pended on it, and took no notice of the stealthy glances thrown at him. "I'll get a light in the hall," said Jack; "good evening to you," and he was actually going away. "Look here," said Wodehouse, hastily, in his beard; "I ain't a man to forsake old friends. If Jack Wentworth does not mean anything unreasonable or against a fellow's honour. Hold your tongue, Waters; by Jove! I know never have been one of them but for Jack Wentworth, He's not the common sort, I can tell you. He's the greatest swell going, by Jove!" cried Jack's admiring follower, "and through thick and thin he's stood by me. I ain't going to forsake him now- that is, if he don't want anything that goes against a fellow's honour," said the repentant prodigal, again sinking the voice which he had raised for a moment. As he spoke he looked more wistfully than ever towards his leader, who said "Pshaw!" with an impatient gesture, and put back his cigar. felt the exhilaration of enfranchisement. But the next moment his eye songht Jack Wentworth's face, which was so superbly careless, so in different to him and his intentions, and the vagabond's soul succumbed with a canine fidelity to his master. Had Jack shown any interest, any excitement in the matter, his sway might have been doubtful; but in proportion to the sense of his own insignificance and unimportance Wodehouse's allegiance confirmed my friends. I know you would itself. He looked wistfully towards the hero of his imagination, as that skilful personage selected his cigar. He would rather have been kicked again than left alone, and left to himself. After all, it was very true what Jack Wentworth said. They might be a bad lot, but they were gentlemen (according to Wode house's understanding of the word) with whom he had been associated; and beatific visions of peers and baronets and honourables, among whom his own shabby person had figured, without feeling much below the common level, crossed his mind with all the sweetness which belongs to a past state of affairs. Yet it was still in his power to recall these vanishing glories. Now that he was rich, and could cut a figure" among the objects of his admiration, was that brilliant world to be closed upon him for ever by his own obstinacy? As these thoughts rushed through his mind, little Rosa's beauty and natural grace came suddenly to his recollection. Nobody need know how he had got his pretty wife, and a pretty wife she would be a crea ture whom nobody could help admiring. Wodehouse looked wist- "Stop there!" said the Curate, fully at Jack Wentworth, who took who had taken no part in the scene no notice of him as he chose his up to this moment. He had stood cigar. Jack was not only the ideal behind rather contemptuously, deof the clumsier rogue, but he was 'termined to have nothing to do with the doorkeeper of that paradise of his ungrateful and ungenerous prodisreputable nobles and ruined gen- tégé. But now an unreasonable tlemen which was Wodehouse's idea impulse forced him into the disof good society; and from all this cussion. "The less that is said on was he about to be banished? Jack that part of the subject the better,' Wentworth selected his cigar with he said, with some natural heat. as much care as if his happiness de- "I object to the mixing up of I "This room is too hot for anything," said Jack; "but don't open the window, I entreat of you. hate to assist at the suicide of a set of insane insects. For heaven's sake, Frank, mind what you're doing. As for Mr. Wodehouse's remark," said Jack, lightly, "I trust I never could suggest anything which would wound his keen sense of honour. I advise you to marry and settle, as I am in the habit of advising young men; and if I were to add that it would be seemly to make some provision for your sisters—” names which which no one here has any right to bandy about "That is very true," said Mr. Proctor; "but still they have their rights," the late Rector added after a pause. "We have no right to stand in the way of their their interest, you know." It occurred to Mr. Proctor, indeed, that the suggestion was on the whole a sensible one. "Even if they were to-to marry, you know, they might still be left unprovided for," said the late Rector. "I think it is quite just that some provision should be made for that." night, parson, I don't owe much to enough rogue himself, hustled and And then there was a pause. umph to Wodehouse. He grew inFrank Wentworth was sufficiently solent when he was permitted to aware after his first start of indig- put his arm through that of his nation that he had no right to in- hero, and went off with him trying terfere, as Mr. Proctor said, between to copy, in swagger and insolence, the Miss Wodehouses and their his careless step and well-bred interest. He had no means of pro- ease. Perhaps Jack Wentworth viding for them, of setting them above the chances of fortune, He reflected bitterly that it was not in his power to offer a home to Lucy, and through her to her sister. What he had to do was to stand by silently, to suffer other people to discuss what was to be done for the woman whom he loved, and whose name was sacred to him. This was a stretch of patience of which he was not capable. "I can only say again," said the Curate, "that I think this discussion has gone far enough. Whatever matters of business there may be that require arrangement had better be settled between Mr. Brown and Mr. Waters. So far as private feeling goes felt a little ashamed of himself as he emerged from the gate of the Rectory with his shabby and disreputable companion. He shrugged his shoulders slightly as he looked back and saw Gerald and Frank coming slowly out together. "Coraggio!" said Jack to himself, "it is I who am the true philanthropist. Let us do evil that good may come." Notwithstanding, he was very thankful not to be seen