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THE
VICAR OF WREXHILL.
VOL. II.
I- O N U O N :
SCHUI.ZE AND CO. 1.'!, POLAND STREET.
^
K
fX^^^^!^<^^
THE
VICAR or WREXHILL.
BY MRS. TROLLOPE.
AUTHOR OF
JONATHAN JEFFERSON WHITLAW," " DOMESTIC MANNERS
OF THE AMERICANS," " TREMORDYN CLIFF," &C.
Les boiis et vrais divots qu'on doit suivre ii la trace
Ne sont pas ceux aussi qui font tant rie grimace.
He, quoi !. . . .vous ne ferez nulle distinction
Entre I'hypocrisie et la devotion ?
Vous les voulez traiter d'un semblable langage,
Et rendre mSme honueur au masque qu'au visage'
MOLIERE. '{
SECOND EDITION.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BEiYTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1838.
THE
VICAR OF WREXHILL.
CHAPTER I.
CHARLES Mowbray's arrival at the park.
Never had Rosalind Torrington so strongly-
felt the want of some one to adAdse her what
to do, as the morning after this disagreeable
scene. Had she consulted her inclination only,
she would have remained in her own apart-
ments till the return of Mrs. Mowbray and
Helen. But more than one reason prevented
her doing so. In the first place, she was not
without hope that her letter would immedi-
ately bring young Mowbray home; and it
would be equally disagreeable to miss seeing
him, by remaining in her dressing-room, or
to leave it expressly for the purpose of doing
VOL. II. B
2 THE VICAR OF
SO : and secondly, however far her feelings
might be from perfect confidence and esteem
towards Miss Cartwright, she felt that she
owed her something, and that it would be
ungrateful and almost cruel to leave her tete-
a-t^te with the bewildered Fanny, or en tiers
with her and the vicar.
She therefore determined to run the risk
of encountering Mr. Cartwright as usual, but
felt greatly at a loss how to treat him. Their
last demele had been too serious to be forgot-
ten by either; and her opinion of him was
such, that far from wishing to conciliate him,
or in any way to efface the impression of what
she had said on leaving him, her inclination
and her principles both led her to wish that
it should be indeUble, and that nothing should
ever lessen the distance that was now placed
between them. But Rosalind felt all the diffi-
culty of maintaining this tone towards a per-
son not only on terms of intimate friendship
with the family, but considered by part of it
as a man whose word ought to be law. She
began to fear, as she meditated on the position
in which she was placed, that Mowbray Park
could not long continue to be her home. The
idea of Helen, and what she would feel at
"WREXHILL. 3
losing her, drew tears from her eyes ; and then
the remembrance of her Irish home, of her
lost parents, and the terrible contrast between
what she had heard last night, and the lessons
and opinions of her dear father, made them
flow abundantly.
The day passed heavily. Miss Cartwright
appeared to think she had done enough, and
devoted herself almost wholly to the perusal
of a French metaphysical work which she
had found in the library. Fanny was silent
and sad, and seemed carefully to avoid being
left for a moment alone with Rosalind. Mr.
Cartwright made no visit to the house dur-
ing the morning ; but Judy informed her mis-
tress, when she came to arrange her dress for
dinner, that the reverend gentleman had been
walking in the shrubberies with Miss Fanny ;
and in the evening he made his entrance, as
usual, through the drawing-room window.
It was the result of a strong effort pro-
duced by very excellent feeling, that kept
Rosalind in the room when she saw him ap-
proach ; but she had little doubt that if she
went. Miss Cartwright would follow her, and
she resolved that his pernicious tetes- a-t6te with
B 2
4 THE VICAR OF
Fanny should not be rendered more frequent
by any selfishness of hers.
It was evident to her from Mr. Cartwright's
maimer through the whole evening, that it
was his intention to overload her with gentle
kindness, in order to set off in strong relief
her harsh and persecuting spirit towards him.
But not even her wish to defeat this plan
could enable her to do more than answ^er by
civil monosyllables when he spoke to her.
Miss Cartwright laid aside her book and
resumed her netting as soon as she saw him
approach ; but, as usual, she sat silent and abs-
tracted, and the conversation was wholly car-
ried on by the vicar and his pretty proselyte.
No man, perhaps, had a greater facility in
making conversation than the Vicar of Wrex-
hill : his habit of extempore preaching, in
which he was thought by many to excel, pro-
bably contributed to give him this power.
But not only had he an endless flow of words
wherev.ith to clothe whatever thoughts sug-
gested themselves, but moreover a most happy
faculty of turning everything around him to
account. Every object, animate or inanimate,
furnished him a theme ; and let him begin
WREXHILL. 5
from what point he would, (unless in the pre-
sence of noble or influential personages to
whom he believed it would be distasteful,) he
never failed to bring the conversation round
to the subject of regeneration and grace, the
blessed hopes of himself and his sect, and
the assured damnation of all the rest of the
world.
Fanny Mowbray listened to him with an
earnestness that amounted to nervous anxietv,
lest she should lose a word. His awful doe:-
mas had taken fearful hold of her ardent and
ill-regulated imagination ; while his bland and
affectionate manner, his fine features and grace-
ful person, rendered him altogether an object
of the most unbounded admiration and interest
to her.
As an additional proof, probably, that he
did not shrink from persecution, Mr. Cart-
wright again opened the piano-forte as soon
as the tea equipage was removed, and asked
Fanny if she would sing with him.
" With you, Mr. Cartwright !" she exclaim-
ed in an accent of glad surprise : " 1 did not
know that you sang. Oh ! how I wish that
I were a greater proficient, that I might sing
with you as I would wish to do !"
b THE VICAR OF
" Sing with me, my dear child, with that
sweet and pious feehng which I rejoice to see
hourly increasing in your heart. Sing thus,
my dearest child, and you will need no
greater skill than Heaven is sure to give to all
who raise their voice to the glory of God. This
little book, my dear Miss Fanny," he con-
tinued, drawing once more the manuscript
volume from his pocket, " contains much that
your pure and innocent heart will approve.
Do you know this air ?^' and he pointed to the
notes of " La ci darem' la mano.'^
" Oh yes \" said Fanny ; " I know it very
well."
" Then play it, my good child. This too
we have taken as spoil from the enemy, and
instead of profane Italian words, you will
here find in your own language thoughts that
may be spoken without fear."
Fanny instantly complied ; and though her
power of singing was greatly inferior to that
of Rosalind, the performance, aided by the
fine bass voice of Mr. Cartwright, and an ac-
companiment very correctly played, was very
agreeable. Fanny herself thought she had
never sung so well before, and required only
to be told by the vicar what she was to do
WREXHILL. 7
next, to prolong the performance till consi-
derably past Mr. Cartwright's usual hour of
retiring.
About an hour after the singing began,
Henrietta approached Miss Torrington, and
said in a whisper too low to be heard at the
instrument, " My head aches dreadfully. Can
you spare me ?"
As she had not spoken a single syllable
since the trio entered the drawing-room after
dinner, Rosalind could not wholly refrain
from a smile as she replied " Why, yes ; I
think I can."
" I am not jesting ; I am suffering, Rosa-
lind. You will not leave that girl alone with
him?"
" Dear Henrietta !" cried Rosalind, taking
her hand with ready sympathy, " I will not,
should they sing psalms till morning. But
is there nothing I can do for you — nothing
I can give you that may relieve your head ?''
" Nothing, nothing ! Good night !" and
she glided out of the room unseen by Fanny
and unregarded by her father.
It more than once occurred to Miss Tor-
rington during the two tedious hours that
followed her departure, that Mr. Cartwright,
8 THE VICAR OF
who from time to time stole a glance at her,
prolonged his canticles for the purpose of
making her sit to hear them ; a species of pe-
nance for her last night's offence by no means
ill imagined.
At length, however, he departed ; and after
exchanging a formal " Good night," the young
ladies retired to their separate apartments.
Rosalind rose with a heavy heart the fol-
lowing morning, hardly knowing whether to
wish for a letter from Charles Mowbray, which
it was just possible the post might bring her,
or not- ]f a letter arrived, there would cer-
tainly be no hope of seeing him ; but if it
did not, she should fancy every sound she
heard foretold his approach, and she almost
dreaded the having to answer all the questions
he would come prepared to ask.
This state of suspense, however, did not last
long ; for, at least one hour before it was possi-
ble that a letter could arrive, Charles Mowbray
in a chaise and four foaming post-horses rattled
up to the door.
Rosalind descried him from her window be-
fore he reached the house ; and her first feeling
was certainly one of embarrassment, as she re-
membered that it was her summons which had
WREXHILL. 9
brought him there. But a moment's reflection
not only recalled her motives, but the additional
reasons she now had for believing she had acted
wisely ; so, arming herself with the conscious-
ness of being right, she hastened down stairs to
meet him, in preference to receiving a message
through a servant, requesting to see her.
She found him, as she expected, in a state
of considerable agitation and alarm ; and feel-
ing most truly anxious to remove whatever
portion of this was unnecessary, she greeted
him with the most cheerful aspect she could
assume, saying, " I fear my letter has terrified
you, Mr. Mowbray, more than I wished it to
do. But be quite sure that now you are here,
everything will go on as it ought to do ; and
of course, when your mother returns, we can
neither of us have any farther cause of anxiety
about Fanny."
" And what is your cause of anxiety about
her at present, Miss Torrington ? For God's
sake explain yourself fully ; you know not
how I have been tormenting myself by fearing
I know not what."
" I am bound to explain myself fully," said
Rosalind gravely ; " but it is not easy, I assure
you."
B 3
10 THE VICAR OF
" Only tell me at once what it is you
fear. Do you imagine Mr. Cartwright hopes
to persuade Fanny to marry him ?"
" I certainly did think so," said Rosa-
lind ; " but I believe now that I was mis-
taken."
" Thank God !" cried the young man fer-
vently. " This is a great relief, Rosalind, I
assure you. I believe now I can pretty well
guess what it is you do fear ; and though it is
provoking enough, it cannot greatly signify.
We shall soon cure her of any fit of evangelic
calism with which the vicar is likely to infect
her."
" God grant it !" exclaimed Rosalind, utter-
ing a fervent ejaculation in her turn.
" Never doubt it, Miss Torrington. I have
heard a great deal about this Cartwright at
Oxford. He is a Cambridge man, by the way,
and there are lots of men there who think him
quite an aj)ostle. But the thing does not
take at Oxford, and I assure you, he and his
elective grace are famously quizzed. But the
best of the joke is, that his son was within an
ace of being expelled for performing more
outrageous feats in the larking line than any
man in the university ; and in fact he must
WREXHILL. 1 1
have been rusticated, had not his pious father
taken him home before the business got wind,
to prepare him privately for his degree. They
say he is the greatest pickle in Oxford ; and
that; spite of the new hght, his father is such
an ass as to beUeve that all this is ordained
by Providence only to make his election more
glorious."
" For his election, Mr. Mowbray, I certainly
do not care much ; but for your sister — though
I am aware that at her age there may be very
reasonable hope that the pernicious opinions
she is now imbibing may be hereafter removed,
yet I am very strongly persuaded that if you
were quite aware of the sort of influence used
to convert her to Mr. Cartwright's Calvinistic
tenets, you would not only disapprove it, but
use very effectual measures to put her quite out
of his way."
" Indeed ! — I confess this appears to me
very unnecessary. Surely the best mode of
working upon so pure a mind as Fanny's is
to reason with her, and to show her that by
listening to those pernicious rhapsodies she is
in fact withdrawing herself from the church
of her fathers : but I think this may be done
12 THE VICAR OF
without sending her out of Mr. Cartwright's
way/'
Well," replied Rosalind very meekly,
now you are here, I am quite sure that you
will do everything that is right and proper.
Mrs. Mowbray cannot be much longer ab-
sent; and when she returns, you will per-
haps have some conversation with her upon
the subject."
" Certainly. — And so Sir Gilbert has abso-
lutely refused to act as executor ?"
"He has indeed, and spite of the most
earnest entreaties from Helen. Whatever
mischief happens, I shall always think he is
answerable for it; for his refusal to act threw
your mother at once upon seeking counsel from
Mr. Cartwright, as to what it was necessary
for her to do ; and from that hour the house
has never been free from him for a single
day.'
" Provoking obstinacy !" replied Mowbray :
" yet, after all, Rosalind, the worst mischief, as
you call it, that can happen, is our not being
on such pleasant terms with them as we used
to be. And the colonel is at home too ; I must
and will see him, let the old man be as cross
WREXHILL. 13
as he will. — But where is your little saint?
you don't keep her locked up, I hope, Rosalind ?
And where is this Miss of the new birth that
you told me of?"
Young Mowbray threw a melancholy glance
round the empty room as he spoke, and the
kind-hearted Rosalind understood his feehngs
and truly pitied him. How different was
this return home from any other he had ever
made !
" The room looks desolate — does it not,
Mr. Mowbray ? — Even I feel it so. I will
go and let Fanny know you are here ; but what
reason shall I assign for your return ?"
" None at all, Miss Torrington. The whim
took me, and I am here. Things are so much
better than I expected, that I shall probably
be back again in a day or two ; but I must con-
trive to see young Harrington."
Rosalind left the room, heartily glad that
Fanny's brother was near her, but not without
some feeling of mortification at the little im-
portance he appeared to attach to the informa-
tion she had given him.
A few short weeks before, Rosalind would
have entered Fanny's room with as much free-
dom as her own ; but the schism which has
14 THE VICAR OF
unhappily entered so nnany English houses
under the semblance of superior piety was
rapidly doing its work at Mowbray Park,
and the true friend, the familiar companion,
the faithful counsellor, stood upon the threshold,
and ventured not to enter till she had announc-
ed her approach by a knock at the dressing-
room door.
" Come in," was uttered in a gentle and
almost plaintive voice by Fanny.
Miss Torrington entered, and, to her great
astonishment, saw Mr. Cartwright seated be-
side Fanny, a large Bible lying open on the
table before them.
She looked at them for one moment without
speaking. The vicar spread his open hand
upon the Bible, as if to point out the cause of
his being there ; and as his other hand covered
the lower part of his face, and his eyes rested
on the sacred volume, the expression of his
countenance was concealed.
Fanny coloured violently, — and the more so,
perhaps, because she was conscious that her
appearance was considerably changed since
she met Miss Torrington at brealcfast. xVll
her beautiful curls had been carefully straight-
ened by the application of a wet sponge ; and
WREXHILL. 15
her hair was now entirely removed from her
forehead, and plastered down behind her poor
little distorted ears as closely as possible.
Never was metamorphosis more complete.
Beautiful as her features were, the lovely pic-
ture which Fanny's face used to present to the
eye, required her bright waving locks to com-
plete its charm ; and Avithout them she looked
more like a Chinese beauty on a japan screen,
than like herself.
Something approaching to a smile passed
over RosaUnd's features, which the more
readily found place there, perhaps, from the
belief that Charles's arrival would soon set her
ringlets curling again.
" Fanny, your brother is come," said she,
" and he is waiting for yovi in the drawing-
room."
" Charles ?" cried Fanny, forgetting for a
moment her new character ; and hastily rising,
she had almost quitted the room, when she
recollected herself, and turning back said,
" You will come too, to see Charles, Mr.
Cartwright ?"
" I will come as usual this evening, my dear
child," said he with the appearance of great
IG THE VICAR OF
composure ; " but I will not break in upon
him now. Was Lis return expected?" he
added carelessly as he took up his hat ; and
as he spoke, Rosalind thought that his eye
glanced towards her.
" No indeed I" replied Fanny : " I never
was more surprised. Did he say, Rosalind,
what it was brought him home ?"
" I asked him to state his reason for it,"
replied Miss Torrington, " and he told me
he could assign nothing but whim. "
Rosalind looked in the face of the vicar as
she said this, and she perceived a slight, but
to her perfectly perceptible change in its
expression. He was evidently relieved from
some uneasy feeling or suspicion by what she
had said.
" Go to your brother, my dear child ; let me
not detain you from so happy a meeting for a
moment."
Fanny again prepared to leave the room ;
but as she did so, her eye chanced to rest
upon her own figure reflected from a mirror
above the chimney-piece. She raised her hand
almost involuntarily to her hair.
" Will not Charles think me looking very
WREXHILL. 17
strangely?" said she, turning towards Mr.
Cartwright with a blushing cheek and very
bashful eye.
He whispered something in her ear in reply,
which heightened her blush, and induced her
to answer with great earnestness, " Oh no !"
and without farther doubt or delay, she ran
down stairs. Miss Torrington followed her, not
thinking it necessary to take any leave of the
vicar, who gently found his way down stairs,
and out of the house, as he had found his way
into it, without troubling any servant what-
ever.
18 THE VICAR OF
CHAPTER II.
Charles's amusement at his sister's appearance. —
HE discusses her CASE WITH ROSALIND.
" Rosalind and Fanny entered the drawing-
room together, and young Mowbray at the
sound of their approach sprang forward to
meet them ; but the moment he threw his
eyes on his sister, he burst forth into a fit
of uncontrollable laughter, and though he
kissed her again and again, still between every
embrace he broke out anew, with every de-
monstration of vehement mirth.
" I am very glad to see you, Charles," said
Fanny with a little sanctified air that certainly
was very amusing ; " but I should like it better
if you did not laugh at me.^'
" But my dear, dear, dearest child ! how
can I help it ?" replied her brother, again
WREXHILL. 19
bursting into renewed laughter. " Oh Fanny,
if you could but see yourself just as you look
at this moment 1 Oh ! you hideous little
quiz ! I would not have beheved it possible
that any plastering or shearing in the world
could have made you look so very ugly. Is
it not wonderful, Miss Torrington ?"
" It certainly alters the expression of her
countenance in a very remarkable manner;"
replied Rosalind.
" The expression of a countenance may be
changed by an alteration from within, as well
as from without/^ said Fanny, taking courage,
and not without some httle feeling of that com-
placency which the persuasion of superior
sanctity is generally observed to bestow upon
its possessors.
" Why, you most ugly httle beauty !" cried
Charles, again giving way to merriment ; " you
don't mean to tell me that the impayable ab-
surdity of that poor httle face is owing to
anything but your ha\ang just washed your
hair?"
" It is owing to conviction, Charles," re-
phed Fanny with great solemnity.
" Owins: to conviction ? — To conviction of
what, my poor httle girl ?"
20 THE VICAR OF
" To conviction that it is right, brother."
" Right, child, to make that object of your-
self? What in the world can you mean,
Fanny ?"
" I mean, brother, that I have an inward
conviction of the sin and folly of dressing our
mortal clay to attract the eyes and the admira-
tion of the worldly."
" By worldly, do you mean of all the world?"
said Rosahnd.
" No, Miss Torrington. By worldly, I
mean those whose thoughts and wishes are
fixed on the things of the earth."
" And it is the admiration of such only that
you wish to avoid ?" rejoined Rosalind.
" Certainly it is. Spiritual-minded persons
see all things in the spirit — do all things in the
spirit : of such there is nothing to fear."
Young Mowbray meanwhile stood looking
at his sister, and listening to her words with
the most earnest attention.
At length he said, more seriously than he
had yet spoken, " To tell you the truth, little
puritan, I do not like you at all in your new
masquerading suit: though it must be confessed
that you play your part well, I don't want to
begin lecturing you, Fanny, the moment 1
WREXHILL. 21
come home ; but I do hope you will soon get
tired of this foolery, and let me see my poor
father's daughter look and behave as a Chris-
tian young woman ought to do. Rosalind, will
you take a walk with me ? I want to have a
look at my old pony."
Miss Torrington nodded her assent, and they
both left the room together, leaving Fanny
more triumphant than mortified.
" He said that my persecutions woidd begin
as soon as my election ^^as made sure ! Oh !
why is he not here to sustain and comfort me !
But I will not fall away in the hour of trial ;
I will not fear what man can do unto me !"
The poor girl turned her eyes from the
window whence she saw her brother and
Rosalind walking gaily and happily, as she
thought, in search of the old pony, and has-
tened to take refiige in her dressing-room, now
rendered almost sacred in her eyes by the
pastoral visit she had that morning received
there. ^
The following hour or two gave Fanny her
first taste of martyrdom. She was, or at least
had been, devotedly attached to her brother,
and the knowing him to be so near, yet so
distant from her, was terrible. Yet was she
22 THE VICAR OF
not altogether without consolation. She open-
ed the Bible, — that Bible that he had so lately
interpreted to her (fearful profanation !) in
such a manner as best to suit his own views,
and by means of using the process he had
taught her, though unconsciously perhaps, she
contrived to find a multitude of texts, all prov-
ing that she and the vicar were quite right,
and all the countless myriads who thought
differently, quite wrong. Then followed a
thanksgiving which might have been fairly ex-
pressed in such words as " Lord, I thank thee,
I am not like other men V and then, as the
sweet summer air waved the acacias to and
fro before her windows, and her young spirit,
panting for lawns and groves, sunshine and
shade, suggested the idea of her brother and
Rosalind enjoying it all without her, her poe-
tical vein came to her relief, and she sat down
to compose a hymn, in which, after rehearsing
prettily enough all the delights of summer
rambles through verdant fields, for four stan-
zas, she completed the composition by a fifth,
of which ' sin,' ' begin,^ * within,' formed the
rhymes, — and ' Lord' and * reward,' the crown-
ing couplet.
