had to ask my son to go to town yesterday for me, andand I must go home today without much comfort. I feel a good deal shaken, but I dare not stay away any longer from my dear child at home. Dear, dear; I hope its nothing serious as has happened? said Mrs. Tozer, slightly mollified. It is some bad news about the gentleman Susan was going to marry, said Mrs. Vincent, with a rapid calculation of the necessities of the position; and she does not know yet. Arthur, my dear boy, it would be a comfort to my mind to know about the train. Oh, and you will be so fatigued! said Phbe. I do so hope its nothing bad. I am so interested about Miss Vincent. Oh, Pa, do go downstairs and look at the railway bill. Wont you lie down on the sofa a little and rest? Fancy, mamma, taking two journeys in three days!it would kill you; and, oh, I do so hope it is nothing very bad. I have so longed to see you and Mr. Vincents sister. He told me all about her one evening. Is the gentleman ill? But do lie down and rest after all your fatigue. Mamma, dont you think it would do Mrs. Vincent good? Well have a bit of dinner presently, said Mrs. Tozer. Phbe, go and fetch the wine. There is one thing in trouble, that it makes folks find out their real friends. It wouldnt be to Lady Western the minister would think of taking his mother. I aint saying anything, Tozernor Mr. Vincent neednt think I am saying anything. If I speak my mind a bit, I dont bear malice. Phbes a deal too feelin, Mrs. Vincentshes overcome, thats what she is; and if I must speak the truth, its disappointing to see our pastor, as weve all made sacrifices for, following after the ungodly. I am a mother myself, continued Mrs. Tozer, changing her seat, as her husband, followed by the indignant Vincent, went downstairs, and I know a mothers feelins but after what I heard from Mrs. Pigeon, and how its going through all the connection in Carlingford Mrs. Vincent roused herself to listen. Her sons cause was safe in her hands. Meantime Vincent went angry and impetuous downstairs. I will not submit to any inquisition, cried the young man. I have done nothing I am ashamed of. If I dine with a friend, I will suffer no questioning on the subject. What do you mean? What right has any man in any connection to interfere with my actions? Why, you would not venture to attack your servant so! Am I the servant of this congregation? Am I their slave? Must I account to them for every accident of my life? Nobody in the world has a right to make such a demand upon me. If a minister aint a servant, we pays him his salary at the least, and expects him to please us, said Tozer, sulkily. If it werent for that, I dont give a sixpence for the Dissenting connection. Them as likes to please themselves would be far better in a State Church, where it wouldnt disappoint nobody; not meaning to be hard on you as has given great satisfaction, thems my views; but if the Chapel folks is a little particular, its no more nor a pastors duty to bear with them, and return a soft answer. I dont say as Im dead again you, like the women, added the butterman, softening; theyre jealous, thats what they are; but I couldnt find it in my heart, not for my own part, to be hard on a man as was led away after a beautiful creature like that. But there cant no good come of it, Mr. Vincent; take my advice, sir, as have seen a deal of the worldthere cant no good come of it. A man as goes dining with Lady Western, and thinking as she means to make a friend of him, aint the man for Salem. Were different sort of folks, and we cant go on together. Old Mr. Tufton will tell you just the same, as has gone through it alland thats why I said both him and me had a deal to say to you, as are a young man, and should take good advice. It was well for Vincent that the worthy butterman was lengthy in his address. The sharp impression of resentment and indignation which possessed him calmed down under this outpouring of words. He bethought himself of his dignity, his character. A squabble of selfdefence, in which the sweet name of the lady of his dreams must be involvedan angry encounter of words about her, down here in this mean world to which the very thought of her was alien, wound up her young worshipper into supernatural selfrestraint. He edged past the table in the backparlour to the window, and stood there looking out with a suppressed fever in his veins, biting his lip, and bearing his lecture. On the whole, the best way, perhaps, would have been to leave Carlingford at once, as another man would have done, and leave the Sunday to take care of itself. But though he groaned under his bonds, the young Nonconformist was instinctively confined by them, and had the habits of a man trained in necessary subjection to circumstances. He turned round abruptly when the butterman at last came to a pause. I will write to one of my friends in Homerton, he said, if you will make an apology for me in the chapel. I daresay I could get Beecher to come down, who is a very clever fellow; and as for the beginning of that course of sermons He stopped short with a certain suppressed disgust. Good heavens! what mockery it seemed. Amid these agonies of life, a man overwhelmed with deadly fear, hatred, and grief might indeed pause to snatch a burning lesson, or appropriate with trembling hands a consolatory promise; but with the whole solemn future of his sisters life hanging on a touch, with all the happiness and peace of his own involved in a feverish uncertainty, with dark unsuspected depths of injury and wretchedness opening at his feetto think of courses of sermons and elaborate preachments, ineffectual words, and pretences of teaching! For the first time in the commotion of his soul, in the resentments and forebodings to which he gave no utterance, in the bitter conviction of uncertainty in everything which consumed his heart, a doubt of his own ability to teach came to Vincents mind. He stopped short with an intolerable pang of impatience and selfdisgust. And what of that, Mr. Vincent? said Tozer. I cant say as I think itll be well took to see a stranger in the pulpit after them intimations. I made it my business to send the notices out last night; and after saying everywhere as you were to begin a coorse, as I always advised, if