A Tale of a Lonely Parish

anything at all, or whether he should merely hasten his old pupil's departure and leave matters to take care of themselves. He was a very conscientious man, and he fel

o her; he would not therefore do or say anything whereby she was likely to appear to any one else in an unfavourable light. It was incredible that she should have given John any real encouragement. Mr. Ambrose wondered whether he ought to warn her of his pupil's madness. But when he thought about that, it seemed unnecessary. It was unlikely that John would betray himself during his present visit, since the vicar had solemnly assured him that there was no possibility of a m

he morning meal, busied herself about the room, searching out those secret corners which she suspected Susan of having forgotten to dust. T

. Ambrose, "that Jo

uired the vicar, who was think

nothing at breakfast this morning. He looks pal

pockets, thrusting the skirts of his clerical coat to right and left; he slowly raised himself u

ooking at him from behind. "I assure you, my dear, that boy is not we

urts him a bit," said the vicar, slowly removing his han

ere is certainly something the matter. Now

does look a

ustin. I am positively certain there is som

man, and as he knew very well what was the matter with John he was embarr

It is just as I thought, there is something on his mind.

t; he glared fiercely

r half. "I am quite sure you know all about

ar turned sharply round, sweepin

n you not imagine that it may be a matter w

at had disturbed John, and the vicar had apparently made up his mind that she

said Mrs. Ambrose. "Anything which need be conc

said the vicar impatiently. "I d

wife with admirable logic. "If it is anything good he

good," argued the vicar, who felt that if he could dra

tion, Augustin," said she sev

t of his." In his own mind the good man excused himself by saying that John could not

o him, as you call it, from being good, or

driven to bay, "I entirely

ou trusted m

I always consult you

ow about John as you have," retorte

settle with John," said the vicar. "I c

been making conf

d I know about his affa

t in the tablecloth. The vicar was walking up and down the room. Her speech, which was made quite at random, startled him. She, too, might easily have o

see?" asked th

wife. "But from your manner I infer that there real

nothing," said the

lacable Mrs. Ambrose. "I am quite sure now, that

t his long upper lip as he

-when you came down from the Hall, in the evening-Augustin, I have got it! It is Mrs. Goddard-now do

resorting to a form of defence generally l

Augustin, is it, or is

answer any more questions," sai

e in complete triumph, "if it were not Mrs.

mething immediately. Unhappily she did not see quite clearly what was to be done. She might go straight to Mrs. Goddard and accuse her of having engaged John's affections; but the more she thought of that, the more diffident she grew in regard to the result of such an interview. Curiosity had led her to a certain point, but caution prevented her from going any further. Mrs. Ambrose was very cautious. The habit of living in a small place, feeling that all her actions were watched by the villagers and duly commented upon by them, had made her even more careful than she was by nature. It would be very unwise to bring about a scene with Mrs. Goddard unless she were very sure of the result. Mrs. Goddard was hardly a friend. In Mrs. Ambrose's opinion an acquaintance of two years and a half standing involving almost daily meetings and the constant exchange of civilities did not constitute friendship. Nevertheless the vicar's wife would have been ashamed to own that after such long continued intercourse she was wholly ignorant of Mrs. Goddard's real character; especially as the latter had requested the vicar to tell Mrs. Ambrose her story when she first appeared at Billingsfield. Moreover, as her excitement at the victor

g Mrs. Goddard. He had now resolved to return to Cambridge at once and to work his hardest until the Tripos was over. He would then come back to Billingsfield and, with his honours fresh upon him and the prospect of imme

ly that she was sorry he had to go so soon, but that, of course, it could not be helped. The vicar was moved by his wife's apparent indifference. John, he said, might at least have stayed till the end of the promised week; but at this suggestion Mrs. Ambrose darted at her husband a look so full of fierce meaning, that the vicar relapsed into s

he saw that if he meant to see Mrs. Goddard before he left he must go to her at once. He therefore waited until he h

his head spontaneously. His heart beat fast and he was conscious that he blushed as he rang the bell of the cottage. Almost before he knew where he was, he found himself ushered into the little drawing-room and in the presence of the woman he now felt sure that he loved. But to his g

feeling very nervous. It was strange that he should experience any embarrassment now, consideri

ct-I have come to say go

rs. Goddard calml

rry to lose you." The child had caught the phrase from a book she h

to lose you," she said. "I though

ay sooner." Having delivered himself of this masterpiece of explanation John looked ner

, Mr. Short-after the exa

ly. "I will come down as

d Mrs. Goddard kindly. "I feel quite sur

ng that-it is quite t

looked gratefully at

but there was not th

ten say it. We all take a great

you all about it, if I succeed. I do not really expect to be first, of course. I

place dangling her legs and looking at her toes, turning them alternately in and out. She wished John would go for she wanted to get back to her book, but had been told it was not good manners to read when there were visitors. John looked at Mrs. Goddard's face an

hort?" Had John been saying anything he would have repeated

to say-except goo

Mrs. Goddard. "You are

pleasant to say go

in the world. No; I am going early to-morrow morning. There i

you will be able to sta

ing way. "You will hav

hing but to ta

id the other day that you thought

"fancy Mr. Short in a black gown, preaching like M

"do not talk nonsense. It is very rude

Nellie, blushing scarlet and pouting her lip

nterruption. "I wish you would advise me what to d

hen laughed. "How should

ohn, insisting. "You have suc

l me, if you come out very high are

indifferently. "But I should h

a laugh that cut him to the quick, "you do n

said, blushing violent

marry until he is at least five and twen

ld as that before I

resign a handsome independence as soon as you have go

," said John. "But Miss Nellie

sly, Mr. Short, do you approve of entering the chur

put it in that way.

u felt impelled to take orders from other motives, it would be different. As I un

nly," s

ng as you can, and during that time you can make up your mind." She spoke with conviction, an

rry?" inquired

of that when you are thirty-even

d John, "I think th

s. Goddard serenely. "I was th

ard, after advising him not to marry for ten years, had almost hinted that she might meanwhile be married herself. What else could she

age. "No indeed-why, you are the youngest person I ev

ow old faster than men. That is the reason why wom

tinct tones. The perspiration was standing upon his forehead; the room s

some astonishment. At that moment John felt as though he could have eaten little Nellie

I must really be saying

ing was the matter. "Well, I am very sorry to say goo

ps I shall not come bac

od-bye, Mi

rd, looking at him with some anxiety.

red John with an unnatural l

tter. With a sudden revulsion of feeling, he began to utter inward imprecations against his folly, against

his stick ferociously as he strode towards the vicarage. Several little boys in ragged smock-frocks saw him a

than he had expected, and when the train moved fairly off towards Cambridge he felt that in being spared the ordeal of shaking hands with his rival he had at least escaped some of th

lings had been deeply wounded-he could not tell precisely at what point in the conversation, but he was quite certain that she had laughed, and oh! that terrible Nellie! It was very bitter, and John felt that the best part of his life was lived out. He went back to his books with a dark and melancholy tenacity of purpose, flavoured by a hope that he might come to some sudden and awful end in the course of the next fortnight, thereby caus