This having recourse to " song divine" was
WREXHILL. 23
a happy thought for her, inasmuch as it not
only occupied time which must otherwise have
hung with overwhelming weight upon her
hands, but the employment soon conjured up,
as she proceeded, the image of Mr. Cartwright,
and the pious smile with which he would
receive it from her hands, and the soft ap-
proval spoken more by the eyes than the lips,
and the holy caress — such, according to his
authority, as that with which angel meets angel
in the courts of heaven.
All this was very pleasant and consoling to
her feelings ; and when her hymn was finished,
she determined to go down stairs, in order to
sing it to some (hitherto) profane air, which
she might select from among the songs of her
sinful youth.
As she passed the mirror, she again glanced
at her disfigured little head ; but at that mo-
ment she was so strong in " conviction," that,
far from wishing to accommodate her new birth
of coiffure to worldly eyes, she employed a
minute or two in sedulously smoothing and
controlling her rebellious tresses, and even held
her head in stiff equilibrium to prevent their
escape from behind her ears.
" Good and holy man !" she exclaimed aloud,
24 THE VICAR OF
as she gave a parting glance at the result of
all these little pious coquetries. " How well
I know what his kind words would be, if he
could see me now ! ' Of such are the king-
dom of heaven, Fanny,' he would say. And
of such," she added with a gentle sigh, " will
I strive to be, though aU the world should join
together to persecute me for it."
While Mr. Cartwright's prettiest convert was
thus employed. Miss Torrington and Charles
Mowbray J, far from being engaged in chasing a
pony, or even in looking at the summer luxury
of bloom which breathed around them as they
pursued their way through the pleasure-
grounds, were very gravely discussing the
symptoms of her case.
" It is a joke, Rosalind, and nothing more,"
said the young man, drawing her arm within
his. " I really can do nothing but laugh at
such folly, and I beg and entreat that you will
do the same."
" Then you think, of course, Mr. Mowbray,
that I have been supremely absurd in sending
you the summons I did ?"
" Far, very far otherwise," he replied grave-
ly. " It has shown me a new feature in your
character, Miss Torrington, and one which not
WREXHILL. 25
to admire would be a sin, worse even than poor
Mr. Cartwright would consider your wearing
these pretty ringlets, llosaUnd."
" Poor Mr. Cartwright!" repeated Rosalind,
drawing aAAay her arm. " How little do we
think alike, Mr. Mowbray, concerning that man !"
" The chief difference between us on the sub-
ject^ I suspect, arises from your thinking of him
a great deal, Rosalind, and my thinking of him
very httle. I should certainly, if 1 set about
reasoning on the matter, feel considerable con-
tempt for a middle-aged clergyman of the
Church of England who manifested his care of
the souls committed to his charge by making
their little bodies comb their hair straight, for
the pleasure of saying that it was done upon
conviction. But surely there is more room for
mirth than sorrow in this."
" Indeed, indeed, you are mistaken I — and
that not only as regards the individual interests
of your sister Farmy, — though, God knows, I
think that no light matter, — but as a subject
that must be interesting to every Christian soul
that lives. Do not make a jest of what involves
by far the most important question that can be
brought before poor mortals : it is unworthy
of you, Mr. Mowbray."
VOL.. II. C
26 THE VICAR OF
" If you take the subject in its general cha-
racter," rephed Charles, " I am sure we shall
not differ. I deplore as sincerely as you can
do, Miss Torrington, the grievously schismatic
inroad into our national church which these
self-chosen apostles have made. But as one
objection against them, though perhaps not the
heaviest, is the contempt which their absurd
puritanical ordinances have often brought upon
serious things, I cannot but think that ridicule
is a fair weapon to lash them withal."
" It may be so,'^ rephed Rosalind, " and in
truth it is often impossible to avoid using it ;
but yet it does not follow that the deeds and
doctrines of these soi-disant saints give more
room for mirth than sorrow."
" Well, Rosalind, give me your arm again,
and I will speak more seriously. The very pre-
posterous and ludicrous manner which Fanny,
or her spiritual adviser, has chosen for showing
forth her own particular regeneration, has per-
haps led me to treat it more slightly than I
should have done had the indications of this
temporary perversion of judgment been of a
more serious character. That is doubtless one
reason for the mirth I have shown. Another
is, that I conceive it would be more easy to
WREXHILL. 27
draw poor little Fanny back again into the
bosom of Mother Church by laughing at her,
rather than by making her believe herself a
martyr."
" Your laughter is a species of martyrdom
which she will be taught to glory in enduring.
But at present I feel sure that all our discus-
sions on this topic must be in vain. I rejoice
that you are here, though it is plain that you
do not think her situation requires your pre-
sence ; and I will ask no further submission of
your judgment to mine, tiian requesting that
you will not leave Mowbray till your mother
returns."
" Be assured I will not : and be assured also,
that however much it is possible we may differ
as to the actual atrocity of this new vicar, or
the danger Fanny runs in listening to him, I
shall never cease to be grateful, dearest Miss
Torrington, for the interest you have shown for
her, and indeed for us all.''
" Acquit me of silly interference," replied
Rosalind, colouring, " and I will acquit you of
all obligation."
" But I don't wash to be acquitted of it,"
said Charles rather tenderly : " you do not
c 2
28
THE VICAR OF
know how much pleasure I have in thinking
that you already feel interested about us all !''
This was giving exactly the turn to what she
had done which poor Rosalind most depre-
cated. The idea that young Mowbray might
imagine she had sent for him from a general
feeling of interest for the family, had very
nearly prevented her writing at all— and no-
thing l)ut a sense of duty had conquered the
repugnance she felt at doing it. It had not
been a little vexing to perceive that he thought
lightly of what she considered as so important;
and now that in addition to this he appeared
to conceive it necessary to return thanks for
the interest she had manifested, Rosalind
turned away her head, and not without diffi-
culty restrained the tears which were gathering
in her eyes from falling. She was not in
general slow in finding words to express what
she wished to say ; but at this moment, though
extremely desirous of answering suitably, as
she would have herself described the power
she wanted, not a syllable would suggest itself
which she had courage or inclination to speak :
so, hastening her steps towards the house,
she murmured, " You are very kind — it is
WREXHILL. 29
almost time to dress, I believe/' and left
him.
Charles felt that there was something wrong
between them, and decided at once very gene-
rously that it must be his fault. There is
nothing more difficult to trace with a skilful
hand than the process by which a young man
and maiden often creep into love, without
either of them being at all aware at what
moment they were first seized with the symp-
toms. When the parties fall in love, the
thing is easy enough to describe : it is a shot,
a thunderbolt, a whirlwind, or a storm; no-
thing can be more broadly evident than their
hopes and their ecstasies, their agonies and
their fears. But when affection grows un-
consciously, and, like a seed of mignonette
thrown at random, unexpectedly shows itself
the sweetest and most valued of the hearths
treasures, overpowering by its delicious breath
all other fragrance, the case is different.
Sometliing very like this creeping process
was now going on in the heart of young
Mowbray. Rosalind's beauty had appeared
to him veiled by a very dark cloud on her
first arrival from Ireland : she was weary,
heartsick, frightened, and, moreover, dressed
30 THE VICAR OF
in very unbecoming mourning. But as tears
gave place to smiles, fears to hopes, and ex-
hausted spirits to light-hearted cheerfulness,
he found out that •' she was very pretty
indeed" — and then, and then, and then, he
could not tell how it happened himself, so
neither can I ; but certain it is, that her
letter gave him almost as much pleasure as
alarm ; and if, after being convinced that there
was no danger of Mr. Cartwright's becom-
ing his brother-in-law, he showed a somewhat
unbecoming degree of levity in his manner
of treating Fanny's case, it must be attribvited
to the gay happiness he felt at being so un-
expectedly called home.
As for the heart of Rosalind, if anything
was going on therein at all out of the common
way, she certainly was not aware of it. She
felt vexed, anxious, out of spirits, as she
sought her solitary dressing-room : but it
would have been no easy task to persuade
her that love had anything to do with it.
WREXHILL. 31
CHAPTER IlL
CHARLES WALKS OVER TO OAKLEY. — THE VICAR IMPROVES
IN HIS OPINION.
At the time Miss Torrington observed to
Mr. Mowbray that it was near dressing-time,
it wanted about four hours of dinner ; so,
having followed her with his eyes as she
mounted the steps and entered the house,
he drew out his watch, and perceiving that
he had quite enough time for the excursion
before " dressing-time" would be over, set
off to walk to Oakley.
How far Rosalind might have been disposed
to quarrel with him for the very small propor-
tion of meditation which he bestowed on Fanny
during his dehghtful stroll through the well-
known shady lanes, or how far she might have
32 THE VICAR OF
been tempted to forgive him for the much
greater portion devoted to herself, it is im-
possible to say ; but he arrived at Sir Gilbert's
hall-door in that happy state of mind which
is often the result of a delicious day-dream,
vrhen Hope lends the support of her anchor to
Fancy.
Sir Gilbert and the colonel were out on
horseback, the servant said — but " my lady
is in the garden." And thither Mowbray went
to seek her.
He was somewhat startled at his first re-
ception ; for the old lady watched his approach
for some steps, standing stock-still, and with-
out giving the slightest symptom of recog-
nition. At length she raised her glass to her
eye and discovered who the tall stranger was ;
upon which she sent forth a sound greatly
resembhng a view " hollo !" which imme-
diately recalled the servant who had mar-
shalled Mowbray to the garden, and without
uttering a word of welcome, gave the following
order very distinctly :
" Let Richard take the brown mare and
ride her sharp to Ramsden. Sir Gilbert is gone
to the post-office, the bank, the sadler's, and
the nursery-garden. Let him be told that Mr.
WREXHILL. 33
Mowbray is waiting for him at Oakley- and
let not a single instant be lost."
The rapid manner in which " Very well,
my lady,'^ was uttered in reply, and the man
vanished out of sight, showed that the order
was likely to be as promptly executed as
spoken.
" My dear, dear Charles!" cried the old
lady; then stepping forward and placing her
hands in his, " what brings you back to
Mowbray ? But never mind what it is —
nothing very bad, I hope, and then I must
rejoice at it. I am most thankful to see
you here, my dear boy. How is my sweet
Helen ? — could you not bring her with you,
Charles ?"
" She is in London, my dear Lady Har-
rington, with my mother. Where is the co-
lonel ?"
" With his father; — they will return to-
gether ; no grass will grow under their horses'
feet as they ride homeward to meet you,
Charles ! But how comes it that you are
at home? If you have left Oxford, why are
you not with your mother and Helen ?"
A moment's thought might have told Mow-
c 3
54 THE VICAR OF
bray that this question would certainly be
asked, and must in some manner or other be
answered ; but the moment's thought had not
been given to it, and he now felt considerably
embarrassed how to answer. He lamented the
estrangement already existing, however, too
sincerely, to run any risk of increasing it by
ill-timed reserve, and therefore, after a mo-
ment's hesitation, very frankly answered — " I
can tell you, my dear lady, why I am here,
more easily than I can explain for what pur-
pose. I returned post to Mowbray this morn-
ing, because Miss Torrington gave me a pri-
vate intimation by letter, that she thought
the new Vicar of Wrexhill was obtaining an
undue influence over the mind of Fanny.
She did not express herself very clearly, and
I was fool enough to imagine that she sup-
posed he was making love to lier : but I find
that her fears are only for poor little Fanny's
orthodoxy. Mr. Cartwright is one of the
evangelical, decidedly, I believe, the most mis-
chievous sect that ever attacked the esta-
blished church ; and Miss Torrington, not
without good reason, fears that Fanny is in
danger of becoming a proselyte to his gloomy
WREXHILL. 35
and unchristian-like doctrine. But, at her age,
such a whim as this is not, I should hope,
very likely to be lasting."
" I don't know that !" replied Lady Har-
rington sharply. " Miss Torrington has acted
with great propriety, and exactly with the sort
of promptitude and decision of character for
which I should have given her credit. Be-
ware, Mr. Mowbray, how you make light of
the appearance of religious schism among you :
it is a deadly weapon of discord, and the poi-i
son in which it is dipped seldom finds an
antidote either in family affection or filial
obedience."
" But Fanny is so nearly a child, Lady
Harrington, that I can hardly believe her ca-
pable of manifesting any very dangerous re-
ligious zeal at present."
" You don't know what you are talking
about, Charles ! Of every family into which
this insidious and most anti-christian schism
has crept, you would find, upon inquiry, that
in nine instances out of ten, it has been the
young girls who have been selected as the first
objects of conversion, and then made the
active means of spreading it afterwards. Don't
treat this matter lightly, my dear boy ! Per-
36 THE VICAR OF
sonally I know nothing of this Mr. Cart-
wright ; — we never leave our parish church
and our excellent Dr. Broughton, to run after
brawling extempore preachers ; — but I have
been told by one or two of our neighbours
who do, that he is what is called a shining
light ; which means, being interpreted, a rant-
ing, canting fanatic. Take care, above all
things, that your mother does not catch the
infection."
" My mother ! — Oh no ! Her steady prin-
ciples and quiet good sense would render such
a falling oif as that quite impossible."
" Very well ! I am willing to hope so. And
yet, Charles, I cannot for the life of me help
thinking that she must have had some other
adviser than her own heart when she left
my good Sir Gilbert's letter without an an-
swer."
" Of what letter do you speak, Lady Har-
rington ?" said young Mowbray, colouring ; —
" of that whereby he refused to execute the
trust my father bequeathed him ?"
" No, Charles ! Of that whereby he re-
scinded his refusal."
" Has such a letter been sent ?" inquired
Mowbray eagerly. " I never heard of it."
WREXHILL. 37
" Indeed ! Then we must presume that
Mrs. Mowbray did not think it worth men-
tioning. Such a letter has, however, been sent,
Mr. Mowbray ; and I confess, I hoped, on see-
ing you arrive, that 3'ou were come to give it
an amicable, though somewhat tardy answer,
in person."
" I am greatly surprised," replied Charles,
" to hear that such a letter has been received
by my mother, because I had been led to be-
lieve that Sir Gilbert had declared himself
immovable on the subject ; but still more am
I surprised that I should not have heard of
it. Could Helen know it, and not tell me ?
It must have been to her a source of the
greatest happiness, as the one which preceded
had been of the deepest mortification and
sorrow."
" Your sister, then, saw the first letter ?"
" She did. Lady Harrington, and ^^TOte me
word of it, with expressions of the most sincere
regret."
" But of the second she said nothins: ? That
is not like Helen."
*' So Httle is it like her, that I feel confident
she never heard of the second letter."
38 THE VICAR OF
" t believe so too, Cimrles. But what,
then, are we to think of your mother's hav-
ing shown the first letter, and concealed the
second ?"
"It cannot be ! my mother never conceals
anything from us. We have never, from the
moment we left the nursery, been kept m igno-
rance of any circumstance of general interest
to the family. My poor father's constant
phrase upon all such occasions was — ' Let it
be discussed in a committee of the whole
house.'
" I cannot understand it," repUed the old
lady, seating herself upon a bench in the
shade ; " but, at any rate, I rejoice that you
did not all think Sir Gilbert's recantation —
which was not written without an effort, I
promise you — so totally unworthy of notice as
you have appeared to do."
Charles Mowbray seated himself beside her.
and nearly an hour was passed in conversation
on the same subject, or others connected with
it. At the end of that time. Sir Gilbert,
booted and spurred, appeared at the door of
the mansion, followed by his son. There was
an angry spot upon his cheek, and though it
WREXHILL. 39
was sufficiently evident that lie was eager to
meet young Mowbray, it was equally so that
he was displeased with him.
Lady Harrington, however, soon cleared the
way to the most frank and cordial communi-
cation, rendering all explanation unnecessary
by exclaiming, " He has never seen nor heard
of your second letter, Sir Gilbert — nor Helen
either."
The baronet stood still for a moment, look-
ing with doubt and surprise first at his wife,
and then at his guest. The doubt, however,
vanished in a moment, and he again advanced,
and now with an extended hand, towards
Charles.
A conversation of some length ensued ; but
as it consisted wholly of conjectures upon a
point that they were all equally unable to
explain, it is unnecessary to repeat it. The
two young men met each other with expres-
sions of the most cordial regard, and before
they parted. Colonel Harrington related the
conversation he had held with Helen and Miss
Torrington, the result" of which was his father's
having despatched the letter whose fate ap-
peared involved in so much mystery.
Lady Harrington, notwithstanding those who
40 THE VICAR OF
did not love her, called her masculine, showed
some feminine tact in not mentioning, to Sir
Gilbert that it was a letter from Miss Torring-
ton which had recalled Charles. It is pro-
bable that when her own questionings had
forced this avowal from him, she had per-
ceived some shade of embarrassment in his
answer; but she failed not to mention the
serious turn that Fanny Mowbray appeared
to have taken, and her suspicions that the new
Vicar of Wrexhill must have been rather more
assiduous than was desirable in his visits at the
Park.
" The case is clear — clear as daylight, my
lady : I understand it all. ' By their fruits
ye shall know them,^ — and by them shall ye
know their fruits. Stop a moment, Charles :
if you won't stay dinner, you must stay while
I furnish you with a document by means of
which you may, I think, make a useful ex-
periment."
Without waiting for an answer. Sir Gilbert
left the party in the garden and hurried into
the house, whence he returned in a few minutes
Vv'ith a scrap of paper in his hand.
" Fortunately, Charles, very fortunately, I
have kept a copy of my last note to your
WREXHILL. 41
mother. I am sure I know not what induced
me to keep it : had such a thing happened
to Mr. Cartwright, he would have declared it
providential — but I in my modesty only call
it lucky. — Take this paper, Charles, and read
it if you will : 'tis a d — d shame you have
not read it before ! You say, I think, that
the vicar is expected at Mowbray this even-
ing : just put this scrap of paper into his
hand, and ask him if he ever read it before.
Let him say what he will, I give you credit
for sufficient sharpness to find out the truth.
If he has seen it, I shall know whom I have
to thank for the insolent contempt it has met
with."
" But my mother !" cried Charles with emo-
tion. " Is it possible that she could conceal
such a note as this from her children, and show
it to this man ? Sir Gilbert, I cannot be-
lieve it."
" I don't like to believe it myself, Charles ;
upon my soul I don't. But what can we think ?
At any rate, make the experiment to-night ; it
can do no harm ; and come here to dinner to-
morrow to tell us the result."
" I will come to you with the greatest plea-
sure, and bring you all the intelligence I
42 THE VICAR OF
can get. My own opinion is, that the note
was lost before it reached my mother's hands.
The usual hour, I suppose. Sir Gilbert, — six
o'clock ?"
" Six o'clock, Charles, — and, as usual, punc-
tual to a moment."
When Mowbray reached his home, it was in
truth rather more than time to dress ; but he
kept the young ladies waiting as short a time
as possible. Fanny presented him in proper
style to Miss Cartwright as soon as he appear-
ed in the drawing-room ; and he had the honour
of giving that silent young lady his arm to the
dining-room.
Charles thought her deep-set black eyes very
handsome ; nevertheless he secretly wished that
she were a hundred miles off, for her presence,
of course, checked every approach to confiden-
tial conversation.
Nothing, indeed, could well be more dull
and unprofitable than this dinner. Miss Cart-
wright spoke not at all ; Fanny, no more than
was necessary for the performance of her duty
at the head of the table ; and Rosalind looked
pale and languid, and so completely out of
spirits that every word she spoke seemed a
painful eifort to her. She was occupied in re-
WREXHILL. 43
calling to mind the tone and air of the party
who dined together in that same room about
six months before, when Charles had last re-
turned from Oxford. The contrast these re-
collections offered to the aspect of the present
party was most painful ; and as Rosalind
turned her eyes round the table with a look of
wistful melancholy, as if looking for those who
were no longer there, her thoughts were so
legibly written on her countenance that Mow-
bray understood them as plainly as if they had
been spoken.
" Rosalind, will you take wine with me ? —
You look tired and pale." This was said in a
tone of affectionate interest that seemed to ex-
cite the attention of Henrietta ; and when Miss
Torrington raised her eyes to answer it, she
observed that young lady's looks fixed on Mr.
Mowbray's countenance with an expression
that denoted curiosity.
The whole party seemed glad to escape from
the dinner-table ; and the young ladies, with
light shawls and parasols, had just wandered
out upon the lawn, when they met Mr. Cart-
wright approaching the house.
Fanny coloured, and looked at her brother.
Miss Cartwright coloured too; and her eyes
44 THE VICAR OF
followed the direction of Fanny's, as if to see
how this familiar mode of approach was ap-
proved by Mr. Mowbray.
Charles certainly felt a little surprised, and
did not take much pains to conceal it. For a
moment he looked at the vicar, as if not
quite certain who it was, and then, touch-
ing his hat with ceremonious politeness, said
haughtily enough " Mr. Cartwright, I be-
lieve ?"
It would have been difficult for any one to
find fault with the manner in which this salu-
tation was returned. In a tone admirably mo-
dulated between profound respect and friendly
kindness, his hat raised gracefully from his
head to greet the whole party, and his hand-
some features wearing an expression of the
gentlest benevolence, Mr. Cartwright hoped
that he had the happiness of seeing Mr. Mow-
bray well.
Charles felt more than half ashamed of the
reception he had given him, and stretched out
his hand as if to atone for it. The vicar felt
his advantage, and pursued it by the most easy,
winning, yet respectful style of conversation.
