A Tale of a Lonely Parish

rred which shook Billingsfield to its foundations; no less an event than the occupation of the dwelling known as the "

ing. It is evident that the relative merits of the two systems depend chiefly upon the relative merits of the wives in question. Mr. Ambrose had no doubt of the advantages of his own method and he carried it to its furthest expression, for he never did anything whatever without consulting his better hal

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ade upon me. You showed me that I was acting rightly. It has been so hard to act rightly. Of course you quite understand what I mean. I cannot refer to the great sorrow which has overtaken me and my dear innocent lit

. I mean, if you will take it for me. You cannot think how grateful I shall be and I enclose a cheque. I am almost sure you said thirty-six pounds. It was thirty-six, was it not? The reason I venture to enclose the money is because you are so very kind, but of course you do not know anything certain about me. But I am sure you will understand. You said you were sure I could li

GODD

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marking it for future reference; and when, as has been said, she had written upon the outside the words-Goddard, Cottage, and had put it away she turned upon her husband wi

r' through the post," he remarked, severely.

a great responsibility in bringing her into the parish. I am quite sure

uppositions. It seems to me that the most one can say of her is that

as you say we must not be uncharitable. I supp

ully. "I cannot send her back the money

to time at his wife who was lifting one after another the ornaments which stood upon the chimney-piece, in order to ascer

the money. But it is a very solemn respons

, if I thought any harm would come of Mrs. Goddard's living h

in the Standard, so the

one else reads

presently, "and they probably take a paper at the Du

Goddard, my dear," said the vic

tter write abo

h during the last two years had thriven in untrimmed luxuriance and now covered the whole of the side of the house which faced the road. So thickly did they grow that it was with difficulty that the windows could at first be opened. The vicar sighed as he entered the darkened rooms. His daughter had lived in the cottage when she first married the young doctor who had now gone to London, and the vicar had been, and was, very fond of his daughter. He had almost despaired of ever seeing her again in Billingsfield; the only glimpses of her he could obtai

ar's rent in advance so far facilitated matters that four days after she had written to Mr. Ambrose the latter informed Mrs. Goddard that she was at liberty to take possession. The vicar suggested that the Billingsfield carrier, who drove his cart to London once a week, cou

she was a very well-educated woman, that she appeared to have read much and to have read intelligently, and that she was on the whole decidedly interesting. It was long, however, before Mrs. Ambrose entirely conquered a certain antipathy she felt for her, and which she explained after her own fashion. Mrs. Goddard was not a dissenter and she was not a Romanist; on the contrary she appeared to be a very good churchwoman. She paid her bills regularly and never gave anybody any trouble. She visited the vicarage at stated intervals, and the

straight to a man she had never seen, but whom she knew very well by reputation, and had told him her story and asked him to help her; and she had not come in vain. The person who advised her to go to the Reverend Augustin Ambrose knew that there was not a better man to whom she could apply. She had found what she wanted, a sort of deserted village where she would never be obliged to meet any one, since there was absolutely no society; she had found a good man upon whom she felt she could rely in case of further difficulty; and she had not come upon false pretences, for she had told her whole story quite frankly. For a woman who was naturally timid she had done a thing requiring considerable courage, and she was astonished at her own boldness after she had done it. But in her peaceful retreat, she reflected that she could not possibly have left England, as many wom

at fortress which is an Englishman's house. It was a formal room, arranged by a fixed rule and the order of it was maintained inflexibly; no event could be imagined of such terrible power as to have caused the displacement of one of those chairs, of one of those ornaments upon the chimney-piece, of one of those engravings upon the walls. The walls were papered with one shade of green, the furniture was covered with material of another shade of green and the well-spared carpet exhibite

ation. Mrs. Goddard was still dressed in black, as when John Short had seen her five months earlier. There was something a little peculiar in her mourning, though Mrs. Ambrose would have found it hard to define the peculiarity. Some people would have said that if she was rea

pressed by the severe appearance of the vicar's wife, "bu

lad to see you." She appeared to have been weighing in her conscience the question whether

I have had hard work in moving, have not we, dear?" She drew the beautiful child close to her and gazed lovingly into her eyes. But

re kindly. She was fond of children, and actually pi

oddard with affectionate pride. As a matter of fact Nellie was small for her years, and Mrs. Ambrose, who was the

it very quiet in Billings

uietly for some years, indeed I hope for the rest of my life. Besides it w

ntly, looking at the child's clear complexion and bright eyes. "An

most of the year, perh

s before the searching g

that she was not abso

comfortable?" asked the vicar's wife, s

s all the better; and the garden is small but extremely pretty and wild, and the kitchen is very convenient; really I quite wonder how the people who built it could have made it all so comfortable. You see there are one-two-the pantry, the kitchen and two rooms

rk and the Hall," a

changed. "But nobody lives

in Chancery

ard, timidly. "Is there a young heir waiting

going on for forty years my husband says,

Goddard. "I suppose the

not for

do you think? I am so fond of trees-what a bea

ed the vicar's wife, anxious to

imed Mrs. Goddard. "Would not you li

ded slowly and star

latter, leading the way out to the hall. "And s

e watched Mrs. Ambrose who was wrapping herself in a huge blue

or college-such a good fellow. You may have se

right blue eye

een Mr. Angleside-Lord Scatte

. Goddard, "pe

tle Nellie, "what

r, dar

t Brighton, mam

other laughing. "P, double

n?" inquired the ir

d the little girl close to her side

h questions, darling-I w

gentleman," obj

ady tears came into her eyes. The vicar's wife

natural to her when she was not receiving visitors. "

bay, too?" asked the lit

red old felt hat upon his head. Mrs. Goddard had felt rather uncomfortable in the impressive society of Mrs. Ambrose and the sight of the vicar's genial face was reassuring in the extreme. She was not disappointed, for he immediately relieved the situation by asking all manner of

nce to the effect that she ought to be more charitable, grew more and more rare as time went on, and finally ceased altogether. Mrs. Goddard became a regular institution, and ceased to astonish the inhabitants. Mr. Thomas Reid, the sexton, was heard to remark from

ews of him almost as eagerly as though he had been already a friend of her own. In very quiet places people easily get into the sympathetic habit of regarding their neighbours' interests as very closely allied to their own. The constant talk about John Short, the vicar's sanguine hopes for his brilliant future, and Mrs. Ambrose's unlimited praise of his moral qualities, repeated day by day and week by week produced a vivid impression on Mrs. Goddard's mind. It would have surpr

rthly reason why John should be told. It might do harm, for of course the young fellow had made acquaintances at Cambridge; he had probably read about the Goddard case in the papers, and might talk about it. If he should happen to come down for a day or two he would probably meet her; but that could not be avoided. It was not likely that he would come for some time. The vicar himself intended to go up to Cambridge for a day or two after Christmas to see him; but the winter flew by and Mr. Ambrose did not go. Then came Easter, then the summer and the Long vacation. John

o miserable that she could hardly talk at all without referring to her unhappy situation though, after her first interview with Mrs. Ambrose, no one had ever heard her mention any details connected with her trouble. But now she never appro