you had took my advice, it aint a way to stop talk to put them off now. Old Mr. Tufton, you know, he was a different man; it was experience as was his line; and I dont mean to say nothing against experience, said the worthy deacon. There aint much true godliness, take my word, where theres a shrinking from disclosin the state of your soul; but for keeping up a congregation theres nothing I know on like a coorseand a clever young man as has studied his subjects, and knows the manners of them old times, and can give a bit of a description as takes the interest, thats what Id set my heart on for Salem. Theres but three whole pews in the chapel as isnt engaged, said the butterman, with a softening glance at the pastor; and the Miss Hemmings sent over this morning to say as they meant to come regular the time you was on the Miracles; and but for this cackle of the women, as youll soon get over, there aint a thing as I can see to stop us filling up to the most influential chapel in the connection; I mean in our parts. The subdued swell of expectation with which the ambitious butterman concluded, somehow made Vincent more tolerant even in his undiminished excitement. He gave a subdued groan over all this that was expected of him, but not without a little answering thrill in his own troubled and impatient heart. A week cant make much difference, if I am ever to do any good, said the young man. I must go now; but if you explain the matter for me, you will smooth the way. I will bring my mother and sister here, he went on, giving himself over for a moment to a little gleam of comfort, and everything will go on better. I am worried and anxious now, and dont know what I am about. Give me some paper, and I will write to Beecher. You will like him. He is a good fellow, and preaches much better than I do, added poor Vincent with a sigh, sitting wearily down by the big table. He was subdued to his condition at that moment, and Tozer appreciated the momentary humbleness. I am not the man to desert my minister when hes in trouble, said the brave butterman. Look you here, Mr. Vincent; dont fret yourself about it. Ill take it in hand; and Id like to see the man in Salem as would say to the contrary again me and the pastor both. Make your mind easy; Ill manage em. As for the women, said Tozer, scratching his head, I dont pretend not to be equal to that; but my missis is as reasonable as most; and Phbe, shell stand up for you, whatever you do. If youll take my advice, and be a bit prudent, and dont go after no more vanities, things aint so far wrong but a week or two will make them right. With this consolatory assurance Vincent began to write his letter. Before he had concluded it, the maid came to lay the cloth for dinner, thrusting him into a corner, where he accomplished his writing painfully on his knee with his ink on the windowsill, a position in which Phbe found him when she ventured downstairs. It was she who took his letter from him, and ran with it to the shop to despatch it at once; and Phbe came back to tell him that Mrs. Vincent was resting, and that it was so pleasant to see him back again after such a time. I never expected you would have any patience for us when I saw you knew Lady Western so well. Oh, she is so sweetly pretty! and if I were a gentleman, I know I should fall deep in love with her, said Phbe, with a sidelong glance, and not without hopes of calling forth a disclaimer from the minister; but the poor minister, jammed up in the corner, whence it was now necessary to extricate his chair preparatory to sitting down to a family dinner with the Tozers, was, as usual, unequal to the occasion, and had nothing to say. Phbes chair was by the ministers side during that substantial meal; and the large fire which burned behind Mrs. Tozer at the head of the table, and the steaming viands on the hospitable board, and the prevailing atmosphere of cheese and bacon which entered when the door was opened, made even Mrs. Vincent pale and flush a little in the heroic patience and friendliness with which she bent all her powers to secure the support of these adherents to her son. I could have wished, Arthur, they were a little more refined, she said, faintly, when the dinner was over, and they were at last on their way to the train; but I am sure they are very genuine, my dear; and one good friend is often everything to a pastor; and I am so glad we went at such a time. So glad! The young Nonconformist heaved a tempestuous sigh, and turned away not without a reflection upon the superficial emotions of women who at such a time could be glad. But Mrs. Vincent, for her part, with a fatigue and sickness of heart which she concealed from herself as much as she could, let down her veil, and cried quietly behind it. Perhaps her share of the days exhaustion had not been the mildest or least hard. CHAPTER XVI. THE journey was troublesome and tedious, involving a change from one railway to another, and a troubled glimpse into the most noisy streets of London by the way. Vincent had left his mother, as he thought, safe in the cab which carried them to the second railway station, and was disposing of the little luggage they had with them, that he might not require to leave her again, when he heard an anxious voice calling him, and found her close behind him, afloat in the bustle and confusion of the crowd, dreadfully agitated and helpless, calling upon her Arthur with impatient accents of distress. His annoyance to find her there increased her confusion and trembling. Arthur, she gasped out, I saw himI saw himnot a minute agoin a cabwith some ladies; oh, my dear, run after him. That was the way he went. Arthur, Arthur, why dont you go? Never mind meI can take care of myself. Who was ithow did he go?why didnt you stop him, mother? cried the young man, rushing back to the spot she had left. Nothing was to be seen there but the usual attendant group of railway porters, and the alarmed cabman who had been keeping his eye on Mrs. Vincent. The poor widow gasped as she gazed and saw no traces of the enemy who had eluded them. Oh, Arthur, my dear boy, I thought, in such a case, it ought to be a man to speak to him, faltered Mrs. Vincent. He went that waythat way, look!in a cab, with somebody in a blue veil.