His language and manners became completely
those of an accomplished man of the world;
WREXHILL. 45
his topics were drawn from the day's paper and
the last review : he ventured a jest upon Don
Carlos, and a bo7i mot upon the Duke of Wel-
lington ; took little or no notice of Fanny ;
spoke affectionately to his daughter, and gaily
to Miss Torrington ; and, in short, appeared to
be as little deserving of all Rosahnd had said
of him as it was well' possible for a gentleman
to be.
" Fair Rosalind has certainly suffered her
imagination to conjure up a bugbear in this
man," thought Charles. " It is impossible he
can be the violent fanatic she describes."
After wandering about the gardens for some
time, Fanny proposed that they should go in to
tea; but before they reached the house, Mr.
Cartwright proposed to take his leave, saying
that he had an engagement in Wrexhill, which
was to prevent his lengthening his visit.
The adieu had been spoken on all sides, and
the vicar turned from them to depart, when
Charles recollected the commission he had re-
ceived from Sir Gilbert, and that he had pro-
mised to report the result on the morrow.
Hastily following him, therefore, he said, " I
beg your pardon, Mr. Cartwright ; but, before
you go, will you have the kindness to read this
46 THE VICAR OF
note, and tell me if you know whether my mo-
ther received such a one before she went to
London ?"
Mr. Cartwright took the note, read it atten-
tively, and then returned it, saying, " No, Mr.
Mowbray, I should certainly think not: not
because I never saw or heard of it, but because
I imagine that if she had, she would not have
proceeded to London without Sir Gilbert. Was
such a note as that sent, Mr. Mowbray ?"
Charles had kept his eye very steadily fixed
on the vicar, both while he read the note, and
while he spoke of it. Not the slightest indica-
tion, however, of his knowing anything about
it was visible in his countenance, voice, or
manner; and, again as he looked at him, young
Mowbray felt ashamed of suspicions for which
there seemed to be so little cause.
" Svich a note as this was sent, Mr. Cart-
wright," he frankly replied : " but I suspect
that by some unlucky accident it never reached
my mother's hands ; otherwise, as you well ob-
serve, she would not, most assuredly, have set
off to London on this business without commu-
nicating with Sir Gilbert Harrington.''
" I conceive it must be so, indeed, Mr. Mow-
bray ; and it is greatly to be lamented, for the
ii
WREXHILL. 47
receiving it would have saved poor Mrs. Mow-
bray much anxiety and trouble."
" She expressed herself to you as being an-
noyed by Sir Gilbert's refusing to act ?"
" Oh yes, repeatedly ; so much so, indeed,
that nothing but the indispensable duty of my
parish prevented my offering to accompany her
to London myself. I wished her very much to
send for you ; but nothing would induce her to
interrupt your studies.'
It is not in the nature of a frank-hearted
young man to doubt statements thus simply
uttered by one having the bearing and appear-
ance of a gentleman; and Charles Mowbray
reported accordingly at the dinner-table of Sir
Gilbert, assuring him that the test had proved
Mr. Cartwright's innocence on this point most
satisfactorily.
48 THE VICAR OF
CHAPTER IV.
MR. STEPHEN CORBOLD.
We must now follow Mrs. Mowbray and
Helen to London, as some of the circumstances
which occurred there proved of importance to
them afterwards. The journey was a very me-
lancholy one to Helen, and her feelings as un-
like as possible to those which usually accom-
pany a young lady of her age, appearance, and
station, upon a visit to the metropolis. Mrs.
Mowbray spoke very little, being greatly oc-
cupied by the volume recommended to her
notice, at parting, by Mr. Cartwright; and
more than once Helen felt something like envy
at the situation of the two servants, who,
perched aloft behind the carriage, were enjoy-
ing without restraint the rapid njovement, the
WREXHILL. 49
fresh air, and the beautiful country through
which they passed ; while she, like a drooping
flower on which the sun has ceased to shine,
hung her fair head, and languished for the
kindly warmth she had lost.
They reached Wimpole Street about eight
o'clock in the evening, and found everything
prepared for them with the most sedulous at-
tention in their handsome and commodious
apartments.
Mrs. Mowbray was tired, and, being really in
need of the refreshment, blessed the hand, or
rather the thought, which had forestalled all
her wants and wishes, and spread that dearest
of travelling banquets, tea and coffee, ready to
greet her as she entered the drawing-room.
" This letter has been left for you, ma'am,
by the gentleman who took the apartment,"
said the landlady, taking a packet from the
chimney-piece ; " and he desired it might be
given to you immediately."
Mrs. Mowbray opened it ; but perceiving it
enclosed another, the address of which she
glanced her eye upon, she folded it up again,
and besr^ed to be shown to her room while the
tea was made.
Her maid followed her, but was dismissed
VOL. II. D
50 THE VICAR OF
with orders to see if Miss Mowbray wanted
anything. As soon as she was alone^ she pre-
pared to examine the packet, the receipt of
which certainly startled her, for it was in the
handwriting of Mr. Cartwright, from whom
she had parted but a few hours before.
The envelope contained only these words :
" Mr. Stephen Corbold presents his respect-
ful compliments to Mrs. Mov/bray, and will do
himself the honour of waiting upon her to-
morrow morning at eleven o'clock.'^
" Gray's Inn, July 13th, 1833."
Mrs. Mowbray ran her eyes very rapidly
over these words, and then opened the en-
closed letter. It was as follows : —
" Do not let the unexpected sight of a letter
from your minister alarm you, my dear and
much-valued friend. I have nothing pa,inful
to disclose ; and my sole object in writing is to
make you feel that though you are distant
from the sheltered spot wherein the Lord hath
caused you to dwell, the shepherd's eye which
hath been appointed to \vatch over you is not
withdrawn.
WREXHILL. 5 1
" I am no longer a young man, my dear
Mrs. Mowbray ; and during the years through
which I have passed, my profession, my duty,
and my indination have ahke led me to exa-
mine the souls of my fellow-creatures, and to
read them, as it were, athwart the veil of their
mortal bodies. Habit and application have
given me, I believe, some skill in develo^^ing
the inward character of those amongst whom I
am thrown : nor can I doubt that the hand of
God is in this, as in truth it is in all things if
we do but diligently set ourselves to trace it; —
I cannot, I say, but believe that this faculty
which I feel so strong within me, of discern-
ing in whom those spirits abide that the Lord
hath chosen for his own, — I cannot but believe
that this faculty is given me by his especial
will and for his especial glory, I wish well,
sincerely well, to the whole human race : I
would never lose an opportunity of lifting my
voice in warning to them, in the hope that per-
adventure there may be one among the crowd
who may turn and follow me. But, my friend,
far different is the feeling with which my soul
clings with steadfast care and love to those on
whom I see the anointing finger of the Lord.
It is such that I would lead, even as a pilot
D 2
52 THE VICAR OF
leadeth the vessel intrusted to his skill, into
the peaceful waters, where glory, and honour,
and joy unspeakable and without end, shall
abide with them for ever !
" Repine not, oh ! my friend, if all your race
are not of these. Rather rejoice wdth exceed-
ing great joy that it hath pleased the Holy One
to set his seal on two. To this effect, look
round the world, my gentle friend, and see
what myriads of roofs arise beneath which not
one can be found to show forth the saving
power of Christ. Mark them ! how they thread
the giddy maze, and dance onward down the
slippery path that leads to everlasting damna-
tion ! Mark this, sweet spii'it ! and rejoice that
you and your Fanny are snatched from the
burning ! My soul revels in an ecstasy of rap-
ture unspeakable, as I gaze upon you both,
and know that is I, even I, whom the Lord
hath chosen to lead you to his pastures. What
are aU the victories and glories of the world to
this ? Think you, my gentle friend, that if all
the worldly state and station of Lambeth were
offered me on one side, and the task of leading
thy meek steps into the way of life called me to
the other, that I should hesitate for one single
instant which to choose ?
WREXHILL. 53
" Oh no ! Trust me, I would meet the scorn
and revihngs of all men — ay, and the bitterest
persecutions that ever the saints of old were
called upon to bear, rather than turn mine
eyes from thee and the dear work of thy salva-
tion, though princedoms, principalities, and
powers might be gained thereby !
" Be strong then in faith, be strong in hope ;
for thou art well loved of the Lord, and of him
whom it hath been His will to place near thee
as his minister on eartli !
" Be strong in faith ! Kneel down, sweet
friend ! — even now, as thine eye reads these
characters traced by the hand of one who would
give his life to guard thy soul from harm,
kneel down, and ask that the Holy Ghost may
be with thee, — well assured that he who bids
thee do so will at the same moment be kneel-
ing, likewise, to invoke blessings on thy fair
and virtuous head !
" At the moment when the heart is drawn
heavenward, as mine is now, how hateful — I
may say, how profane, seem those worldly ap-
pellations and distinctions with which the silly
vanity of man has sought to decorate our indi-
vidual nothingness ! How much more befittin<r
a serious Christian is it, in such a moment as
54 THE VICAR OF
this, to use that name which was bestowed by
the authority of Christ ! You have three such,
niy sweet friend. The two first are now appro-
priated, as it were, to your daughters ; but the
third is more especially your own. — Clara ! On
Clara may the dew of Heaven descend like
healing balm ! On Clara may the Saviour and
the Lamb set his seal ! On Clara may the
Holy Ghost descend to keep and overshadow
her from all danger ! — Kneel then, sweet Clara!
— thou chosen handmaid of the Lord ! kneel
down, and think that William Cartwright
kneels beside thee !
" Written on ray knees in the secret recesses
of my own chamber. — W. C."
No sooner did Mrs. Mowbray's eye reach
the words " kneel down," than she obeyed
them, and in this attitude read to the end of
the epistle. Mrs. Mowbray's feelings, when-
ever strongly excited, either by joy, sorrow, or
any other emotion, always showed themselves
in tears, and she now wept profusely — vehe-
mently ; though it is probable she would have
been greatly puzzled to explain why, even to
herself. She would certainly, however, have
WREXHILL. 55
declared, had she spoken on the subject to any
one, that those tears were a joy, a blessing, and
a comfort to her. But as she had nobody to
whom she could thus open her hearty she wash-
ed her eyes with cold water, and descended
with all the composure she could assume to
Helen and the tea-table.
Notwithstanding this precaution, Helen's
watchful eye perceived that her mother had
been weeping, and, forgetting the unnatural
coldness which a breath more fatal than pesti-
lence had placed between them, she exclaimed
^^dth all her wonted tenderness,
" What is the matter, dear mamma? — I
trust that no bad news has met you ?"
If all other circumstances left it a matter of
doubt whether evangelical influence (as it is
impiously called) were productive of good or
evil, the terrible power which it is so constantly
seen to have of destroying family union must
be quite sufficient to settle the question. Any
person who will take the trouble to inquire
into the fact, will find that family affection has
been more blighted and destroyed by the work-_
ings of this fearful superstition than by any
other cause of which the history of man bears
record.
56 THE VICAR OF
The tone of Helen's voice seemed for a mo-
ment to recall former feelings, and her mother
looked at her kindly : hut before she could give
utterance to any word of affection, the recollec-
tion of all Mr. Cartwright had said to prove
that Helen deserved not the affection of her
mother, and that the only chance left to save
her soul alive was to be found in the most
austere estrangement, till such time as her hard
heart should be softened : the recollection of all
this came across the terrified mind of Mrs.
Mowbrav, and she resumed the solemn and
distant bearing she had of late assumed, with
a nervous sensation of alarm at the great crime
she had been on the point of committing.
Poor Helen saw the look, and listened with
her whole soul in her eyes for the kind words
which had so nearly followed it; but when
they came not, her heart sank within her, and
pleading fatigue, she begged to be shown to
her room, where she spent half the night in
weeping.
Most punctually at eleven o'clock on the
following morning, Mr. Stephen Corbold was
announced, and a stiff priggish-looking figure
entered the drawing-room, who, though in
truth a " special attorney," looked much more
WREXHILL. 57
like a thorough-bred methodistical preacher
than his friend and cousin Mr. Cartwright. In
age he was a few years that gentleman's junior,
but in all outward gifts most lamentably his
inferior ; being, in truth, as ill-looking and un-
gentlemanlike a person as any congregation
attached to the " Philo-Calvin Frybabe" prin-
ciples could furnish.
The footman might have announced him in
the same words as Lepine did Vadius :
" Madame, un hommeestlk, qui veut parler avous.
II est vetu de noir, et parle d'un ton doux."
For, excepting his little tight cravat, he ap-
peared to have nothing white about him, and
he seldom raised his cautious voice above a
whisper.
" I am here, madam," he began, addressing
himself to Mrs. Mowbray, who felt rather at a
loss what to say to him, " at the request of my
cousin, the Reverend William Jacob Cart-
wright, Vicar of Wrexhill. He hath given
me to understand that you have business to
transact at Doctors' Commons, relative to the
last will and testament of your late husband.
Am I correct, madam ?"
D 3
58 THE VICAR OF
'' Quite so, Mr. Corbold. I wish to despatch
this business as quickly as possible, as I am
anxious to return again to my family.'^
" No delay shall intervene that I can pre-
vent," replied the attorney. " Is there any
other business, madam, in which my services
can be available ?"
" You are very kind, sir. I believe there are
several things on which I shall have to trouble
you. Mr. Mowbray generally transacted his
own business, which in London consisted, I be-
lieve, solely in receiving dividends and paying
tradesmen's bills : the only lawyer he employed,
therefore, was a gentleman who resides in our
county, and who has hitherto had the care of
the estates. But my excellent minister and
friend Mr, Cartwright has written upon this
sheet of paper, 1 believe, Avhat it will be neces-
sary for me to do in order to arrange things
for the future."
Mrs. Mowbray put the paper into the law-
yer's hands, who read it over with great atten-
tion, nodding his head slightly from time to
time as any item struck him as particularly
interesting and important.
" Three per Cents — very good. Bank Stock
— very good. Power of attorney. — All right,
WREXHILL. 59
madam, all right. It hath pleased the Lord to
give my cousin, his servant, a clear and com-
prehending intellect. All shall be done even
as it is here set down."
" How long, sir, do you think it will be ne-
cessary for me to remain in town ?"
" Why, madam, there are many men would
run this business out to great length. Here is
indeed sufficient to occupy a very active profes-
sional man many weeks : but, by the blessing
of God, which is often providentially granted
to me in time of need, I question not but I
may be able to release you in a few days,
madam, provided always that you are prepared
to meet such expenses as are indispensable upon
all occasions when great haste is required."
" Expense will be no object with me, Mr.
Corbokl ; but a prolonged absence from home
would 1)6 extremely inconvenient. Pray re-
member that I shall be most happy to pay any
additional sum whicli hastening through the
business may require."
" Very good, madam, very good. That the
Lord will be good unto me in this business, I
cannot presume to doubt ; for it hath been con-
signed unto me by one of God's saints on earth,
and it is for the service of a lady who, I am
60 THE VICAR OF
assured by liim, is likely to become one of the
most favoured agents that the Lord ever select-
ed to do his work on earth."
Mrs. Mowbray coloured from a mixed feeling
of modesty and pleasure. That Mr. Cart-
wright should have thus described her, was most
soothing to her heart ; but when she recollected
how far advanced he was in the favour of God,
and how very near the threshold of grace she
as yet stood, her diffidence made her shrink
from hearing herself named in language so flat-
tering.
" Is that fair young person who left the room
soon after I entered it your daughter, ma-
dam ?"
" Yes, sir."
" Very good. I rejoice to hear it : that is, I
would be understood to say, that I rejoice with
an exceeding great joy that the child of a lady
who stands in such estimation as you do with
a chosen minister of God's elected church,
should wear an aspect so suitable to one who,
by the especial providence of God, will be led
to follow her example."
Mrs. Mowbray sighed.
" I lament, raadam,^' resumed Mr. Corbold,
" I may say with great and bitter lamenta-
WREXHILL. 6 1
tion, both for your sake, and that of the
young person who has left the room, that
the London season should be so completely
over.'^
" Sir !" said Mrs. Mowbray in an accent
of almost indignant surprise, " is it possible
that any friend and relation of Mr. Cartwright's
can imagine that I, in my unhappy situation
— or indeed, without that, as a Christian woman
hoping with fear and trembling to become one
of those set apart from worldly things, — is it
possible, sir, that you can think I should par-
take, or let my daughter partake, in the cor-
rupt sinfulness and profane rioting of a London
season \"
" May the Lord forgive you for so unjust
a suspicion, most respected madam !" cried
Mr. Corbold, clasping his hands and raising
his eyes to heaven. " The language of the
saints on earth is yet new to you, most ex-
cellent and highly-to-be-respected convert of
my cousin ! The London season of which 1
speak, and which you will hear alluded to by
such of the Lord's sinful creatures as, like
me, have reason to believe by an especial mani-
festation of grace that they are set apart for
the service of the Lord, — the London season
&
G-2 THE VICAR OF ]
of wliicli I and they speak, is that when,
during about six blessed weeks in the spring,
the chosen vessels resort in countless numbers
to London, for the purpose of being present
at all the meetings which take place during
that time, with as much ardour and holy
zeal as the worldly-minded show in arrang-
ing their fetes and their fooleries at the insti-
gation of Satan— in anticipation, as it should
seem, poor deluded souls ! of the crowds that
they shall hereafter meet amidst fire and brim-
stone in his realms below. The season of
which I speak, and of which you will hear
all the elect speak with rapture and thanks-
giving, consists of a quick succession of splen-
did and soul-stirring meetings, at which all
the saints on whom the favour of the Lord
has descended in the gift of speech hold forth
in his glory, some for one, some for t\yo, some
for three, some for four— ay, some for five
hours at a time, sustained, as you may sup-
pose, by a visible resting of the Holy Ghost
upon them through the Lord's wall. This,
madam, is the season that, for your sake, and
the sake of the fair young person your daugh-
ter, I wished was not yet over.^'
Mrs. Mowbray made a very penitent and
WREXHILL. 63
full apology for the blunder she had committed,
and very meekly confessed her ignorance,
declaring that she had never before heard the
epithet of " London season" given to anything
so heavenly-minded and sublime as the meet-
ings he described.
The discovery of this species of ignorance on
the part of Mrs. Mowbray, which was by no
means confined to the instance above men-
tioned, was a very favourable circumstance for
Mr. Corbold. There was, perhaps, no other sub-
ject in the world upon which he was competent
to give information (except in the technicali-
ties of his own profession) ; but in everything
relating to missionary meetings, branch-mis-
sionary meetings' reports, child's missionary
branch committees, London Lord's-day's socie-
ties, and the like, he was quite perfect. All
this gave him a value in Mrs. Mowbray's eyes
as a companion which he might have wanted
without it. At all conversations of this kind,
Mrs. Mowbray took great care that Helen
should be present, persuaded that nothing
could be so likely to give her that savour of
righteousness in whicli, as yet, she was so
greatly deficient.
The consequence of this arrangement was
64 THE VICAR OF
twofold. On Helen's side, it generated a feel-
ing compounded of contempt and loathing
towards the regenerated attorney, which in
most others would have led to the passion
called hatred ; but in her it seemed rather
a passive than an active sentiment, which
would never have sought either nourishment
or relief in doing injury to its object, but
which rendered her so ill at ease in his pre-
sence that her life became perfectly wretched
from the frequency of it.
On the part of the gentleman, the effect of
these frequent interviews was different. From
thinking Mrs. Mowbray's daughter a very fair
young person, he grew by gradual, but pretty
rapid degrees, to perceive that she was the
very loveliest tabernacle in which the Lord had
ever enshrined the spirit of a woman ; and by
the time Mrs. Mowbray had learned by rote
the names, titles, connexions, separations,
unions, deputations, and endowments of all
the missionary societies, root and branch, and
of all the central and eccentric evangelical
establishments for the instruction of ignorance
in infants of four months to adults of four-
score, Mr. Stephen Corbold had made up his
mind to believe that, by fair means or foul.
WREXHILL. 65
it was his bounden duty, as a pious man
and serious Christian, to appropriate the fair
Helen to himself in this life, and thereby
ensure her everlasting glory in the life to
come.
It must not be supposed that while these
things passed in London the Vicar of Wrex-
hill was forgotten. Mrs. Mowbray's heart
and conscience both told her that such a letter
as she had received from him must not re-
main unanswered : she therefore placed Helen in
the drawing-room, with a small but very close-
ly-printed volume on " Free Grace," recom-
mended by Mr. Corbold, and having desired
her, in the voice of command, to study it at-
tentively till dinner-time, she retired to her
own room, where, having knelt, wept, prayed,
written, and erased, for about three hours,
she finally signed and sealed an epistle, of
which it is unnecessary to say more than that
it conveyed a very animated feeling of satis-
faction to the heart of the holy man to whom
it was addressed.
66 THE VICAR OF
CHAPTER V.
MR. STEPHEN CORBOI.D RETURNS WITH MRS. MOWBRAY
AND HELEN TO WREXHILL.
Mrs. Mowbray^s business in London, simple
and straightforward as it was, might probably
under existing circumstances have occupied
many weeks, had not a lucky thought which
visited the restless couch of Mr. Stephen
Corbold been the means of bringing it to a
speedy conclusion.