by his father, who had wished to consult him as a man of the world, and had shown certain yearnings towards him, which, to Jack's infinite surprise, awakened responsive feelings in his own unaccustomed bosom. He was half ashamed of this secret movement of natural affection, which, cer"Never fear, I'll manage it," tainly, nobody else suspected; but said Jack Wentworth, as well as it was with a sensation of relief a dozen lawyers. Private feeling that he closed the Rectory gate behas nothing to do with it. Have hind him, without having encouna cigar, Wodehouse? We'll talk it tered the keen, inquiring. suspicious over as we walk home," said the glances of the Squire. The others cond scending potentate. These dispersed according to their pleawords dispersed the assembly which sure Mr. Waters joining the party no longer had any object. As Jack up stairs, while Mr. Proctor followed Wentworth sauntered out, his faith- Jack Wentworth and Wodehouse ful follower pressed through the others to join him. Wodehouse was himself again. He gave a sulky nod to the Curate, and said, "Good " to the door with naïve natural curiosity. When the excellent man recollected that he was listening to private conversation, and met Wode-" - house's look of sulky insolence, he to do something in it to be good turned back again, much fluttered for something and with your faand disturbed. He had an interest culties, Gerald!" cried the admirin the matter, though the two in ing and regretful brother. "Can whose hands it now lay were the abstract right in an institution, if last whom he would have chosen as that is what you aim at, be worth confidants; and to do him justice, the sacrifice of your existence-your he was thinking of Lucy only in his power of influencing your fellowdesire to hear what they decided creatures?" This Mr. Wentworth upon. "Something might happen said, being specially moved by the to me," he said to himself; "and, circumstances in which he found even if all was well, she would be himself-for, under any other conhappier not to be wholly dependent ditions, such sentiments would have upon her sister;" with which self produced the warmest opposition exculpatory reflection, Mr. Proctor in his Anglican bosom. But he was slowly followed the others into the so far sympathetic that he could drawing-room. Gerald and Frank, be tolerant to his brother who had who were neither of them disposed gone to Rome. for society, went away together. They had enough to think of, without much need of conversation, and they had walked half way down Grange Lane before, either spoke. Then it was Frank who broke the silence abruptly with a question which had nothing to do with the business in which they had been engaged. "And what do you mean to do?" said Frank suddenly. It was just as they came in sight of the graceful spire of St. Roque's; and, perhaps, it was the sight of his own church which aroused the Perpetual Curate to think of the henceforth aimless life of his brother. "I don't understand how you are to give up your work. To-night even "I know what you mean," said Gerald; "it is the prevailing theory in England that all human institutions are imperfect. My dear Frank, I want a Church which is not a human institution. In England it seems to be the rule of faith that every man may believe as he pleases. There is no authority either to decide or punish. If you can foresee what that may lead us to, I cannot. I take refuge in the true Church, where alone there is certainty-where," said the convert, with a heightened colour and a long-drawn breath, “there is authority clear and decisive. England you believe what you will, and the result will be one that I at least fear to contemplate; in Rome we believe what- we must," said Gerald. He said the words slowly, bowing his head more than once with determined submission, as if bending under the yoke. "Frank, it is salvation!" said the new Catholic, with the emphasis of a despairing hope. And for the first time Frank Wentworth perceived what it was which had driven his brother to Rome. In "I understand you now," said the Perpetual Curate; "it is because there is no room for our conflicting doctrines and latitude of belief. Instead of a Church happily so far. imperfect, that a man can put his life to the best account in it, without absolutely delivering up his in tellect to a set of doctrines, you seek a perfect Church, in which, for a symmetrical system of doctrine, you lose the use of your existence! Mr. Wentworth uttered this opinion with all the more vehemence, that it was in direct opposition to his own habitual ideas; but even his veneration for his "Mother" yielded for the moment to his strong sense of his brother's mistake. "It is a hard thing to say," said Gerald, "but it is true. If you but knew the consolation, after years of struggling among the problems of faith, to find one's self at last upon a rock of authority, of certainty one holds in one's hand at last the interpretation of the enigma," said Gerald. He looked up to the sky as he spoke, and breathed into the serene air a wistful lingering sigh. If it was certainty that echoed in that breath of unsatisfied nature, the sound was sadly out of concord with the sentiment. His soul, notwithstanding that expression of serenity, was still as wistful as the night. Have you the interpretation?" said his brother; and Frank, too looked up into the pure sky above, with its stars which stretched over them serene and silent, arching over the town that lay behind, and of which nobody knew better than he the human mysteries and wonderful unanswerable questions. The heart of the Curate ached to think how many problems lay in the darkness, over which that sky stretched silent making no sign. There were the sorrowful of the earth, enduring their afflictions, lifting up pitiful hands, demanding of God in their bereavements and in their miseries the reason why. There were all the inequalities of life, side by side, evermore echoing dumbly the same awful question; and over all shone the calm sky which gave no answer. "Have you the interpretation?" he said. Perhaps you can reconcile freewill and predestination - the need of a universal atonement and the existence of individual virtue? But these are not to me the most difficult questions. Can your Church explain why one man is happy and another miserable?