Round the Corner

ves thee entirely. I have heard her bre

LD BA

ory. Then its postmistress, with the aid of a kettle, opened all letters that looked interesting. Only the other day a new resident discovered that his private affairs were common property, and

usin once removed, and that Baron Folyat was half a degree nearer in kinship, he became a romantic figure. When a small girl read in her history book that Henry Folyat was associated with Guy Fawkes, she ran

e thought that it was hers and hers alone. She devoured romances, though, being not yet seventeen, she was supposed to confine her attentions to "The Fairchild Family" and Miss Maria Edgeworth. In all innocence Francis lent her the poems of a young man named Shelley who was still regarded as a bl

immorality. Dissent was ignored; drink was attacked by prayer; and immorality was defeated by a hurried marriage where possible, and when that was out of the question it was scarified by threats-sure promises even-of eternal punishment. It was all a matter of routine, and so extremely pleasant that Francis soon ceased to regret that he had stifled ambition with a black coat. His vicar was a man who had taken a small active part in the Tractarian movement, without in the least understanding its spiritual significance. He had been attracted by the notion that the Church existed in spite of H

as he took nearly all the work of the parish off the vicar's shoulders, there could not possibly be any friction between them. The vicar congratulated himself on having found a j

t the mouth of the estuary and bathe and fish and lie in the sun with his clay pipe between his teeth, and his golden beard glistening and his blue eyes shining as he thought that the world was very good and the sea almost the best of

golden age by an event which kept Pots

down the garden to look at the moonlight on the sea, he returned to his rooms to find them occupied by a man with a white face and quiveri

g

t of man would th

and Francis felt a curious nausea as he loo

feeling that the question was almos

er throat and a lot o

echoed

er go," sa

rancis. "Does

an, "I been looking

is lips set in a thin straight line. He stood up and went to the door and Francis followe

Francis,

ere they found the woman even as the man had told. To Francis the adventure seemed to be complete and fantastic, and he felt that he was outside it, that the world had stopped and

ve very little light. The moon shone through the

with a sort of insistence: "You

fantasy, and at last he found the word that had been buzzing in

g

as astonished at the ha

ittle dark house. They were a little awed when they saw the curate, but the crowd hummed as new people came running up and the tale was told again. Suddenly Francis felt a hand on his arm, and there was the man clinging to him while the beadle and the policeman wer

ouses, he could see the water swelling with the tide and

landscape as they had never done before. They demanded, a different sort of attention from that which he had always given them, and at first he disliked them heartily. He saw them in their habits, sadly, as they were-eating, drinking, sleeping, gossiping, with very little to vary the monotony save foolish

entire [Pg 14]lack of comparative standards, and, as young men will, he thought that at all costs

en recollection of the tallow candle in the bottle and the moon shining through the window; and of these he dared not speak. He agreed perfectly that he had set his hand to the noblest service in the world and had no right to

uade himself that it raised them from brutality, spiritualised them, and made them holy; but then he could not help feeling that there was some discrepancy. The facts remained the same, therefore if they were sacred at all they must be sacred in themselves. All that could be done by mind and Holy Writ, the product of inspired minds, was nobly to interpret

"is a religious thing, or it

gs as ever. He had fed himself chiefly with the writings of ironists and he was hungry for belief-in the nobility of life and death and the unity of all things. The lives of birds he knew and the lives of beasts, but of the lives of men he knew nothing a

end the Holy Bible had been written and the Church founded, and to that end Keble and Pusey had sought to rouse the Church from its indolence and indifference. His vicar was right: he could

r his feet, and the Heavenly region to be beyond the blue vault of the sky, and that human life led infallibly to one or the other. A noble life, therefore, was that whic

foxes in the Bible. Our curate made that mistake. Naturally he had been in love-never [Pg 16]out of it; but always he had worshipped from afar, and had thought the objects of his adoration as insensible to it as the stars in the sky to his wonder and delight. He was in love now, but could attach his emot

eeping out of her gown, a modification of the style made popular by the young Queen. She was so demure, so quiet, and her manner of listening to him gave him such a sense of authority. He felt it could never leave him, t

lay flat, very white and soft and pink at the finger-tips, and in her wrist was the most delicious little bone. He could see nothing el

the smell of the salt water came up

moving," sai

saw warmth and mischief in her eyes, and almost imp

igh of relief and went spluttering on with his [Pg 17]rea

he most beautiful, the most peerless, the most chaste, the most innocent of women, and he called his emotion "gros

ed and envied them. They had passed through torment-Oh! who was the fool who said that love was sweet? The old fleeting de

o Potsham and she had satisfied herself as to his antecedents. He explained that he was not rich but had every hope of being given a family living as soon as one should fall vacant. To his amazement he was informed that Miss Martha was something of an heiress, and would own, when she came of age, thirteen houses in Potsham, subject to lea

n there she stood before him, and he could say nothing and she could say nothing, until suddenly he caught her up in his arms and hug

n his betrothal, and, two adjacent livings in Cornw

Tower of London and Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's Cathedral, but Martha was impressed by nothing so much as her husband's grandfather's town