" Soyez amant, et vous serez inventif," is a
pithy proverb, and has held good in many an
illustrious instance, but in none, perhaps, more
conspicuously than in that of Mr. Stephen
Corbold's passion for Miss Mowbray. One of
the earliest proofs he gave of this, was the per-
suading Mrs. Mowbray that the only way in
WREXHILL. 67
which he could, consistently Avith his other
engagements, devote to her as much time as
her aflFairs required, would be, by passing
every evening with her. And he did pass
every evening with her : and poor Helen was
given to understand, in good set terms, that
if she presumed to retire before that excellent
man Mr. Stephen Corbold had finished his
last tumbler of soda-water and Madeira, not
only would she incur her mother's serious
displeasure, but be conhded (during their
absence from Mowbray) to the spiritual in-
struction of some earnest minister, who would
teach her in what the duty of a daughter
consisted.
And so Helen Mowbray sat till twelve
o'clock every night, listening to the works of
the saints of the nineteenth century, and ex-
posed to the unmitigated stare of Mr. Stephen -
Corbold's grey eyes.
The constituting himself the guide and pro-
tector of the ladies through a series of extem-
porary preachings and lecturings on Sunday,
was perhaps too obvious a duty to be classed
as one of love's invention ; but the ingenuity
shown in persuading Mrs. Mowbray that it
would be necessary for the completion of her
68 , THE VICAR OF
business that he should attend her home, most
certainly deserves this honour.
Though no way wanting in that quality of
mind which the invidious denominate " impu-
dence/' and the judicious " proper confidence '^
— a quality as necessary to the fitting out of
Mr. Stephen Corbold as parchment and red
tape, — he nevertheless felt some slight ap-
proach to hesitation and shame-facedness when
he first hinted the expediency of this measure.
But his embarrassment was instantly relieved
by Mrs. Mowbray's cordial assurance that she
rejoiced to hear such a manner of concluding
the business was possible, as she knew it
would give their " excellent minister^' pleasure
to see his cousin.
There is no Christian virtue, perhaps, to
which a serious Mddow lady is so often called
(unless she belong to that class invited by the
" exemplary" in bevies, by way of charity,
when a little teapot is set between every two of
them,) — there is no Christian virtue more con-
stantly inculcated on the minds of 7'ich serious
wddows than that of hospitality ; nor is there a
text that has been quoted oftener to such, or
with greater variety of accent, as admonitory,
encouragingly, beseechingly, approvingly, jere-
WREXHILL. 69
rniadingly in reproach, and hallelujahingly in
gratitude and admiration, than those three
impressive and laudatory words of Saint Paul,
" GIVEN TO HOSPITALITY !"
During a snug little morning visit at the
Park, at which only Mrs. Mowbray and Fanny
were present, Mr. Cartwright accidentally
turned to these words ; and nothing could
be more touchingly eloquent than the manner
in which he dwelt upon and explained them.
From that hour good Mrs. Mowbray had
been secretly lamenting the want of sufficient
opportunity to show how fully she understood
and valued this Christian virtue, and how will-
ing she was to put it in practice toward all
such as her " excellent minister'^ should ap-
prove : it was, therefore, positively with an
outpouring of fervent zeal that she welcomed
the prospect of a visit from such a man as Mr.
Stephen Corbold.
" It is indeed a blessing and a happiness,
Mr. Corbold," said she, " that what I feared
would detain me many days from my home
and my family should, by God's providence, be
converted into such a merciful dispensation as
I must consider your coming to be. When
shall you be able to set out, my dear sir?"
70 THE VICAR OF
" I could set out to-morrow, or, at the very
latest, the day after, if I could obtain a con-
veyance that I should deem perfectly safe for
the papers I have to carry."
Helen shuddered, for she saw his meaning
Im-king in the corner of his eye as he turned
towards her one of his detested glances.
" Perhaps," said Mrs. Mowbray, hesitat-
ingly, and fearful that she might be taxing his
great good-nature too far, — " perhaps, upon
such an urgent occasion, you might have the
great goodness, Mr. Corbold, to submit to
making a third in my travelling-carriage ?"
" My gratitude would indeed be very great
for such a permission," he replied, endeavour-
ing to betray as little pleasure as possible. " I
do assure you, my dear lady, such precautions
are far from unnecessary. The Lord, for his
own especial purposes, which are to us inscrut-
able, ordains that his tender care to usward
shall be shown rather by giving us prudence
and forethought to avoid contact with the
wicked, than by any removal of them, by his
holy intervention, from our path : wherefore I
liold myself bound in righteousness to confess
that the papers concerning your affairs — even
yours, my honoured lady, — might run a very
WREXHILL. 71
fearful risk of being abducted, and purloined,
by some of the many ungodly persons with
whom no dispensation of Providence hath yet
interfered to prevent their jostling his own
people when they travel, as sometimes unhap-
pily they must do, in stage-coaches."
" Ah, Mr. Corbold !" replied the widow,
(mentally alluding to a conversation which she
had held with Mr. Cartwright on the separa-
tion to be desired between the chosen and the
not-chosen even in this world ; such being, as
he said, a sort of type or foreshowing of that
eternal separation promised in the world to
come ;)— " Ah, Mr. Corbold ! if I had the
power to prevent it, no chosen servants of
the Lord should ever again find themselves
obliged to submit to such promiscuous mixture
with the ungodly as this unsanctified mode of
travelling must lead to. Had I power and
influence sufficient to carry such an under-
taking into efi'ect, I would certainly endeavour
to institute a society of Christians, who, by
liberal subscriptions among themselves, might
collect a fund for defraying the travelling ex-
penses of those who are set apart for salvation.
It must be an abomination in the eyes of the
Lord, Mr. Corbold, that such should be seen
72 THE VICAR OF
travelling on earth by the same vehicles as
those which convey the wretched beings who
are on their sure and certain road to eternal
destruction !"
" Ah, dearest madam V replied the attorney,
with a profound sigh, " such thoughts as those
are buds of holiness that shall burst forth into
full-blown flowers of eternal glory round your
head in heaven ! But alas ! no such society
is yet formed, and the suff^erings of the righ-
teous, for the want of it, are truly great !"
" I am sure they must be, Mr. Corbold,"
replied the kind Mrs. Mowbray in an accent
of sincere compassion ; " but, at least in the
present instance, you may be sjDared such un-
seemly mixture, if you will be good enough
not to oljject to travelling three in the carriage.
Helen is very slight, and I trust you will not
be greatly incommoded."
Mr. Corbold's gratitude was too great to be
expressed in a sitting attitude; he therefore
rose from his chair, and pressing his extended
hands together as if invoking a blessing on the
meek lady's holy head, he uttered, " God re-
ward you, madam, for not forgetting those
whom the Lord hath remembered !" and as he
spoke, he bowed his head low, long, and reve-
WREXHILL. 73
rently. As he recovered the erect position on
ordinary occasions permitted to man, he turned
a Httle round to give a glance of very lover-like
timidity towards Helen, who when he began
his reverence to her mother was in the room;
but as he now turned his disappointed eyes ail
round it, he discovered that she was there no
longer.
After this, the business which could, as Mr.
Corbold, said, be conveniently transacted in
London, was quickly despatched, and the day
fixed for their return to Mowbray, exactly one
week after they left it.
Mr. Stephen Corbold was invited to break-
fast previous to the departure ; and he came
accompanied by so huge a green bag, as pro-
mised a long stay among those to whose affairs
the voluminous contents related.
When all things in and about the carriage
were ready, Mr. Stephen Corbold presented
his arm to the widow, and placed her in it.
He then turned to Helen, who on this occa-
sion found it not so easy as at setting off to
avoid the hand extended towards her ; that is to
sa}'', she could not spring by it unheeded : but
as she would greatly have preferred the touch
of any other reptile, she contrived to be very
VOL. II. E
74 THE VICAR OF
awkward, and actually caught hold of the
handle beside the carriage-door, instead of the
obsequious ungloved fingers which made her
shudder as she glanced her eyes towards
them.
" You will sit in the middle, Helen," said
Mrs. Mowbray.
" I wish, mamma, you would be so kind as
to let me sit in the dickey," replied the young
lady, looking up as she spoke to the very com-
fortable and unoccupied seat in front of the
carriage, which, but for Mrs. Mowbray's re-
spectful religious scruples, might certainly have
accommodated Mr. Corbold and his bag per-
fectly well. " I should like it so much better,
mamma !"
" Let me sit in the middle, I entreat !" cried
Mr. Corbold, entering the carriage in haste, to
prevent further discussion. " My dear young
lady," he continued, placing his person in the
least graceful of all imaginable attitudes, — " my
dear young lady, I beseech you — "
" Go into the corner, Helen !" said Mrs.
Mowbray hastily, wishing to put so exemplary
a Christian more at his ease, and without
thinking it necessary to answer the insidious
petition of her daughter, which, as she thought.
WREXHILL. 75
plainly pointed at the exclusion of the righte-
ous attorney.
Helen ventured not to repeat it, and the
carriage drove off. For the first mile Mr. Ste-
phen Corbold sat, or rather perched himself, at
the extremest edge of the seat, his hat between
his knees, and every nmscle that ought to have
Ijeen at rest in active exercise, to prevent his
falling forward on his nose ; every feature,
meanwhile, seeming to say, " This is not my
carriage.'^ But by gentle degrees he slid far-
ther and farther backwards, till his spare per-
son was not only in the enjoyment of ease, but
of great happiness also.
Helen, as her mother observed, was "very
slight," and Mr. Corbold began almost to fancy
that she would ac last vanish into thin air, for,
as he quietly advanced, so did she quietly re-
treat, till she certainly did appear to shrink into
a very small compass indeed.
" 1 fear I crowd you, my dearest lady 1" he
said, addressing Mrs. Mowbray, at least ten
times during as many miles ; and every time
this fear came over him he gave her a little
more room, dreadfully to the annoyance of the
slight young lady on the other side of him.
Poor Helen had need to rememlDcr that she
E 2
76
THE VICAR OF
was going home — going to Rosalind, to enable
her to endure the disgust of her position ; but
for several hours she did bear it heroically.
She thought of Mowbray, — of her flower-gar-
den, — of the beautiful Park, — of Rosalind's
snug dressing-room, and the contrast of all this
to the hfe she had led in London. She thought
too of Oakley, and of the possibility that some
of the family might, by some accident or other,
be met in some of the walks which Rosalind
and she would be sure to take. In short, with
her eyes incessantly turned through the open
window towards the hedges and ditches, the
fields and the flowers by the road-side, she
contrived to keep herself, body and soul, as far
as possible from the hated being who sat beside
her.
On the journey to London, Mrs, Mowbray
had not thought it necessary to stop for dinner
on the road, both she and Helen preferring to
take a sandwich in the carriage ; but the fear
of infringing any of the duties of that hospita-
lity which she now held in such high veneration,
she arranged matters difterently, and learning,
upon consulting her footman, that an excellent
house was situated about half-way between
London and Wrexhill, she not only determined
WREXHILL. 77
upon stopping there, but directed the man to
send forward a note, ordering an early dinner
to be ready for them.
This halt was an agreeable surprise to Mr.
Stephen Corbold. It was indeed an arrange-
ment such as those of his peculiar sect are
generally found to approve; for it is a re-
markable fact, easily ascertained by any who
will give themselves the trouble of inquiry,
that the serious Christians of the present
age indulge themselves bodily, whenever the
power of doing so falls in their way, ex-
actly in proportion to the mortifications and
privations with which they torment their spirits :
so that while a young sinner would fly from
an untasted glass of claret that he might not
lose the prologue to a new play, a young saint
would sip up half-a-dozen (if he could get
them) while descanting on the grievous pains
of hell which the pursuit of pleasure must for
ever bring.
The repast, and even the wine, did honour
to the recommendation of the careful and expe-
rienced Thomas : and Mrs. Mowbray had the
sincere satisfaction of seeing Mr. Corbold (" le
pauvre homme /") eat half a pound of salmon,
one-third of a leg of lamb, and three-quarters
78
THE VICAR OF
of a large pigeon-pie, with a degree of relish
that proved to her that she was " very right to
stop for dinner."
Nothing can show gratitude for such little
attentions as these so pleasantly and so effect-
ually as taking full advantage of them.
Mr. Corbold indeed carried this feeling so
far, that even after the two ladies had left
the room, he stepped back and pretty nearly
emptied the two decanters of wine before he
rejoined them.
The latter part of the journey produced a
very disagreeable scene, which, though it ended,
as Helen thought at the time, most delightfully
for her, was productive in its consequences of
many a bitter heart-ache.
It is probable that the good cheer at D ,
tos^ether with the final libation that washed it
down, conveyed more than ordinary animation
to the animal spirits of the attorney, and for
some miles he discoursed with more than his
usual unction on the sins of the sinful, and
the holiness of the holy, till poor dear Mrs.
Mowbray, despite her vehement struggles to
keep her eyes open, fell fast asleep.
No sooner was Mr. Stephen Corbold fully
aware of this fact, than he began making some
WREXHILL. / 9
very tender speeches to Helen. For some
time her onlj^ reply was expressed by thrusting
her head still farther out of the side window.
But this did not avail her long. As if to inti-
mate to her that a person whose attention could
not be obtained through the medium of the ears
must be roused from their apathy by the touch,
he took her hand.
Upon this she turned as suddenly as if an
adder had stung her, and fixing her eyes,
beaming with rage and indignation, upon him,
said,
" If you venture, sir, to repeat this insult,
I will call to the postilions to stop, and order
the footman instanily to take you out of the
carriage."
He returned her glance, however, rather
with passion than repentance, and audaciously
putting his arm round her waist, drew her
towards him, while he whispered in her ear,
" What would your dear good manmia say to
that ?"
Had he possessed the cunning of Mephis-
tophiles, he could not have uttered words more
calculated to unnerve her. The terrible con-
viction that it was indeed possible her mother
might justify, excuse, or, at any rate pardon
80 THE VICAR OF
the action, came upon her heart like ice, and
burying her face in her hands, she burst into
tears.
Had Mr. Stephen Corbold been a wise man,
he would have here ceased his persecution: he
saw that she was humbled to the dust by the
reference he had so skilfully made to her mother,
and perhaps, had he emptied only one de-
canter, he might have decided that it would
be desirable to leave her in that state of
mind. But, as it was, he had the very ex-
ceeding audacity once more to put his arm
round her, and by a sudden and most un-
expected movement, impressed a kiss upon her
cheek.
Helen uttered a piercing scream ; and Mrs.
Mowbray, opening her eyes, demanded in a
voice of alarm, " What is the matter?"
Mr. Corbold sat profoundly silent ; but
Helen answered in great agitation, "I can re-
main in the carriage no longer, mamma, unless
you turn out this man V
" Oh , Helen ! Helen ! what can you mean
by using such language ?" answered her mo-
ther. " It is pride, I know, abominable pride,
— I have seen it from the very first, — which
leads you to treat this excellent man as you do.
WREXHILL. 81
Do you forget that he is the relation as well as
the friend of our minister ? Fie upon it,
Helen ! you must bring down this haughty
spirit to something more approaching meek
Christian humility, or you and I shall never be
able to live too;ether."
It seems almost like a paradox, and yet it
is perfectly true, that had not Mrs. Mowbray
from the venj first, as she said, perceived the
utter vulgarity, in person, language, and de-
meanour, of the vicar's cousin, she would have
been greatly less observant and punctilious
in her civilities towards him ; nor would she
have been so fatally ready to quarrel with
her daughter for testifying her dislike of
a man who, her own taste told her, would
be detestable, were not the holiness of his
principles such as to redeem every defect
with which nature, education, and habit had
afflicted him.
The more Mrs. Mowbray felt disposed to
shrink from an intimate association with the
serious attorney, the more strenuously did she
force her nature to endure him ; and feeling,
almost unconsciously perhaps, that it was
impossible Helen should not detest him, she
put all her power and authority in action,
E 3
82 THE ViCAR OF
not only to prevent her showing it, but to
prevent also so very sinful and worldly-minded
a sentiment from taking hold upon her young
mind.
Helen, however, was too much irritated at
this moment to submit, as she had been ever
used to do, to the commands of her mother ;
and still feeling the pressure of the serious
attorney's person against her own, she let
down the front glass, and very resolutely called
to the postilions to stop.
The boy who rode the wheeler immediately
lieard and obeyed her.
" Tell the servant to open the door," said
she with a firmness and decision which she
afterwards recalled to herself with astonish-
ment.
Thomas, who the moment the carriage
stopped had got down, obeyed the call she now
addressed to him, — opened the door, gave her
his arm ; and before either Mrs. Mowbray, or
the serious attorney either, had fully recover-
ed from their astonishment, Helen was com-
fortaljly seated on the dickey, enjoying the
cool breeze of a delicious afternoon upon her
flushed cheek.
The turn which was given to this transac-
WREXHILL. 83
tion by Mr. Stephen Corbold during the tete-
a-tete conversation he enjoyed for the rest
of the journey with the young lady's mother,
was such as to do credit to his acuteness ;
and til at good lady's part in it showed plainly
that the new doctrines she had so rapidly
imbibed, while pretending to purify her heart,
had most lamentably perverted her judg-
ment.
84
THE VICAR OF
CHAPTER VI.
THE RETLRN.
On reaching Mowbray, the first figure wliich
greeted the eyes of the travellers was that of
Charles, stationed on the portico steps wait-
ing to receive them. A line from Helen to
Rosahnd, written only the day before, an-
nounced their intended return ; but the ap-
jjearance of Charles was a surprise to them,
and to Helen certainly the most delightful
that she could have experienced.
Mr. Cartwright had written a long and very
edifying letter to Mrs. Mowbray, informing
her of the unexpected arrival of her son from
the scene of his studies, and making such
comments upon it as in his wisdom seemed
WREXHILL. 85
good. But though this too was written in the
secret recesses of his own chamber, with many
affecting Uttle circumstances demonstrative of
his holy and gentle emotions while so employed,
it was nevertheless, under the influence of still
riper wisdom, subsequently destroyed, because
he thought that the first surprise occasioned
by the young man's unwonted appearance
would be more likely to produce the effect
he desired than even his statement.
Neither Rosalind nor Cliarles himself had
written, because they were both unwilhng to
state the real cause of his coming, and thought
the plea of whim would pass off better in con-
versation than on paper. That Fanny should
write nothiirg which good Mr. Cartwright did
not wish known, can be matter of surprise to
no one.
Helen, who had descried Charles before the
carriage stopped, descended from her lofty
position with dangerous ra})idity, and sprang
into his arms with a degree of delight greater,
perhaps, than she had ever before felt at seeing
liim.
The exclamation of Mrs. Mowbray certainly
had in it, as the wise vicar predicted, a tone
that indicated displeasure as well as surprise ;
SG THE VICAR OF
and the embrace, which she could not refuse,
was so much less cordial than it was wont to
be, that he turned again to Helen, and once
more pressed her to his hearf, as if to con-
sole him for the want of tenderness in his mo-
ther's kiss.
Meanwhile, Mr. Stephen Corbold stood un-
der the lofty portico, lost in admiration at the
splendid appearance of the house and grounds.
Mrs. Mowbray, with a sort of instinctive feel-
ing that this excellent person might not alto-
gether find himself at his ease with her family,
hastened towards him, determined that her own
Christian humility should at least set them a
good example, and putting out both her hands
towards him, exclaimed with an earnestness
that sounded almost like the voice of prayer,
" Welcome, dear, dear, Mr. Corbold, to
my house and home ! and may you find in it
the comfort and hospitahty your exemplary
character deserves !" Then turning to her son,
she added, " I know not how long you are
likely to stay away from college, Charles ; but
while you are here, I beg that you will exert
yourself to the very utmost to make Mowbray
agreeable to this gentleman ; and remember,
if you please, that his religious principles, and
WREXHILL. S7
truly edifying Christian sentiments, are exactly
such as I would wish to place before you as an
example."
Charles turned round towards the serious
attorney, intending to welcome him with an
extended hand ; but the thing was impossible.
There was that in his aspect with which he
felt that he could never hold fellowship, and
his salutation was turned into a ceremonious
bow ; a change which it was the less dfficult to
make, from the respectful distance at which the
stranger g^iest placed himself, while preparing
to receive the voung man's welcome.
Though Rosalind had purposely remained
in her own apartment till the first meeting
with Charles was over, Helen was already in
her arms ; having exchanged a hasty kiss with
Fanny, whom she met in the hall, hastening to
receive her mother.
" Oh ! my dearest Rosalind ! How thank-
ful am I to be once more with you again ! I
never, I think, shall be able to endure the
sight of London again as long as I live. I
have been so very, very wretched there !"
" Upon my word, Helen, I have not lived
upon roses since you went. You can hardly
88 THE VICAR OF
be so glad to come back, as I am to have
you. What did your mother say on seeing
Charles ?"
" I hardly ,know. She did not, I think,
seem pleased to see him ; but I am more de-
lighted at the chance that has brought him,
let it be what it will, than I have words to
express. Oh ! it is such a blessing to me ! —
dear, dear, Charles ! he knows not what a
treasure he is. The very sight of him has
cured all my sorrows — and yet I was dread-
fully miserable just now.''
" Then, thank God ! he is here, my own
Helen ! But tell me, dearest, what is it has
made you miserable ? Though you tell me
it is over, the tears seemed ready to start when
you said so."
" Oh ! my woes will make a long story,
Rosalind ; and some of them must be for your
ear only; but this shall be at night, when
nobody is near to hear us : — but, by the way,
you must have a great deal to tell me. How
comes it that Charles is here ? And, what
seems stranger still, how comes it that, as he
is here, you have not been living upon roses ?"