-why one has everything and abounds, and the other loses all that is most precious in life? My sister Mary, for example," said the Curate, she seems to bear the cross for our family. Her children die and yours live. Can you explain to her why? I have heard her cry out to God to know the reason, and He made no answer. Tell me, have you the interpretation?" cried the young man, on whom the hardness of his own position was pressing at the moment. They went on together in silence for a few minutes, without any attempt on Gerald's part to answer. "You accept the explanation of the Church in respect to doctrines," said the Curate, after that pause, and consent that her authority is sufficient, and that your perplexity is over that is well enough, so far as it goes: but outside lies a world in which every event is an enigma, where nothing that comes offers any explanation of itself; where God does not show himself always kind, but by times awful, terrible a God who smites and does not spare. It is easy to make a harmonious balance of doctrine; but where is the interpretation of life?" The young priest looked back on his memory, and recalled, as if they had been in a book, the daily problems with which he was so well acquainted. As for Gerald, he bowed his head a little, with a kind of reverence, as if he had been bowing before the shrine of a saint. "I have had a happy life," said the elder brother. "I have not been driven to ask such questions for myself. To these the Church has but one advice to offer: Trust God." "We say so in England," said Frank Wentworth; "it is the grand scope of our teaching. Trust God. He will not explain Himself, nor can we attempt it. When it is certain that I must be content with of the family. As he went up to his own room, a momentary spasm of doubt came upon the new convert this answer for all the sorrows of life, I am content to take my doc. trines on the same terms," said the Perpetual Curate; and by this whether, perhaps, he was making time they had come to Miss Wentworth's door. After all, perhaps it was not Gerald, except so far as he was carried by a wonderful force of human sympathy and purity of soul, who was the predestined priest a sacrifice of his life for a mistake. He hushed the thought forcibly as it rose; such impulses were no longer to be listened to. The same authority which made faith certain decided every doubt to be sin. CHAPTER XLI. Next morning the Curate got up with anticipations which were far from cheerful, and a weary sense of the monotony and dulness of life. He had won his little battle, it was true; but the very victory had removed that excitement which answered in the absence of happier stimulants to keep up his heart and courage. After a struggle like that in which he had been engaged, it was hard to come again into the peaceable routine without any particular hope to enliven or happiness to cheer it, which was all he had at present to look for in his life; and it was harder still to feel the necessity of being silent, of standing apart from Lucy in her need, of shutting up in his own heart the longing he had towards her, and refraining himself from the desperate thought of uniting his genteel beggary to hers. That was the one thing which must not be thought of, and he subdued himself with an impatient sigh, and could not but wonder, as he went down-stairs, whether, if Gerald had been less smoothly guided through the perplexing paths of life, he would have found time for all the difficulties which had driven him to take refuge in Rome. It was with this sense of hopeless restraint and incapacity, which is perhaps of all sensations the most humbling, that he went down-stairs, and found lying on his breakfast-table, the first thing that met his eye, the note which Lucy Wodehouse had written to him on the previous night. As he read it, the earth somehow turned to the sun; the He even can dubious light brightened in the skies. Unawares, he had been wondering never to receive any token of sympathy, any word of encouragement from those for whom he had made so many exertions. When he had read Lucy's letter, the aspect of affairs changed considerably. To be sure nothing that she had said or could say made any difference in the facts of the case; but the Curate was young, and still liable to those changes of atmosphere which do more for an imaginative mind than real revolutions. He read the letter several times over as he lingered through his breakfast, making on the whole an agreeable meal, and finding himself repossessed of his ordinary healthful appetite. vassed the signature as much in reading as Lucy had done in writing it-balancing in his mind the maidenly "truly yours" of that subscription with as many ingenious renderings of its possible meaning, as if Lucy's letter had been articles of faith. Truly mine," he said to himself, with a smile; which indeed meant all a lover could require; and then paused, as if he had been Dr. Lushington or Lord Westbury, 'to inquire into the real force of the phrase. For after all, it is not only when signing the Articles that the bond and pledge of subscription means more than is intended. When Mr. Wentworth was able to tear himself from the agreeable casuistry of this self-discussion, he got up in much better spirits to go about his daily business. First 66 |