" My woes may make a story as well as
WREXHILL. 89
yours, Helen ; and a long one too, if I tell all :
but it must come out by degrees, — a series of
sketches, n-ather than an history."
" Have you seen anybody from Oakley,
Rosalind ?"
" Ah, Helen !" said Rosalind smiling, as
she watched the bright colour mounting even
to the brows of her friend ; " your history,
then, has had nothing in it to prevent your
remembering Oakley ?"
" My history, as you call it, Rosalind, has
been made up of a series of mortifications :
some of them have almost broken my heart,
and my spirit too ; but others have irritated
me into a degree of courage and daring that
might perhaps have surprised you ; and every-
thing that has happened to me, has sent my
thoughts back to my home and to my friends,
— all my friends, Rosalind, — with a degree of
clinging and dependent affection such as I
never felt before."
" My poor Helen ! But look up, dearest !
and shed no tears if you can help it. We
all seem to be placed in a very singular and
unexpected position, my dear friend ; but it
is not tears that will help us out of it. This
90 THE VICAR OF
new man, this vicar, seems inclined to go such
lengths with his fanatical hypocrisy, that I
have good hopes your mother and Fanny will
ere long get sick of him and his new lights,
and then all will go right again. Depend
upon it, all that has hitherto gone wrong, has
been wholly owing to him. I certainly do not
think that your poor father's will was made
in the spirit of wisdom : but even that would
have produced none of the effects it has done,
had not this hateful man instilled, within ten
minutes after the will was read, the poison of
doubt and suspicion against Charles, into the
mind of your mother. Do yoa not remember
his voice and his look, Helen, when he enter-
ed the room where we were all three sitting
with your mother ? I am sure I shall never
forget him ! I sav/, in an instant, that he
intended to niake your mother believe that
Charles resented the M^ill ; and that, instead of
coming himself, he had sent him to your
mother to tell her of it. I hated him then ;
and every hour that has passed since, has
made me hate him m.ore. But let us take
hope, Helen, even from the excess of the evil.
Your mother cannot long remain blind to his
WREXHILL. 91
real character; and, when she once sees bim
as he is, she will again become the dear kind
mother you have all so fondly loved."
" CouTd I hope this, Rosahnd, for the future,
there is nothing I could not endure patiently
for the present, — at least, nothing that could
possibly happen while Charles is here ; but I
do not hope it."
There was a melancholy earnestness in
Helen's voice, as she pronounced the last
words, that sounded like a heavy prophecy of
evil to come, in the ears of Rosalind. " God
help us, then !'' she exclaimed. " If we are
reallv to live under the influence and authority
of the Vicar of Wrexhill, our fate will be
dreadful. If your dear father had but been
spared to us a few years longer, — if you and I
were but one -and-twenty, Helen, — how dif-
ferent would be the light in which I should
view all that now alarms us ; my fortune would
be plenty for both of us, and I would take
you with me to Ireland, and we would hve
with "
" Oh Rosahnd ! how can you talk so idly ?
Do you think that anything would make me
leave my poor dear mother ?''
" If you were to marry, for instance?"
92 THE VICAR OF
" I should never do that without her con-
sent ; and that, you know, would hardly be
leavino; her."
" Well ! ' God and our innocency defend
and guard us P for I do think, Helen, we are
in a position that threatens vexation, to say
the least of it. I wonder if Miss Cartwrighl's
visit is to end with your absence ? She is the
very oddest personage ! sometimes I pity her ;
sometimes I almost admire her ; sometimes I
feel afraid of her, but never by any chance can
I continue even to fancy that I understand her
character."
" Indeed ! Yet in general you set about
that rather rapidly, Rosalind. But must we
not go down ? 1 have hardly seen Fanny,
and I long to talk a little to my own dear
Charles."
" And you will like to have some tea after
your journey. Mrs. Mowbray, I think, never
stops en route ?"
" In general she does not; but to-day "
a shudder ran through Helen's limbs as she re-
membered the travelling adventures of the day,
and she stopped.
" You look tired and pale, Helen ! Come
down, take some tea, and then go to bed di-
WREXHILL. 93
rectly. If we do not act with promptitude
and decision in this matter, we shall sit up
talking all night."
As they passed Miss Cartwright's door, Ro-
salind knocked, and that young lady immedi-
ately opened it.
" Oh ! you are come back then ? I fancied,
by Mr. Cartwright's not coming this evening,
that something might have occurred to prevent
you ?"
" If it had,'' said Helen, smiling, " it must
have been announced by express, for you can
only have had my letter this morning."
" True !" replied Miss Cartwright.
When the three young ladies entered the
drawing-room, they found nobody in it but
Mr. Stephen Corbold ; Mrs. Mowbray having
gone with Fanny to her own room, and Charles
ensconced himself in the library, to avoid a
t6te-a-tete with the unpromising looking
stranger.
Rosalind gave him a glance, and then looked
at Helen with an eye that seemed to say,
" Who in the world have you brought us ?"
Helen, however, gave no glance of intelligence
in return ; but, walking to a table which stood
in that part of the room wlxirh was at the
94 THE VICAR OF
greatest distance from the place occupied by
Mr. Corbold, she sat down, and began ear-
nestly reading an old newspaper that she found
upon it.
Miss Cartwright started on recognising her
cousin, and though she condescended to pro-
nounce, " How do you do, Mr. Corbold?"
there was but a cold welcome to him expressed
either by her voice or manner. No one pre-
sented him to Rosalind, and altogether he felt
as little at his ease as it was well possible for
a gentleman to do, when the door opened, and
Mrs. Mowbray and Fanny appeared. From
that moment he became as much distinguished
as he was before overlooked. Fanny, who
knew that it was Mr. Cartwright's cousin
who stood bowing to her, delighted at the
honour of being told that she was '^ Miss
Fanny Mowbray,^' received him with a kind-
ness and condescension which soothed her own
feelings as much as his, for she felt that every
word she spoke to him was a proof of her
devotion to her dear, good Mr. Cartwright !
and that, when he heard of it, he could not fail
to understand that it was for his sake.
The party retired early, ostensibly for the
sake of the travellers; but perhaps the real
WREXHILL. 95
cause of this general haste to separate, was,
that they all felt themselves singularly em-
barrassed in each other's company. Before
Mrs. Mowbray had been five minutes in her
house, she had ordered a splendid sleeping
apartment to be made ready for Mr. Corbold ;
and the first half-hour after retiring to it, was
spent by him in taking an accurate survey of
its furniture, fittings-up, and dimensions : after
which, he very nearly stifled himself (forgetful
of the dog-days) by striving to enjoy the full
luxury of the abounding pillows with which
his magnificent couch was furnished.
Mrs. Mowbray and Fanny separated after
a short but confidential colloquy. Miss Cart-
wright took her solitary way to her chamber,
where, as the housemaids asserted, she certainly
spent half the night in reading, or writing, or
something or other, before she put out her
light : and Rosalind and Helen, spite of their
good resolutions, not only sat up talking in
the library themselves, but permitted Charles
to share their watch with them ; so that, before
they separated, every fact, thought, or opinion,
treasured in the minds of each, were most un-
reservedly communicated to the others, — ex-
cepting that Helen did not disclose at full
96
THE VICAR OF
length all the reasons she had for detesting
Mr. Corbold, and Charles did not think it
necessary to mention, that Rosalind grew fairer
to his eyes, and dearer to his heart, every
hour.
I
WREXHILL. 97
CHAPTER VIL
THE VICAR AND HIS COUSIN.
None of the Mowbray family were present
at the meeting between the Vicar of Wrexhill
and his cousin. The latter, indeed, set out
from the Park at a very early hour on the
morning after his arrival, in order to break-
fast with his much esteemed relation, and to
enjoy in the privacy of his Vicarage a little
friendly and confidential conversation as to the
projects and intentions concerning him, which
had been hinted at in his letters.
He was welcomed by Mr. Cartwright with
very obliging civility ; not but that the vicar
felt and showed, upon this, as well as all other
occasions, a very proper consciousness of his
own superiority in all ways. However, the
VOL. II. F
98 THE VICAR OF
Corbold connexion had been very essentially
useful to him in days past; and Mr, Stephen,
the present representative of the family, might
possibly be extremely useful to him in days
to come. Several fresh-laid eggs were there-
fore placed on the table, — coffee was added to
tea, — and his reception in all ways such as
to make Mr. Stephen feel himself extremely
comfortable.
When the repast was ended, Mr. Jacob re-
ceived a hint to withdraw ; and, as soon as the
door was closed behind him, the serious vicar
approached his chair to that of the serious
attorney, with the air of one who had much to
hear, and much to communicate.
" You seem hereunto, cousin Stephen, to
have managed this excellent business, which
by God's providence I have been enabled to
put into your hands, with great ability ; and,
by a continuation of mercy, I am not without
hope, that you will, as I heretofore hinted,
bring the same to good effect."
" There is hope, great and exceeding mer-
ciful hope, cousin William, that all you have
anticipated, and peradventure more too, may
come to pass. A blessing and a providence
seem already to have lighted upon you, cousin,
WREXHILL. 99
in yotir new ministry ; for into this vessel
which the Lord and your cousinly kindness
have set within my sight, you have poured
grace and abounding righteousness. Surely
there never was a lady endowed with such
goodly gifts, who was more disposed to make
a free-will offering of them to the Lord and
to his saints, than this pious and in all ways
exemplary widow/'
" Your remarks, cousin, are those of a man
on whom the hght shines. May the mercy of
the Lord strengthen unto you, for his glory,
the talent he has bestowed ! And now, with
the freedom of kinsmen who speak together,
tell to me what are the hopes and expectations
to which your conversation with this excellent,
and already very serious lady, have given
birth ?"
" I have no wish or intention, cousin Wil-
liam, of hiding from you any portion of the
thoughts which it has pleased the Lord to
send into my heart; the which are in fact, for
the most part, founded upon the suggestions
which, by the light of truth, and the aid of
the Holy Spirit, that suffereth not his own
to stumble in darkness, I discerned in the first
F 2
100 THE VICAR OF
letter upon the widow Mowbray's affairs which
you addressed unto me."
" Respecting the agency of her own busi-
ness, and peradventure that of her ward's
also ?"
" Even so. I have, in truth, well-founded
faith and hope that by the continuation of
your friendship and good report, cousin Wil-
liam, I may at no distant period attain unto
both."
" And if you do, cousin Stephen," returned
the vicar, with a smile ; " your benefice in the
parish of Wrexhill will be worth considerably
more than mine."
A serious, waggish, holy, cunning smile
now illuminated the red, dry features of the
attorney, and, shaking his head with a Bur-
leigh-like pregnancy of meaning, he said, " Ah,
cousin !"
The vicar smiled again, and, rising from his
chair, put his head and shoulders out of the
open window, looking carefully, as it seemed,
in all directions ; then, drawing them in again,
he proceeded to open the door of the room,
and examined the passage leading to it in the
same cautious manner.
WREXHILL, 101
" My son Jacob is one of the finest young
men in Europe, cousin Stephen," said the
vicar reseating himself; " but he is young, and
as full of little childish innocent fooleries as
any baby : so it is as well not to speak all we
may have to say, without knowing that we are
alone ; for many an excellent plan, in which
Providence seemed to have taken a srreat share,
has been impiously spoiled, frustrated, and de-
stroyed, by the want of caution in those to
whom the Lord intrusted it. Let not such sin
lie at oiir door ! Now tell me then, cousin
Stephen, and tell me frankly, why did you
smile and say, ' Ah, cousin ?' "
" Because, while speaking of what, by God's
mercy, I may get at Wrexhill, it seemed to
me like a misdoubting of Providence not to
speak a little hint of what God's chosen minis-
ter there may get too "
" I get my vicar's dues, cousin Stephen ;
and it may be, by the blessing of God upon
my humble endeavours, I may, when next
Easter falls, obtain some trifle both from high
and low in the way of Easter offering."
" Ah, cousin !" repeated the attorney, re-
newing his intelligent smile.
102 THE VICAR OF
" Well then/' said the well-pleased vicar,
" speak out."
" I am but a plodding man of business,
replied Mr. Corbold, " with such illumina-
tion of the spirit upon matters of faith as the
Holy Ghost hath been pleased to bestow ; but
my sense, such as it is, tells me that the ex-
cellent and pious widow of Mowbray Park will
not always be permitted by the Lord to remain
desolate."
" She does, in truth, deserve a better fate,"
rejoined the vicar.
" And what better fate can befall her, cousin
Wilham, than being bound together in holy
matrimony with one of the most shining
lights to be found among God's saints on
earth ?"
" Yes !" responded the vicar with a sigh ;
" that is the fate she merits, and that is the
fate she ought to meet !"
" And shall we doubt the Lord ? — shall we
doubt that a mate shall be found for her ? No,
cousin William; doubt not, for I say unto
thee, ' Thou art the man !' "
The vicar endeavoured to look solemn ; but,
though his handsome features were in general
WREXHILL. 103
under excellent control, he could not at this
moment repress a pleasant sort of simpering
smile that puckered round his mouth. Mr.
Stephen Corbold, perceiving that his cousin
was in noMdse displeased by the prophecy he
had taken the liberty to utter, returned to the
subject again, saying,
" I wish you had seen her face, — she must
have been very like her daughter, — I wish
you could have seen her, cousin William, every
time I named you !''
" Indeed ! Did she really testify some emo-
tion ? I trust you are not jesting, cousin
Stephen ; this is no subject for pleasantry."
" Most assuredly it is not ! and I think that
you must altogether have forgotten my temper
and character, if you suppose that I should
think it such. To tell you the truth, cousin, I
look upon the time present as a period marked
and settled by the providence of the Lord, for
the calling you, his anointed, up to the high
places. Will it not be a glory for his name,
to have his minister and servant placed in such
a palace as Mowbray ? and will it not be con-
verting what hitherto has doul)tless been the
abode of sinners, into a temple for the people
of the Lord?"
1
104 THE VICAR OF
" I will not deny," replied the vicar, " that
such thoughts have occasionally found place
in my own mind. There have already been
some very singular and remarkable manifes-
tations of the Lord's will in this matter ; and
it is the perceiving this, which has led me to
believe, and indeed feel certain, that my duty
calls upon me so to act, that this wealthy
relict of a man too much addicted to the things
of this world, may finally, by becoming part
and parcel of myself, lose not the things
eternal.''
" I greatly rejoice," rejoined Mr. Corbold,
" that such is your decision in this matter;
and if it should so fall out that the Lord in
his wisdom and goodness shall ordain you to
become the master of Mowbray Park, (at these
words the vicar cast his eyes upon the ground
and meekly bowed his head,) and I have a
persuasion that he will so ordain, borne strong-
ly in upon my mind, then and in that case,
cousin Wilham, I trust that your patronage
and support will not be withdrawn from me."
" Cousin Stephen," rephed the vicar, " you
are a man that on many occasions I shall covet
and desire to have by me and near me, both
for your profit and advantage and my own ;
WREXHILL. 105
bui in the case which you have put, and which
the Lord seems to have whispered to your soul
— in the case, Stephen, that I shoukl ever
become the master and owner of Mowbray, and
all the sundry properties thereunto belong-
ing, I think — no offence to you, cousin —
that I should prefer managing the estates my-
self."
The serious attorney looked somewhat crest-
fallen, and perhaps some such questionings were
Ijorne in upon his mind as — " What is it to me
if he marries the widow, if I do not get the
management of the estates ?"
When the vicar raised his eyes to the face
of his cousin, he probably perceived the im-
pression his words had produced, and kindly
anxious to restore him to more comfortable
feehngs, he added, — " The fine property of
Miss Torrington, cousin Stephen, might cer-
tainly be placed entirely in your hands — the
management of it I mean — till she comes of
age ; but then, if she marries my son, whicli
I think not unlikely, it is probable that Jacob
may follow my example, and prefer taking cure
of the property himself."
" Then, at the very best," replied Mr. Cor-
F 3
106 THE VICAR OF
bold, " I can only hope to obtain an agency
for a year or two ?"
'* I beg your pardon, cousin ; my hopes for
you go much farther than that. In the first
place, I would recommend it to you, imme-
diately to settle yourself at Wrexhill: I am
told that there is a good deal of business up
and down the country hereabouts ; and, if I
obtain the influence that I hope to do in more
ways than one, I shall take care that no at-
torney is employed but yourself, cousin Ste-
phen. Besides this, I know that there may
happen to be settlements or wills wanting
amongst us, my good friend, which may make
your being at hand very convenient ; and, in
all such cases, you would do your work, you
know, pretty much at your own price. All
this, however, is only contingent, I am quite
aware of that ; and therefore, in order that you
may in some sort share my good fortune, —
if such indeed should fall upon me,— I have
been thinking, cousin Stephen, that when I
shall be married to this lady, wdiom it has
pleased Providence to place in my path, you,
being then the near relative of a person of
consequence and high consideration in the
WREXHILL. 107
f
county, may also aspire to increase your means
by the same holy ordinance ; and, if such a
measure should seem good to your judgment,
I have a lady in my eye, — also a widow, and
a very charming one, my dear friend, — who
lives in a style that shows her to be favoured
by Providence with the goods of fortune. What
say you to this, cousin Stephen ?"
*"' Why, it is borne in upon me to say,
cousin William, that, in such a case as this,
I should be inclined to follow your good ex-
ample and choose for myself. And, truth, to
speak, I believe the choice is in some sort
made already ; and I don't see but your mar-
riage may be as likely to help me in this case
as in the other ; and as to fortune, it is pro-
bable that you may be able to lend me a help-
ing hand there, too ; for the young lady, I
fancy, is no other than your own daughter-in-
law that is to be, — the pretty Miss Helen,
cousin William ?"
The vicar, as he listened to these words,
very nearly uttered a whistle. He was, how-
ever, as he whispered to himself, mercifully
saved from such an indecorum by the timely
remembrance that his cousin, though an attor-
1 08 THE VICAR OF
ney, was a very serious man ; but, though he
did not M^histle, he deemed it necessary to ex-
press in a more solemn and proper manner
his doubts of the success to be hoped from the
scheme proposed by Mr. Corbold.
'^ As to the fortune of the young person
who may, as you observe, some day by the
blessing of Providence become my daughter-
in-law, I must tell you as a friend and kins-
man, cousin Stephen, that I hold it to be very
doubtful if she ever have any fortune at
all. Are you aware that she is not regene-
rate?"
" I partly guess as much," replied the at-
torney. " But," he added with a smile, " I
can't say I should have any objection to mar-
rying her first, and leading her into the way
of salvation afterwards. And when I can tes-
tify to her having forsaken the errors of her
ways, and that I have made her a light to
hghten the Gentiles ; I suppose you won't ob-
ject then to her coming in for a share of her
mother's iidieritance ?"
" That would certainly make a difference ;
but I won't disguise from you, cousin, that
I consider this young person's as a hopeless
case. She was foredoomed from the begin-
WREXHILL. 109
ning of the world : I see the mark upon her.
However, that might not perhaps make such
difference in your determination, for I know
you to be a man very steadfast in hope, cou-
sin Stephen. But there is, moreover, I think,
another obstacle. You must not take my
frankness amiss ; but I have an inward mis-
giving as to her being wilhng to accept you."
" As the young lady is a minor, cousin
William, I should count upon its being in your
power to make her marry pretty well whom
you please. And this you may rely upon, that,
in case you favour me heartily in this matter,
there is no work of any kind that you could
put me to, that I should not think it my boun-
den duty to perform."
'"' You speak like a just and conscientious
man, cousin Corbold ; and, by the blessing of
the Lord upon us, I trust that we shall be so
able to work together for righteousness' sake,
that in the end we may compass that which
we desire. Nevertheless, I confess that it is
still borne in upon mc that the fair and ex-
ceUent widow Simpson would be the ^-isest
choice for vou."
" Should it please the Lord that such should
be my own opinion hereafter, cousin Cart-
110 THE VICAR OF
Wright, I will not fail to make it known unto
you."
" I will rest my faith on'your wisdom there-
in," replied the vicar : " but it is now time
that I should go to speak the blessing of a
minister, and the welcome of a friend, to the
excellent lady at the Park. And remember
two things, cousin Stephen : the first is, never
to remain in the room with the widow Mow-
bray and myself, when no other persons are
present; and the next is in importance like
unto it, — remember that the lady is even yet
new in widowhood, and that any imprudent
and premature allusion to my possibly taking
her in marriage might ruin all. There are
those near her, cousin Stephen, who I question
not will fight against me ; all^eit, I shall ap-
j)roach her in the name of the Lord."
The attorney promised to be awake and
watchful, and never to permit his tongue to
betray the counsels of his heart.
The cousins and friends (who, notwithstand-
ing the diiference of their callings, considered
themselves, as Mr. Corbold observed, fellow-
labourers in the vineyard of the Lord,) then
walked forth together towards Mowbray Park,
WREXHILL. Ill
well pleased with themselves and all things
around them at the present, and with pious
confidence in the reward of their labours for
the future.
112
THE VICAR OF
CHAPTER VIII.
CHARLES S SORROW. — MRS. SIMPSON IN HER NEW CHARAC-
TER. — THE vicar's proceedings DISCUSSED.
The two gentlemen found the family at the
Park very sociably seated round a late break-
fast table. Helen, Rosalind, and Charles, be-
fore they broke up their conclave in the library
the night before, or rather that morning, had
all decided that in the present thorny and diffi-
cult position of affairs, it was equally their
duty and interest to propitiate the kind feel-
ings of Mrs. Mowbray by every means in their
power, and draw her thereby, if possible, from
the mischievous and insidious influence of her
new associates.
" It is hardly possible to believe,'^ said
Charles, " that my mother can really prefer
the society of such an animal as this methodis-
WREXHILL. 1 13
tical attorney, to that of her own family, or
of those neighbours and friends from whom,
since my father's death, she has so completely
withdrawn herself. It is very natural she
should be out of spirits, poor dear soul ! and
Mr. Cartwright is just the sort of person to
obtain influence at such a time ; but I trust
this will wear off again. She will soon get
sick of the solemn attorney, and we shall all be
as happy again as ever."
^' God grant it !'' said Helen with a sigh.
'• God grant it V echoed Rosalind with an-
other.
It was in consequence of this resolution,
that the trio continued to sit at the table
much longer than usual ; exerting themselves
to amuse Mrs. Mowbray, to win from Fanny
one of her former bright smiles, and even to
make Miss Cartwright sociable.
Their efforts were not wholly unsuccessful.
There was a genuine animation and vivacity
about Charles that seemed irresistible : Mrs.
Mowbray looked at him with a mother's eye j
Miss Cartwright forsook her monosyllables,
and almost conversed ; and Fanny, while
listening first to Helen, and then to her bro-
ther, forgot her duty as a professing Christian
114 THE VICAR OF
SO far as to let a whole ringlet of her sunny
hair get loose from behind her ear, and not
notice it.
In the midst of this gleam of sunshine, the
door opened, and Mr. Cartwright and Mr.
Corbold were announced. Ambitious of pro-
ducing effect as both these serious gentlemen
certainly were, they could hardly have hoped,
when their spirits were most exalted within
them, to have caused a more remarkable revo-
lution in the state of things than their appear-
ance now produced.
Mrs. Mowbray coloured, half rose from her
chair, sat down again, and finally exclaimed,
" Oh ! Mr. Cartwright !" in a tone of voice
that manifested almost every feeling he could
wish to inspire.
Fanny, who was in the very act of smiling
when the door opened, immediately became
conscious that her hair was out of order, and
that her whole attitude and manner were want-
ing in that Christian grace and sobriety which
had been of late her chiefest glory. Such
Christian grace and sobriety, however, as she
had lately learned, poor child ! are not diffi-
cult to assume, or long in putting on ; so that
before " her minister" had completed his little
WREXHILL. 115
prayer and thanksgiving in the ear of her
mother, for her eternal happiness and her safe
return, Fanny was quite in proper trim to meet
his eye, and receive his blessing.
Henrietta at once fell back into her wonted
heavy silent gloom, like a leaden statue upon
which the sun, shining for a moment, had
thrown the hue of silver.
Charles stood up, and saluted the vicar civilly
but coldly ; while to his companion's low bow
he returned a slight and stiff inchnation of the
head.
It should be observed that, during the few
days which intervened between the arrival of
Charles and the return of his mother, the vicar
had greatly relaxed in his attentions to Fanny,
and indeed altogether in the frequency of his
pastoral visitations at the Park. He had ex-
plained this in the ear of his pretty proselyte,
by telling her that he was much engaged in
pushing forward the work of regeneration in
his parish, to the which holy labour he was the
more urgently incited by perceiving that the
seed was not thrown upon barren ground. Nor
indeed was this statement wholly untrue. He
had taken advantage of the leisure which the
present posture of affairs at the Park left upon
116 THE VICAR OF
his hands, in seeking to inflame the imagina-
tions of as many of his parishioners as he could
get to hsten to him.
Among the females he had been particularly
successful ; and, indeed, the proportion of the
fair sex who are found to embrace the tenets
which this gentleman and his sect have intro-
duced in place of those of the Church of Eng-
land, is so great, that, as their faith is an ex-
clusive one, it might be conjectured that the
chief object of the doctrine was to act as a
balance-weight against that of Mahomet, who,
atrocious tyrant as he was, shut the gates of
heaven against all woman-kind whatsoever;
were it not that an occasional nest of he-saints
may here and there be found, — sometimes in
a drum-profaned barrack, and sometimes in a
cloistered college, which show that election is
not wholly confined to the fair. There are,
however, some very active and inquiring per-
sons who assert, that upon a fair and accu-
rate survey throughout England and Wales,
Ireland, Scotland, and the town of Berwick-
upon-Tweed, no greater number of this sect
can be found of the masculine gender than
may sujEfice to perform the duties of ministers,
deputy ministers, missionaries, assistant mis-
WREXHILL. 1 1 7
sionaries, speech-makers both in and out of
parhament, committee-men, and such serious
footmen, coachmen, butchers, and bakers, as
the fair inhabitants of the Calvinistic heaven
require to joerform the unfeminine drudgery of
earth.
It was in consequence of this remission in
the vicar's labours for the regeneration of
Fanny, that Charles Mowbray still treated
him with the respect due to the clergyman of
his parish. Rosalind felt it quite impossible
to describe to him all she had seen, and her
promise to Henrietta forbad her to repeat
what she had heard ; so that young Mowbray,
though he disapproved of the puritanic innova-
tions of Fanny's toilet, and so much disliked
Mr. Cartwright's extempore preaching as to
have decided upon attending divine service at
Oakley church for the future, to avoid hearing
what he considered as so very indecent an
innovation, he was still quite unaware of Ro-
salind's real motives for recalling him, though
extremely well inclined to think her right in
having done so.
Miss Torrington and Helen left the room
very soon after the two gentlemen entered it.
Henrietta, with the stealthy step of a cat, fol-
118 THE VICAR OF
lowed them, and young Mowbray felt strongly
tempted to do the like ; but was prevented,
not so much by politeness perhaps, as by
curiosity to ascertain, if possible, the terms on
which both these gentlemen stood with his
mother.
But it was not possible. As long as he re-
mained with them, the very scanty conversa-
tion which took place was wholly on uninte-
resting subjects ; and Charles at length left
the room, from feeling that it was not his
mother's pleasure to talk to the attorney of
the business that he presumed must have
brought him there, as long as he remained
in it.
There is in the domestic history of human
life no cause productive of effects so terrible
as the habit of acting according to the impulse,
or the convenience, of the moment, without
fully considering the effect what we are doing
may produce on others.
Mrs. Mowbray, in waiting till Charles left
the room before she spake to Mr. Corbold of
the title-deeds and other papers which she was
to put into his hands, was almost wholly
actuated by the consciousness that the attor-
ney she was employing (though a serious) was
^^1
WREXHILL. 119
a very vulgar man. She knew that her son
was rather fastidious on such points; and she
disliked the idea that a man, whose distin-
guished piety rendered him so peculiarly eli-
gible as a man of business, should, at his first
introduction to the confidential situation she
intended he should hold, lay himself open to
the ridicule of a youth, who, she sighed to
think, was as yet quite incapable of appre-
ciating his merit in any way.
If any secondary motive mixed with this,
it arose from the averseness she felt, of which
she was not herself above half conscious, that
any one should hear advice given by Mr.
Cartwright, who might think themselves at
liberty to question it ; but, with all this, she
never dreamed of the pain she was giving to
Charles's heart. She dreamed not that her
son, — her only son,— with a heart as warm, as
generous, as devoted in its filial love, as ever
beat in the breast of a man, felt all his ardent
affection for her, — his proud fond wish of being
her protector, her aid, her confidential friend —
now checked and chilled at once, and for
ever !
This consequence of her cold, restrained
manner in his presence, Avas so natural, — in
120 THE VICAR OF
fact, SO inevitable, — that had she turned her
eyes from herself and her own little unim-
portant feelings, to what might be their effect
upon his, it is hardly possible that she could
have avoided catching some glimpse of the
danger she ran, — and much after misery might
have been spared ; as it was, she felt a move-
ment of unequivocal satisfaction when he de-
parted ; and, having told Fanny to join the
other young ladies while she transacted busi-
ness, she was left alone with the two gentle-
men, and, in a few minutes afterwards, the
contents of her late husband's strong-box, con-
sisting of parchments, memoranda, and deeds
almost innumerable, overspread the large table,
as well as every sofa and chair within conve-
nient reach.
The two serious gentlemen smiled, but it
was inwardly. Their eyes ran over the in-
scriptions of every precious packet; and if
those of the professional man caught more
rapidly at a glance the respective importance
of each, the vicar had the advantage of him
in that prophetic feeling of their future im-
portance to himself, which rendered the pre-
sent hour one of the happiest of his life.
Meanwhile, Charles sought Helen and her
i
WREXHILL. 121
friend. Far, however, from wishing to impart
to them the painful impression he had received,
his principal object in immediately seeking
them was, if possible, to forget it. He found
the four girls together in the conservatory, and,
affecting more gaiety than he felt, exclaimed,
" How many recruits shall I get among you to
join me in a walk to Wrexhill ? One, two,
three, four ! That's delightful ! Make haste ;
bonnet and veil yourselves without delay : and
if we skirt round the plantations to the lodge,
we shall escape being broiled, for the lanes are
always shady."
When he had got his convoy fairly under
weigh, they began to make inquiries as to what
he was going to do at Wrexhill. " I M'ill tell
you," he replied, " if you will promise not to
run away and forsake me."
They pledged themselves to be faithful to
their escort, and he then informed them that it
was bis very particular wish and desire to pay
sundry visits to the beau monde of Wrexhill.
*' It is treason to the milliner not to have
told us so before, Charles," said Helen ; " only
look at poor Fanny's little straw-bonnet, -with-
out even a bow to set it off. What will Mrs.
Simpson think of us ?"
VOL. II. G
122 THE VICAR OF
" I assure you, Helen," said Fanny, " that
if I had known we were going to visit all the
fine people in the county, 1 should have put
on no other bonnet ; and as for Mrs. Simp-
son, I believe you are quite mistaken in sup-
posing she would object to it. I hope she has
seen the error of her ways, as well as I have,
Charles ; and that we shall never more see her
dressed like a heathenish woman, as she used
to do."
*' Oh Fanny ! Fanny !" exclaimed Charles,
laughing. " How long will this spirit vex
you."
Fortunately however, for the harmony of
the excursion, none of the party appeared at
this moment inclined to controversy, and the
subject dropped. Instead, therefore, of talk-
ing of different modes of faith, and of the
bonnets thereunto belonging, the conversation
turned upon the peculiar beauty of the wood-
land scenery around Wrexhill ; and Miss Cart-
wright, as almost a stranger, was applied to for
her opinion of it.
" I believe I am a very indifferent judge of
scenery," she replied. " The fact is, I never
see it."
" Do you not see it now ?^' said Rosalind.
WREXHILL. 123
" Do you not see that beautiful stretch of
park-hke common, with its tufts of holly, its
rich groups of forest-trees, with their dark
heavy drapery of leaves, relieved by the light
and wavy gracefulness of the delicate and sil-
very birch ? and, loveliest of all, do you not see
that stately avenue of oaks, the turf under
them green in eternal shade, and the long per-
spective, looking like the nave of some gigantic
church ?"
Rosalind stood still as she spoke, and Hen-
rietta remained beside her. They were de-
scending the bit of steep road, which, passing
behind the church and the vicarage, led into
the village street of Wrexhill, and the scene
described by Miss Torrington was at this point
completely given to their view.
Henrietta put her arm within that of Rosa-
lind with a degree of familiarity very unusual
with her, and, having gazed on the fair ex-
panse before her for several minutes, she re-
plied,
" Yes, Rosalind, I do see it now, and I
thank vou for making it visible to me. Per-
haps in future, when I may perchance be think-
ing of you, I may see it again."
Rosalind turned to seek her meaning in her
g2
124 THE VICAR OF
face, and saw that her dark deep- set eyes
were full of tears. This was so unexpected,
so unprecedented, so totally unlike any feeling
she had ever remarked in her before, that
Rosalind was deeply touched by it, and, press-
ing the arm that rested on hers, she said :
" Dear Henrietta ! Why are you so averse
to letting one understand what passes in your
heart ? It is only by an accidental breath,
which now and then lifts the veil you -hang
before it, that one can even find out you have
any heart at all."
" Did you know all the darkness that dwells
there, you would not thank me for showing it
to you."
Having said this, she stepped hastily for-
ward, and drawing on Rosalind, who would
have lingered, with her, till they had overtaken
the others, they all turned from the lane into
the village street together.
They had not proceeded a hundred yards,
before they were met by a dozen rosy and riot-
ous children returning from dinner to school.
At sight of the Mowbray party, every boy un-
capped, and every httle giil made her best
courtesy ; but one unlucky wag, whose eyes
unfortunately fixed themselves on Fanny, be-
WREXHILL. 125
y
ing struck by the precision of her httle bonnet,
straight hair, and the total absence of frill,
furbelow, or any other indication of worldly-
mindedness, restrained his bounding steps for
a moment, and, pursing up his little features
into a look of sanctity, exclaimed — " Amen !"
r— and then, terrified at what he had done,
galloped away and hid himself among his
fellows.
- Fanny coloured ; but immediately assumed
the resigned look that announceth martyrdom.
Charles laughed, though he turned round and
shook his switch at the saucy offender. Helen
looked vexed, Rosalind amused, and Henrietta
very nearly delighted.
A few minutes more brousrht them to the
door of Mrs. Simpson's. Their inquiry for the
lady was answered by the information that
she ^' was schooling miss ; but if they would
be pleased to walk in, she would come down
directly.^' They accordingly entered the draw-
ing-room, where they were kept waiting for
some time, which was indeed pretty generally
the fate of morning visitors to Mrs. Simpson.
The interval was employed as the collectors of
albums and annuals intend all intervals sliould
be, namely, in the examination of all the mor-
126 THE VICAR OF
rocco-bound volumes deposited on the grand
round table in the middle of the room, and on
all the square, oblong, octagon, and oval minor
tables, in the various nooks and corners of it.
On the present occasion they seemed to pro-
mise more amusement than usual to the party,
who had most of them been frequently there
before, — for they were nearly all new. Poor
little Fanny, though she knew that not one of
those with her were capable of enjoying the
intellectual and edifying feast that almost the
first glance of her eye showed her was set be-
fore them, could not restrain an exclamation of
— " Oh ! How heavenly-minded !"
The whole collection indeed, which though
recently and hastily formed, had evidently been
brought together by the hand of a master of
such matters, was not only most strictly evan-
gelical, but most evangelically ingenious.
Helen, however, appeared to iind food nei-
ther for pleasantry nor edification there ; for
having opened one or two slender volumes,
and as many heavy pamphlets, she abandoned
the occupation with a sigh, that spoke sad-
ness and vexation. Miss Cartwright, who had
seated herself on the same sofa, finished her
examination still more quickly, saying in a
WREXHILL. 127
low voice as she settled herself in a well-
pillowed corner—
" Surfeit is the father of much fast."
Miss Torrington and young Mowbray got
hold of by far the finest volume of all, whose
gilt leaves and silken linings showed that it
was intended as the repository of the most
precious gifts, that, according to the frontis-
piece. Genius could offer to Friendship. Hav-
ing given a glance at its contents, Charles
drew out his pencil, and on the blank side of
a letter wrote the following catalogue of them,
w^hich, though imperfect as not naming them
all, was most scrupulously correct as far as it
went :
" Saint Paul's head, sketched in pen and ink j
* Here's the bower,' to words of grace ;
The death-bed talk of Master Blink ;
Lines on a fallen maiden's case.
Sonnet upon heavenly love ;
A pencil drawin<^ of Saint Peter,
Emblem's — the pigeon and the dove.
Gray's Odes, turned to psalm-tune metre.
A Christian ode in praise of tea,
Freely translated from llcdi."
He had just presented the scrap to Rosa-
128 THE VICAR OF
lind when Mrs. Simpson entered, leading her
httle girl in her hand ; but the young lady
had leisure to convey it unnoticed to her
pocket, as the mistress of the house had for
the first few minutes eyes only for Fanny. In
fact, she literally ran to her the instant she
perceived her little bonnet, and, folding her
arms round her, exclaimed —
" My dear, dear child ! My dear, dear
sister ! This is providential ! It is a blessing
I shall remember alway ! Our minister told
nie that I should read at a glance the blessed
change wrought upon you : I do read it, and
I will praise the Lord therefore ! I beg your
pardon, ladies, Mr. Mowbray, pray sit down
— I beg your pardon : I rejoice to see you,
though as yet "
Her eyes fixed themselves on^he bonnet of
Rosalind, which, besides being large, had the
abomination of sundry bows, not to mention a
])unch of laburnum blossoms.
" Ah ! my dear Miss Helen ! The time
will come — I will supplicate the Lord alway
that it may — when you too, like your precious
sister, shall become a sign and ensample to
all men. How the seed grows, my sweet Miss
WREXllILL. 129
Fanny !'' she continued, turning to the only
one of her guests whom, strictly speaking, she
considered it right to converse with. " How
it grows and spreads vinder the dew ot faith
and the sunshine of righteousness. It is just
three months, three little hlessed months, since
the beam first fell upon my heart, Miss Fanny;
and look at me, look at my child, look at my
albums, look at my books, look at my card-
racks, look at my missionary's box on one
side, and my London Lord- days' society box
on the other. Is not this a ripening and pre-
paring for the harvest. Miss Fanny?"
Fanny coloured, partly perhaps from pride
and pleasure ; but partly, certainly, from shy-
ness at being so distinguished, and only mur-
mured the word " Beautiful !" in reply.
Miss Mowbray felt equally provoked and
disgusted ; but, while inwardly resolving that
she would never again put herself in the way
of witnessing what she so greatly condemned,
she deemed it best to stay, if possible, the tor-
rent of nonsense which was thus overwhelming
her sister, by giving another turn to the con-
versation.
" Have you seen Mrs. Richards lately, Mrs,
Simpson?" she said.
G 3
130 THE VICAR OF
" Mrs. Richards and I very rarely meet
now, Miss Mowbray," was the reply. " The
three young ladies indeed, I am happy to say,
have wholly separated themselves from their
mother in spirit, and are all of them becoming
shining lights. Oh, Miss Fanny ! how sweetly
pious are those lines written between you and
Uttle Mary !"
Fanny suddenly became as red as scarlet.
" The alternate verses, I mean, in praise
and glory of our excellent minister. He
brought them to me himself, and we read
them together, and we almost shed tears of
tender ])lessing on you both, dear children i"
Charles, who thought, and with great satis-
faction, that whatever stuff his poor little sister
might have written, she was now very heartily
ashamed of it, wishing to relieve her from
the embarrassment, which nqj^ertheless he re-
joiced to see, rose from his chair and approach-
ing a window, said,
" What a very pleasant room you have
here, Mrs. Simpson ; it is almost due east, is
it not ? If the room over it be your apartment,
I should think the sun must pay you too early
a visit there, unles s your windows are wel
curtained."
'
WREXHILL. 131
" Oh, Mr. Mowbray ! Sunrise is such a
time of praise and blessing, that, even though
the curtains are drawn, I always try, if I am
awake, to think how heavenly it is looking
outside."
" Are you an early riser, Mrs. Simpson?"
said Helen.
" Not very, — at least not always ; but since
my election I have been endeavouring to get
down to prayers by about half-past eight. It
is so delightful to think how many people are
coming down stairs to prayers just at half-past
eight !"
" Your little girl is very much grown, Mrs.
Simpson," said Miss Torrington, willing to
try another opening by which to escajDe from
under the heels of the lady's hobby ; but it
did not answer.
" Hold up your head, Minima dear !" said
the mamma ; " and tell these ladies what you
have been learning lately. She is still rather
shy ; but it is going off, I hope. Precious
child ! she is grown such a prayerful thing,
Miss Fanny, you can't imagine. Minima, why
did you not eat up all your currant-pudding
yesterday? tell Miss Fanny Mowbray !"
" Because it is wicked to love currant-pud-
1
132 THE VICAR OF
ding," answered the child, folding her little
hands one over the other upon the bosom of
her plain frock, no longer protruding in all
directions its sumptuous chevaux-de-frise of
lace and embroidery.
" Darling angel ! And why, my precious I is
it wicked ?^'
" Because it is a sin to care for our vile
bodies, and because we ought to love nothing
but the Lord."
" Is not that a blessing ?" said Mrs. Simp-
son, again turning to Fanny. " And how can
I be grateful enough to the angelic man who
lias put me and my little one in the right
way r
It was really generous in good Mrs. Simp-
son to give all the praise due for the instruc-
tion and religious awakening of her little girl
to the vicar, for it was iii'^ruth entirely her
own work ; as it generally happened, that when
Mr. Cartwright paid her a visit, fearing pro-
bably that the movements of a child might
disturb his nerves, she dismissed her little
Minima to her nursery.
One or two more attempts on the part of
Helen to bring the conversation to a tone that
she should consider as more befitting the neigh-
WREXHILL. 133
hourly chit-chat of a morning visit, and, in
plain English, less tinctured with blasphemy,
having been made and failed, she rose and
took her leave, the rest of her party follow-
ing ; but not without Fanny's receiving an-
other embrace, and this fervent farewell ut-
tered in her ear :
" The saints and angels bless and keep you,
dear sister in the Lord !"
After quitting the house of this regenerated
lady, the party proposed to make a visit to
that of Mrs. Richards ; but Miss Cartwrisfht
expressed a wish to go to the \^icarage instead,
and begged they would call at the door for
her as they passed. Miss Torrington offered
to accompany her, but this was declined,
though not quite in her usual cynical manner
upon such occasions ; and, could Rosalind have
followed her with her eye up the Vicarage hill,
she would have seen that she stopped and
turned to look down upon the common and its
trees, just at the spot where they had stood
together before.
On entering Mrs. Richards's pretty flower-
scented little saloon, they were startled and
somewhat embarrassed at finding that lady in
tears, and Major Dairy niple walking about the
1 34 THE VICAR OF
room with very evident symptoms of discom-
posure. Helen, who, like everybody else in
the neighbourhood, was perfectly aware of the
major's unrequited attachment, or, at any rate,
his unsuccessful suit, really thought that the
present moment was probably intended by him
to decide his fate for ever ; and felt exceedingly
distressed at having intruded, though doubtful
whether to retreat now would not make matters
worse. Those who followed her shared both
her fears and her doubts : but not so the
widow and the major ; who both, after the
interval of a moment, during which Mrs.
Richards wiped her eyes, and Major Dal-
rymple recovered his composure, declared with
very evident sincerity that they were heartily
glad to see them.
" We are in the midst of a dispute, Mow-
bray," said the major^ addressing Charles;
" and i will bet a thousand to one that you
will be on my side, whatever the ladies may
be. Shall I refer the question to Charles
Mowbray, Mrs. Richards?'^
" Oh yes ! I shall like to have it referred
to the whole party V she replied.
" Well then, this it is : — I need not tell
you, good people, that the present vicar of
WREXHILL. 135
Wrexhill is — but Jialte la /" he exclaimed, sud-
denly stopping himself and fixing his eyes on
Fanny ; " I am terribly afraid by the trim cut
of that Httle bonnet, that there' s one amongst
us that will be taking notes. Is it so. Miss
Fanny ? Are you as completely over head and
ears in love with the vicar, as your friend little
Mai-y ? and, for that matter, Louisa, Charlotte,
Mrs. Simpson, Miss Minima Simpson, Dame
Roger's the miller's wife, black-eyed Betsy the
tailor's daughter, Molly Tomkins, Sally Finden,
JenTiy Curtis, Susan Smith, and about three-
score and ten more of our joarish, have all
put on the armour of righteousness, being
buckled, belted and spurred by the vicar him-
self. Are you really and truly become one
of his babes of grace, Fanny ?"
" If it is your intention to say anything dis-
respectful of Mr. Cartwright," rephed Fanny,
" I had much rather not hear it. I will go
and look at your roses, Mrs. Richards ;" and,
as Mrs. Richards did nut wish her to remain,
she quietly opened the glass-door which led
into the garden, let her pass through it, and
then closed it after her.
" Pretty creature ! ' exclaimed Major Dai-
ry mple ; " what a pity 1"
136 THE VICAR OF
" It will not last, major/' said Charles.
" He has scared her conscience, which is
actually too pure and innocent to know the
sound of its own voice ; and then he seized
upon her fanciful and poetic imagination,
and set it in arms against her silly self, till
she really seems to see the seven mortal sins,
turn which way she will; and I am sure she
would stand for seven years together on one
leg, like an Hindoo, to avoid them. She is
a dear good little soul, and she will get the
better of all this trash, depend upon it.'^
" I trust she will, Mowbray; but tell me,
while the mischief is still at work, shall you
not think it right to banish the causer of it
from your house? For you must know this
brings us exactly to the point at issue between
Mrs. Richards and me. She is breakinsf her
heart because her three girls — ay, little Mary
and all — have been bit by this black tarantula ;
and because she (thank God !) has escaped,
her daughters have thought proper to raise the
standard of rebelhon, and to tell her verv
coolly, upon all occasions, that she is doomed
to everlasting perdition, and that their only
chance of escape is never more to give obe-
WREXHILL. 137
dience or even attention to any word she can
utter.'^
The major stopped, overcome by his own
vehemence ; and Charles would have fancied
that he saw tears in his eyes, if he had dared
to look at him for another moment.
Rosalind, who had more love and likina:
for Mrs. Richards than is usually the growth
of sLx months' acquaintance, had placed herself
close beside her, and taken her hand ; but,
when Major Dairy mple ceased speaking, she
rose up, and with a degree of energy that pro-
bably surprised all her hearers, but most espe-
cially Charles and Helen, she said :
" If, Major Dalrymple, you should be the
first in this unfortunate parish of Wrexhill
to raise your voice against this invader of the
station, rights, and duties of a set of men in
whose avocations he has neither part nor lot,
you will deserve more honour than even the
field of Waterloo could give you ! Yes ! turn
him from your house, dear friend, as you
would one who brought poison to you in the
guise of wholesome food or healing medicine.
Let him never enter your doors again ; let him
preach (if preach he must) in a church as
138 THE VICAR OF
empty as his own pretensions to holiness ; and
if proper authority should at length be awaked
to chase him from a pulpit that belongs of right
to a true and real member of the Enghsh
church, then let him buy a sixpenny hcence,
if he can get it, to preach in a tub, the only
fitting theatre for his doctrines."
" Bravo !'' cried the major in a perfect
ecstasy ; " do you hear her, Mrs. Richards ?
Charles Mowbray, do you hear her? and will
either of you ever suffer Cartwright to enter
your doors again ?"
" I believe in my soul that she is quite
right," said Charles : " the idiot folly I have
witnessed at Mrs. Simpson's this morning ; and
the much more grievous effects which his mi-
nistry, as he calls it, has produced here, have
quite convinced me that such ministry is no
jesting matter. But I have no doors, Dalrym-
I^le, to shut against him ; all I can do is to
endeavour to open my motiier's eyes to the
mischief he is doing.''
Helen sighed, and shook her head.
" Is, then, your good mother too far gone in
this maudlin delirium to listen to him ?" said
the major in an accent of deep concern.
" Indeed, major, I fear so," replied Helen.
WREXHILL. 139
" I told you soj Major Dalrymple," said
Mrs. Richards ; " I told you that in such a
line of conduct as you advise I should be sup-
ported by no one of any consequence, and I
really do not feel courage to stand alone in it."
" And it is that very want of courage that
I deplore more than all the rest," replied the
major. " You, that have done and suffered
so much, with aD the quiet courage of a real
hero,— that you should now sink before such an
enemy as this, is what I really cannot see with
patience."
" And whence comes this new-born coward-
ice, my dear Mrs. Richards ?" said Rosa-
hnd.
" I will tell you, Miss Torrington," replied
the black-eyed widow, her voice trembling v.ith
emotion as she spoke, — " I will tell you : all
the courage of which I have ever given proof,
has been inspired, strengthened, and set in
action by my children, — by my love for them,
and their love for me. This is over : I have
lost their love, I have lost their confidence.
They look upon me, — -even my Mary, who once
shared every feeling of my heart, — they all look
upon me as one accursed of God, separated
from them through all eternity, and doomed
140 THE VICAR OF
by a decree of my Maker, decided on thou-
sands of years before I was born, to live for
countless ages in torments unspeakable. They
repeat all this, and hug the faith that teaches
it. Is not this enough to sap the cou-
rage of the stoutest heart that ever woman
boasted ?"
" It is dreadful !" cried Helen ; " oh ! most
dreadful ! Such then will be, and already are,
the feelings of my mother respecting me, — re-
specting Charles. Yet, how she loved us ! A
few short months ago, how dearly she loved
us both !"
" Come, come, Miss Mowbray ; I did not
mean to pain you in this manner," said the
major. " Do not fancy things worse than
they really are : depend upon it, your brother
will take care to prevent this man's impious
profanation of religion from doing such mis-
chief at Mowbray as it has done here. Had
there been any master of the house at Meadow
Cottage, this gentleman, so miscalled reverend,
would never, never, never, have got a footing
there."
" Then I heartily wish there were," said
Charles, " if only for the sake of setting a
good example to the parish in general ; but, for
WREXHILL. Ill
the Park in particular, it is as raasterless as the
cottage."
" I beheve/' said Mrs. Richards, " that
amongst you I shall gain courage to be mis-
tress here ; and this, if effectually done, may
answer as well. You really advise me, then,
all of you, to forbid the clergyman of the pa-
rish from entering my doors ?"
" Yes," replied the major firmly ; and he
was echoed zealously by the rest of the part}'.
" So be it then," said Mrs. Richards. " But
I \\ould my enemy, for such indeed he is,
held any other station among us. I could shut
my doors against all the lords and ladies in the
country with less pain than against the clergy-
man."
" I can fully enter into that feehng," said
Helen : " but surely, in proportion as the
station is venerable, the abuse of it is unpar-
donable. Let this strengthen your resolution ;
and your children will recover their wits again,
depend upon it. I would the same remedy
could 1)6 applied with us ! but you are so much
respected, my dear Mrs. Richards, that I am
not without hope from your example. Adieu !
We shall be anxious to hear how you go on ;
and you must not fail to let us see you soon."
142
THE VICAR OF
The Mowbray party, having recalled the
self-banished Fanny, then took leave, not with-
out the satisfaction of believing that their visit
had been well-timed and useful.
WREXHILL. 143
CHAPTER IX.
DISCUSSION ON TRUTH. — MR, CORBOLD INSTALLED.
Having called at the Vicarage for Miss Cart-
wright, they proceeded homeward along the
pleasant paths they had so often trod with
light-hearted gaiety ; but now there was a look
of care and anxious thoughtfulness on each
young brow, that seemed to say their happiness
was blighted by the fear of sorrow to come.
Though not at all able to understand Hen-
rietta, and not above half liking her, there was
yet more feeling of intimacy between Miss
Torrington and her than had been attained by
any other of the family. It was she, therefore,
who, after preceding the others by a few rapid
steps up the hill, rang the bell of the Vica-
144 THE VICAR OF
rage, and waited in the porcli for Miss Cart-
wright.
During these few moments the trio had
passed on, and Miss Torrington, finding her-
self tete-a-tete with the vicar's daughter, ven-
tured to relate to her pretty nearly all that
occurred at the house of Mrs. Richards ; by no
means omitting the resolution that lady had
come to respecting Mr. Cartwright.
" I am very sorry for it," said Henrietta.
" You regret the loss of their society ? Then
for your sake, Henrietta, 1 am sorry too."
" For my sake ? / regret the loss of their
society ! Are you not mocking me ?"
" You know I am not," replied Rosalind in
a tone of vexation; "why should you not
regret the loss of Mrs. Richards' society ?"
" Only because there is no society in the
world that I could either wish for, — or re-
gret."
" It is hardly fair in you. Miss Cartwright,"
said Rosalind, " to excite my interest so often
as you do, and yet to leave it for ever pining,
for want of a more full and generous confi-
dence."
" I have no such feeling as generosity in
me; and as to exciting your interest, I do
WREXHILL. 145
assure you it is quite involuntarily ; and, in-
deed, I should think that no human being
could be less likely to trouble their fellow-
creatures in that way than myself."
" But is there not at least a little wilfulness,
Henrietta, in the manner in which from time
to time you throw out a bait to my curi-
osity ?''
" It is weakness, not wilfulness, Rosalind.
I am ashamed to confess, even to myself, that
there are moments when I fancy I should like
to love you ; and then I would give more than
my worthless life, if I had it, that you should
love me. When this contemptible folly seizes
me, I may, perhaps, as you say, throw out a
bait to catch your cariosity, and then it is I
utter the words of which you complain. But
you must allow that this childishness never
holds me long, and that the moment it is
past I become as reasonable and as wretched
again as ever."
" Will you tell me whether this feeling of
profound contempt for yourself, whenever you
are conscious of a kindly sentiment towards me,
arises from your conviction of my individual
despicability, or from believing that all human
affections are deoradiu";?"
VOL. II. H
1 46 THE VICAR OF
" Not exactly from either. As for you. Ro-
salind, — is it not the weak and wavering Ham-
let who says, in one of those flashes of fine
philosophy that hurst athwart the gloom of
his poor troubled spirit,
' Give me that man that is not passion's slave ?'
My wits are often as much diseased as his, I
believe ; but I too have my intervals ; and, when
the moon is not at the full, I sometimes sketch
the portrait of a being that one might venture
to love. I, however, have no quarrel against
passion, — it is not from thence my sorrows
have come : — but I would say,
' Give ine that friend
That is not falsehood's slave, and I will wear him
for her, Rosalind,)
In my heart's core, — ay, in ray heart of heart.'
And if after all my hard schoohng I could be
simple enough to believe that anything in
human form could be true, I should be more
likely to commit the folly about you than 4
about any one I ever saw in my life." ^
" But still you believe me false ?" '^
" I do." I
WREXHILL. 1 A ;
<c
And why, Henrietta ?"
" Because you are a woman : — no, no, be-
cause you are a human being."
" And you really, without meaning to sea-
son your speech with pungent crystals of satire,
— you really do not believe that truth can l^e
found in any human being ?"
" I really do not."
" God help you, then ! I would rather pass
my life in a roofless cabin, and feed on potatoe-
parings, than Uve in such a persuasion."
" And so would I, Rosalind."
'* Then why do you nourish such hateful
theories ? I shall begin to think your jesting
words too true, Henrietta; and believe, indeed,
that your wits are not quite healthy."
" Would I could believe it ! I would sub-
mit to a strait-waistcoat and shaven crown to-
morrow if I could but persuade myself that I
was mad, and that all I have fancied going on
around me were but so many vapours from a
moon-sick brain."
" And so they have been, if you construe
every word you hear, and every act you see,
into falsehood and delusion."
" Rosalind ! Rosalind ! — how can I do
otherwise ? Come, come, enough of this : do
H 2
148 THE VICAR OF
not force me against my will, against my re-
solution, to tell you what has brought me
to the wretched, hopeless state of apathy in
which you found me. Were I to do this,
you would only have to follow the weakness
of your nature, and believe, in order to become
•as moody and as miserable as myself."
" But you do not mean to tell me that I
should be proving my weakness in believing
you ?
" Indeed I do. You surely cannot be al-
together so credulous as to suppose that all
you see in me is true, sincere, candid, open,
honest ?"
" Are you honest now in telling me that
you are false ?"
" Why, partly yes, and partly no, Rosa-
lind ; and it is just such a question as that
which sets one upon discovering how contrary
to our very essence it is, to be purely and
altogether true. But were I one of those who
fancy that pincushions are often made by the
merciful decrees of an all-wise Providence, I
should say that we were ordained to be false,
in order to prevent our being straightforward,
undisguised demons. Why, I, — look you, —
who sit netting a purse that I hope will never
WREXHILL. 149
be finished, as diligently as if my life would be
saved by completing the last stitch by a given
time, and as quietly as if I had no nails upon
my fingers, and no pointed scissors in my
netting-case, — even I, all harmless as I seem,
would be likely, were it not for my consum-
mate hypocrisy, to be stabbing and scratching
half a dozen times a day."
" And, were you freed from this restraint,
would your maiming propensities betray them-
selves promiscuously, or be confined to one or
more particular objects ?"
" Not quite promiscuously, I think. But
hypocrisy apart for a moment, do you not
perceive that Mr. Charles Mowbray has been
looking round at us, — at both of us, observe, —
about once in every second minute ? Do you
know that I think he would like us, — ^both of
us, observe, — to walk on and join the party."
" Well, then, let us do so," said llosahnd.
^ ^ ^ ^ tP
As they drew near the house, they perceived
Mr. Stephen Corbold wandering round it, his
hands behind his back and under his coat,
and his eyes now raised to the stately portico,
now lowered to the long range of windows
belonging to the conservatory j at one moment
150 THE VICAR OF
sent afield over the spacious park, and in the
next brought back again to contemplate anew
the noble mansion to which it belonged. Dur-
ing one of the wanderings of those speculating
orbs, he spied the advancing party; and im-
mediately settling himself in his attire, and
assuming the more graceful attitude obtained
by thrusting a hand in each side-pocket of his
nether garments, he resolutely walked forward
to meet them.
Fanny, his friends and kinsfolk being ever
in her memory, made an effort which seemed
to combat instinct, and put out her little
hand to welcome hira ; but before he was
fully aware of the honour, for indeed his eyes
were fixed upon her elder sister, she coloured,
and withdrew it again, satisfying her hospita-
ble feelings by pronouncing simply his name,
but with a sort of indistinctness in the accent
vfhich seemed to signify that something more
had either preceded or followed it.
This word, the only one Avhich greeted. him,
i)rought him instantly to her side, and even
gave him the prodigious audacity to offer his
arm, which, however, she did not accept; for
at that moment the hook of her parasol became
entangled in the fringe of her shawl, and it
WREXHILL. 151
seemed to require vast patience and persever-
ance to extricate it. Still, notwithstanding
this little disappointment, he kept close to
her side, for Helen leaned upon the arm of
her brother; and, though still persuaded that
by the aid of his reverend cousin he should
be able to obtain her, and pretty nearly every-
thing else he wished for, he had no parti-
cular inclination to renew- the courtship he
had begun on the journey in the presence of
Charles.
Fanny, therefore, and her attendant entered
the house together ; while the rest wheeled off
in order to avail themselves of a postern en-
trance, by which the ladies might reach their
rooms without any risk of again encountering
Mr. Corbold, who by a sort of tacit consent
seemed equally avoided by all.
The survey which this person was taking
of the premises when the walking party re-
turned, was neither the first, second, third, nor
fourth which he had had the opportunity of
making since their setting out; for, in obe-
dience to Mr. CartwTight's hint, he had no
sooner received from Mrs. Mowbray, under
the instructions from that reverend person,
the orders necessary for the new arrangements
152
THE VICAR OF
about to be made, than he retired, — the vicar
remaining with the widow and the keys of her
title-deeds, which perhaps he had reason for
thinking would be as safe anywhere else as in
his cousin Stephen's pocket.
The tete-a-tete which followed the attor-
ney's departure was long, interesting, and very
confidential. On the part of the gentleman
great skill was displayed by the manner in
which the following sul)jects were made to
mix and mingle together, till, like to a skil-
fully composed ragout, no flavour of any kind
was left distinctly perceptible, but the effect
of the whole was just what the artist intended
it should be. The subjects leading to, and
composing this general effect, were : first, the
deep interest raised in the breast of every good
man by the sight of a gentle and heavenly-
minded woman in want of assistance to carry
her through the wearying and unspiritual cares
incident to our passage through this world of
sin; secondly, the exceeding out-pouring of
mercy to be traced in such dispensations as
led the unawakened to look for such aid and
assistance from those who have been called and
elected by the Lord; thirdly, the blessed
assurance of everlasting joy that never failed
WREXHILL. 153
to visit those who left husband or child for
the Lord's sake ; fourthly, the unerring wis-
dom of the Lord in the placing the tender
consciences of the newly-chosen in the keep-
ing of those who best know how to lead them
aright; fifthly, the damnable and never-to-
be-atoned-for wickedness of struggling against
the Lord for the sake of any worldly feehngs
or affections whatever : and sixthly, the
saving merit, surpassing all the works that
our sinful nature could ever permit us to per-
form, which the Lord finds in such as cling
to his spoken word, and hold fast to the per-
secuted and oppressed who preach it. On
these themes, blended and harmonised together
so as completely to mystify the mind of the
weak and nervous Mrs. Mowbray, and accom-
panied with just so much gentle demonstration
of affectionate tenderness as might soften, with-
out alarming her, did the Vicar of Wrexhill
discourse for the tliree hours that they were
left alone.
* * * * * *
It would lead my narrative into too great
length were every step recorded by which all
Mrs. Mowbray's other feelings were made to
H 3
154
THE VICAR OF
merge in the one overwhelming influence of
Calvinistic terror on one side, and Calvinistic *
pride at presumed election on the other. The
wily vicar contrived in the course of a few
months so completely to rule the heart and
head of this poor lady, that she looked upon
her son Charles as a reprobate, who, unless
speedily changed in spirit by severe discipline
and the constant prayers of Mr. Cartwright,
must inevitably pass from this mortal life to a
state of endless torture in the life to come.
For Helen she M'as bade to hope that the
time of election, after much wrestling with the
Lord, would come ; in Fanny she was told to
glory and rejoice; and for Miss Torrington,
quietly to wait the appointed time, till the
Lord should make his voice heard, when it
would be borne in upon his mind, or upon
that of some one of the elect, vrhether she must
be given over to eternal destruction, or saved
with the remnant of the true flock which he
and his brother shepherds were bringing toge-
ther into one fold.
But with all this, though eternally talking
of mystical and heavenly love, which was ever
blended wath insidious demonstrations of holy.
WREXHILL. 155
brotherly, and Christian tenderness, Mr. Cart-
wright had never yet spoken to the widow
Mowbray of marriage.
She had been six months a widow, and her
deep mourning weeds were exchanged for a
dress elegantly becoming, but still marking
her as belonging to what Mr. Cart\mght con-
stantly called, in the midst of all his prosper-
ous intrigues, the " persecuted church of
Christ." Mr. Stephen Corbold was comfort-
ably settled in a snug little mansion in the
village, and though he had never yet got hold
of the title-deeds, he had begun to receive
the rents of the Mowbray estates. He too
Avas waiting the appointed time, — namely, the
installing of his cousin at the Park, — for the
fruition of all his hopes in the possession of
Helen, and in such a fortune with her as his
report of her progress towards regeneration
might entitle her to. Mrs. Richards had been
refused bread by a converted baker ; beer, by
an elected brewer ; and soap and candles,
by that pious, painstaking, prayerful servant
of the Lord, Richard White, the tallow-chan-
dler. Her daughters, however, still held fast
to the faith ; though their poor mother grew
thinner and paler every day, and continued
156
THE VICAR OF
to meet the vicar sometimes in the highways,
sometimes in the byeways, and sometimes in
the exemplar}'^ Mrs. Simpson's drawing-room.
Colonel Harrington had returned to his regi-
ment without ever again seeing Helen, who
had been forbidden with such awful denuncia-
tions in case of disobedience from ever holding
any intercourse direct or indirect with the
family at Oakley, that though she pined in
thought, she obeyed, and was daily denounced
by Sir Gilbert and his lady, though happily
she knew it not, as the most ungrateful and
heartless of girls. Fanny was growing tall,
thin, sour-looking, and miserable ; for having
a sort of stubborn feeling within her which
resisted the assurances she almost hourly re-
ceived of having been elected to eternal grace,
she was secretly torturing her distempered
conscience with the belief that she was delud-
ing every one but God, — that he alone read
her heart and knew her to be reprobate,
hardened and unregenerate, and that she must
finally and inevitably come to be the prey of
the worm that dyeth not and the fire that is
ncA^er quenched. The sufferings of this inno-
cent young creature under this terrible per-
suasion were dreadful, and the more so because
WREXHILL. 157
she communicated tliem to none. Had she
displayed the secret terrors of her soul to
Mr. Cartwright or her mother, she knew she
should be told with praises and caresses that
she was only the more blessed and sure of
immortal glory for feeling them. Had she
opened her heart to her sister, her brother,
or Rosalind, her sufferings would probably
have soon ceased; but from this she shrank
as from degradation unbearable.
Poor Rosalind, meanwhile, was as pro-
foundly unhappy as it was well possible for a
girl to be who was young, beautiful, rich,
talented, well-born, sweet-tempered, high-prin-
cipled, not crossed in love, and moreover in
perfect health.
Young Mowbray had just taken a distin-
guished degree at Oxford, and having given
a farewell banquet to his college friends, re-
turned home with the hope of speedily obtain-
ing the commission in a regiment of horse for
which his name had been long ago put down
by his father.
It was at this time that several circum-
stances occurred at VVrexhill sufficiently im-
portant to the principal personages of my nar-
rative to be recorded at some lenscth.
158
THE VICAR OF
CHAPTER X.
fanny's religion. — A VISIT TO OAKLEY.
It was towards the end of November that
young Mowbray returned from Oxford to his
mother's house in Hampshire. As usual, the
first three or four hours' chat Math Helen and
Rosalind put him au fait of all that had
taken place during his absence. The retro-
spect was not a cheering one ; yet most of the
circumstances which tended to annoy him were
of that minor kind which none but a very gos-
sipping correspondent would detail — and Helen
was not such. Besides, since the mysterious
letter which had recalled Charles to keep
watch over Fanny, (the full and true purpose
of which letter he had never yet discovered,)
WREXHILL. 159
Miss Torrington had not written to him ; and
as she was now the chief historian, her round
and unvarnished tale made him acquainted
with many particulars to which Helen had
scarcely alluded in her correspondence with
him.
Helen Mowbray's was not a spirit to exhaust
itself and its sorrows by breathing unavailing-
complaints ; and though her brother had
pretty clearly understood from her letters that
she was not happy or comfortable at home, it
was from Rosalind he first learned how many
circumstances were daily occurring to make
her otherwise.
The only point on which he blamed her, or
in which, according to Rosalind's account, she
had shown more yielding, and, as he called it,
weakness than her helpless and most vmhappy
position rendered unavoidable, was in the
never having attempted to see Lady Harring-
ton. This he declared was in itself wrong, and
rendered doubly so by her situation, which
would have rendered the society and counsel
of such a friend invaluable. But he did not
know — even Rosalind did not know — that this
forbearance for which he blamed her was the
result of those qualities for wliich they most
160 THE VICAR OF
loved her. But Helen knew, though they did
not, that if she had gone to Oakley, she should
have thought more of hearing news of Colonel
Harrington than of any advice her godmother
could have given her, and have been infinitely
more anxious to learn if he ever mentioned her
in his letters, than to know whether Lady Har-
rington thought it best that she should be
civil, or that she should be rude, in her de-
meanour towards the Vicar of Wrexhill.
It was this conscious weakness which lent
strength to the unreasonable violence of her
mother on this point. Had Helen been quite
fancy-free and altogether heart-whole, she would
have had courage to discover that a passionate
prohibition, originating, as she could not doubt
it did, with a man for whom she entertained
no species of esteem, ought not to make her
abandon one of the kindest friends she had
ever known. But there is a feeling stronger
than reason in a young girl's breast ; and again
and again this feeling had whispered to
Helen,
" ' It is not maidenly — '
to go to the house of a man that I fear I love.
WREXHILL. 161
and that I hope loves me, for the chance of
hearing his name mentioned — and that too
when my mother forbids me to enter his fa-
ther's doors."
But there was an authority in Charles's voice
when he said^ " You have been wrong, Helen,"
which seemed to have power even over this,
and she promised that if after he paid the visit
to Oakley, which he was fully determined to
do on the morrow, he should report that her
friends there were not too angry to receive her ;
she would consent to volunteer a visit to them,
assigning as her reason for doing so, to her
mother, that it was Charles's wish.
This conversation took place on the night of
his arrival, and lasted for some hours after
every indi\adual of the household, excepting
those engaged in it, were in bed. Poor Fanny
was among those who had the earliest retired,
but she was not among the sleepers. She too
had once loved Charles most dearly, and most
dearly had she been loved in return. But now
she felt that they were separated for ever in
this world, and that if tliey were doomed to
meet in the world to come, it could only be
amidst torturing and devouring flames. As
she knelt for long hours beside her bed before
16'2 THE VICAR OF
she dared to lay her aching head on the pillow,
her thoughts reverted to her early youth, and
to all the innocent delights she had enjoyed
with him and the now avoided Helen ; and as
she remembered the ecstasy with which she
once enjoyed the bloom of flowers, the songs of
birds, the breath of early morning, and all the
poetry of nature, tears of silent, unacknow-
ledged, but most bitter regret, streamed from
her eyes. But then again came the ague fit of
visionary remorse and genuine Calvinistic
terror, and she groaned aloud in agony of
spirit for having suffered these natural tears to
fall.
This dreadful vigil left such traces on the
pale cheek and heavy eye of the suffering girl,
that her brother's heart ached as he looked at
her ; and though with little hope, after what
he had heard, of doing any good, he determin-
ed to seek half an hour's conversation with her
before he went out.
When she rose to leave the breakfast-table
therefore, Charles rose too, and following her
out of the room, stojiped her as she was in the
act of ascending the stairs by putting his arm
round her waist and saying, " Fanny, will you
take a walk with me in the shrubbery ?"
WREXHILL. 163
Fanny started, and coloured, and hesitated,
as if some deed of very doubtful tendency had
been proposed to her. But he persevered.
"Come, dear! put your bonnet on — I will
wait for you here — make haste, Fanny ! Think
how long it is since you and I took a walk
together!"
" Is Helen going ?" The question was asked
in a voice that trembled : for the idea that.
Charles meant during this walk to question her
concerning her faith occurred to her, and she
would have given much to avoid it. But
before she could invent an excuse for doing so,
her conscience, always ready to enforce the
doing whatever was most disagreeable to her,
suggested that this shrinking looked like being
ashamed of her principles ; and no sooner had
this idea suggested itself, than she said readily,
" Very well, Charles ; I will come to you in a
moment."
But the moment was rather a long one ; for
Fanny, before she rejoined him, knelt down and
made an extempore prayer for courage and
strength to resist and render of no effect what-
ever he might say to her. Thus prepared, she
set forth ready to listen with the most deter-
mined obstinacy to any argument which might
164 THE VICAR OF
tend to overthrow any part of the creed that
was poisoning the very sources of her Hfe.
" You are not looking well, my Fanny/' said
her brother, fondly pressing her arm as they
turned into the most sheltered part of the gar-
den. " Do you think the morning too cold for
walking, my love ? You used to be such a
hardy little thing, Fanny, that you cared for
nothing ; but I am afraid the case is different
now."
This was not exactly the opening that Fanny
expected, and there was a tenderness in the tone
of his voice that almost softened her heart
towards him ; but she answered not a word, —
perhaps she feared to trust her voice.
" I wish you would tell me, dearest, if any
sorrow or vexation has chased away the bloom
and the gladness that we all so loved to look
upon. Tell me, Fanny, what is it that has
changed you so sadly ? You will not ? — Then
you do not love me as I love you ; for I am
sure if I had a sorrow I should open my heart
to you."
" When a Christian has a sorrow, brother
Charles, he should open his heart to the Lord,
and not to a poor sinful mortal as wicked and
as weak himself."
WREXHILL. 1 65
«
But surely, my dear Fanny, that need not
prevent a brother and sister from conversing
with the greatest confidence together. How
many texts I could quote you in which family
unity and affection are inculcated in the
Bible !"
" Pray do not quote the Bible," said Fanny
in a voice of alarm, " till the right spirit has
come upon you. It is a grievous sin to do it,
or to hear it."
" Be assured, Fanny, that I feel quite as
averse to quoting the Bible irreverently as you
can do. But tell me why it is you think that
the right spirit, as you call it, is not come
upon me ?"
"-' As I call it !" repeated Fanny, shudder-
ins:. " It is not I, Charles, — it is one of the
Lord's saints who says it ; and it is a sin for me
to listen to you."
" It is doubtless Mr. Cartwright who says it,
Fanny. Is it not so ?"
"* And who has so good a right to say it
as the minister of your parish, and the friend
and protector that the Lord has sent to your
widowed mother?"
Poor Mowbray felt his heart swell. It was
difficult to hear the man who had come be-
16G THE VICAR OF
tween him and all his best duties and affections
named in this manner as his own maligner, and
restrain his just and natural indignation ; — yet
he did restrain it, and said in a voice of the
utmost gentleness,
" Do you think, my beloved Fanny, that
Mr. Cartwright's influence in this house has
been for our happiness ?"
" May the Lord forgive me for listening to
such words \" exclaimed Fanny, with that look
of nervous terror which her beautiful face now
so often expressed. " But he can't ! he can't !
— I know it, I know it ! It is my doom to
sin, and you are only an agent of that enemy
who is for ever seeking my soul to destroy it=
— Leave me ! leave me !"
" Fanny, this is dreadful ! Can you really
believe that the God of love and mercy will
hold you guilty for listening to the voice of
your brother ? What have I ever done, my
Fanny, to deserve to be thus driven from your
presence ?''
The unhappy girl looked bewildered.
'' Done !" she exclaimed. " What have you
done ? — Is not that works ? — Is not that of
works you speak, Charles ? — Oh ! he knew,
he foretold, he prophesied unto me that I
WREXHILL. 167
should be spoken to of works, and that I
should listen thereunto, to my everlasting de-
struction, if I confessed not my soul to him
upon the instant. I must seek him out: he
said IF, — oh, that dear blessed if ! Let so
ray arm, brother Charles! — let me seek iny
salvation !"
" Fanny, this is madness !"
She looked at him, poor girl, as he said this,
with an expression that brought tears to his
eyes. That look seemed to speak a dreadful
doubt whether the words he had spoken were
not true. She pressed her hand against her
forehead for a moment, and then said in a
voice of the most touching sadness,
" God help me !"
" Oh, Fanny ! — darling Fanny !" cried the
terrified brother, throwing his arms round her :
" save us from the anguish of seeing you de-
stroyed body and mind by this friglitful, this
impious doctrine ! Listen to me, my own
sweet girl ! Think that from me you hear the
voice of your father — of the good and pious
Wallace — of your excellent and exemplary
governess, and drive this maddening terror
from you. Did you live without God in the
world, Fanny, when you lived under their
\
168 THE VICAR OF
virtuous rule ? How often have you heard
your dear father say, when he came forth and
looked upon the beauty of the groves and
lawns, bright in the morning sunshine, ' Praise
the Lord, my children, for his goodness, for his
mercy endureth for ever !' Did not these words
raise your young heart to heaven more than aU
the frightful denunciations which have almost
shaken your reason ?"
" Works ! works ! — Oh, Charles, let me go
from you ! Your voice is like the voice of the
serpent: — it creeps dreadfully near my heart,
and I shall perish, everlastingly perish, if I
listen to you. If : — is there yet an if for me
now ? Let me go, Charles : let me seek him ; —
if you love me, let me seek my salvation."
" Do you mean that you would seek Mr.
Cartwright, Fanny ? You do not mean to go
to his house, do you ?"
" His house ? How little you know him,
Charles ! Think you that he would leave me
and my poor mother to perish ? Poor, poor
Charles ! You do not even know that this
shepherd and guardian of our souls prays with
us daily ?"
" Prays with you ? Where does he pray
with you ?"
WREXHILL. 169
" In mamma's dressing-room."
" And who are present at these prayers ?"
" Mamma, and I, and Curtis, and Jem."
"Jem? Who is Jem, Fanny?"
" The new stable-boy that our minister re-
commended, Charles, when that poor deluded
Dick Bragg was found walking in the fields
with his sister Patty on the Sabbath."
" You don't mean that Dick Bragg is turned
aM'ay ? He was, without exception, the stead-
iest lad in the parish."
" Works ! works !" exclaimed Fanny, wring-
ing her hands. " Oh, Charles ! how your poor
soul clings to the perdition of works !"
" Gracious Heaven !" exclaimed ISIowbray,
with great emotion, " where will all this end ?
What an existence for Helen, for RosaUnd ! Is
there no cure for this folly, — this madness on
one side, and this infernal craft and hypocrisy
on the other ?"
On hearing these words, Fanny uttered a
cry which very nearly amounted to a scream,
and running off towards the house with the
fleetness of a startled fawn, left her brother in
a state of irritation and misery such as he had
never suffered before.
The idea of seeing Sir Gilbert Harrington
VOL. II. I
170 THE VICAR OF
immediately had perhaps more comfort and
consolation in it than any other which could
have suggested itself, and the lanes and the
fields which divided Oakley from Mowbray
were traversed at a pace that soon brought the
agitated young man to the baronet's door.
" Is Sir Gilbert at home, John ?" he de-
manded of an old servant who had known him
from childhood ; but instead of the widely-
opened door, and ready smile which used to
greet him, he received a grave and hesitating
" I don't know, sir," from the changed do-
mestic.
"Is Lady Harrington at home ?" said
Charles, vexed and colouring.
" It is likely she may be, Mr. Mowbray,"
said the old man relentingly. " Will you
please to wait one moment, Master Charles ?
I think my lady can't refuse — "
Charles's heart was full; but he did wait,
and John speedily returned, saying almost in a
whisper, " Please to walk in, sir ; but you
must go into my lady's closet,— that's the only
safe place, she says."
" Safe ?" repeated Charles ; but he made no
objection to the taking refuge in my lady's
closet, and in another moment he found him-
WREXHILL. 171
self not only in the closet, but in the arms of
the good old lady.
" Oh, Lord !— if Sir Gilbert could see me !"
she exclaimed after very heartily hugging the
young man. " He 's a greater tiger than ever,
Charles, and I really don't know which of us
would be torn to pieces first ; — but only tell
me one thing before I abuse him any more : —
how long have you been at home ?"
" The coach broke down at Newberry," re-
phed Charles, "and I did not get to Mowbray
till nine o'clock last night."
" Thank God !" ejaculated Lady Harring-
ton very fervently. " Then there 's hope in
Israel at least for you. — But what on earth can
you say to me of my beautiful Helen r Three
months, Charles, three whole months since she
has been near me — and she knows I dote upon
her, and that Sir Gilbert himself, untamable
hyena as he is, has always been loving and
gentle to her, as far as his nature would permit.
Then why has she treated us thus ? You can't
wonder, can you, that he swears lustily every
morning that ingratitude is worse than all the
mortal sins put together ?"
" I dare not throw the charge back upon
I 2
172 THE VKJAR OF
you, my dear lady; and yet it is being un-
grateful for poor Helen's true affection to be-
lieve it possible that she should so long have
remained absent from you by her own free will.
You know not, dearest Lady Harrington, what
my poor Helen has to endure."
" Endure ? What do you mean, Charles ?
Surely there is nobody living who dares to
be unkind to her ? My poor boy, — I am al-
most ashamed to ask the question, but you
will forgive an old friend : is there any truth,
Charles, in that damnable report ? (God forgive
me !) that horrid report, you know, about your
mother ?"
" What report. Lady Harrington?" said Mow- i
bray, colouring like scarlet. " I have heard no
report, excepting that which is indeed too sure
and certain to be called a report; — namely,
that she has become a violent Calvinistic Me-
thodist."
" That 's bad enough, my dear Charles, —
bad enough of all conscience ; and yet I have
heard of what would be v/orse still; I have
heard, Charles, that she is going to be weak
and wicked enough to marry that odious hypo-
critical Tartuffe, the Vicar of Wrexhill."
Mowbray put his hand before his eyes, as
WREXHILL. 173
if he had been blasted by lightning, and then
replied, as steadily as he could, " I have never
heard this, Lady Harrington.''
'^ Then I trust — I trust it is not true, Charles.
Helen, surely, and that bright-eyed creature
Miss Torrington, M^ho have both, I believe, (for,
God help me, 1 don't know !) — both, 1 believe,
been staying all the time at Mowbray;— and
surely— and surely, if this most atrocious deed
were contemplated, they must have some know-
ledge of it,"
" And that they certainly have not," returned
Charles with recovered courage ; "• for I sat
with them both for two or three hours last
night, listening to their miserable account of
this man's detestable influence over my mother
and Fanny ; and certainly they would not have
concealed from me such a suspicion as this,
had any such existed in the breast of either."
" Quite true, my dear boy, and I can hardly
tell you how welcome this assurance is to me —
not for your mother's sake, Charles ; if you
cannot bear the truth, you must not come to
me, — and on this point the truth is, that I
don't care one single straw about your mother.
I never shall forgive her for not answering Sir
Gilbert's note. I know what the writing it
174 THE VICAR OF
cost him — dear, proud, generous-hearted old
fellow ! And not to answer it ! not to
tell her children of it ! No, I never shall
forgive her, and I should not care the value
of a rat's tail if she were to marry every tub
preacher throughout England, and all their
clerks in succession — that is, not for her own
sake. I dare say she '11 preach in a tub herself
before she has done with it; but for your sakes,
my dear souls, I do rejoice that it is not
true."
" That would indeed complete our misery :
and it is already quite bad enough, I assure
you. The house, Helen says, is a perfect con-
venticle. The girls are ordered to sing nothing
but psalms and hymns ; some of the latter so
offensively ludicrous, too, as to be perfectly in-
decent and profane. A long extempore sermon,
or lecture as he calls it, is delivered to the
whole family in the great drawing-room every
night ; missionary boxes are not only hung up
beside every door, but actually carried round
by the butler whenever any one calls ; and a
hundred and fifty other absurdities, at which
we should laugh were we in a gayer mood : but
this farce has produced the saddest tragedy I
ever witnessed, in the effect it has had upon
WREXKILL. 175
our poor Fanny. I have had some conversa-
tion with her this morning, and I do assure
you that I greatly fear her reason is unsettled,
or like to be so.'^
" God forbid, Charles ! Pretty innocent
young thing ! that would be too horrible to
think of."
The old lady's eyes were full of tears, a cir-
cumstance very unusual with her, but the idea
suggested struck her to the heart ; and she had
not yet removed the traces of this most un-
wonted proof of sensibility, when a heavy
thump was heard at the door of the closet.
" Who's there ?" said her ladyship in a voice
rather raised than lowered by the emotion
which dimmed her eyes.
" Let me in, my lady !" responded the voice
of Sir Gilbert.
" What do you want. Sir Gilbert ? I am
busy."
'' So 1 understand, my lady, and I'm come
to help you."
" Will you promise, if I let you in, not to
hinder me, instead ?"
" I'll promise nothing, except to quarrel
with you if you do not."
176 THE VICAR OF
" Was there ever such a tyrant ! Come in,
then ; see, hear, and understand.
The door was opened, and Sir Gilbert Har-
rington and Charles Mowbray stood face to
face.
Charles smiled, and held out his hand.
The baronet knit his brows, but the expres-
sion of his mouth told her experienced ladyship
plainly enough that he was well enough pleased
at the sight of his unexpected guest.
" He only got to Mowbray at nine o'clock
last night, '^ said Lady Harrington.
Sir Gilbert held out his hand. " Charles, I
am glad to see you," said he.
" Thank God !" ejaculated the old lady.
" My dear Sir Gilbert," said Charles, " I
have learnt your kind and friendly anger at the
prolonged absence of my poor sister. The
fault is not hers, Sir Gilbert ; she has been
most strictly forbidden to visit you."
" By her mother ?"
" By her mother. Sir Gilbert."
" And pray, Charles, do you think it her
duty to obey?"
" I really know not how to answer you. For
a girl just nineteen to act in declared defiance
WREXHILL. 177
of the commands of her mother, and that
mother her sole surviving parent, is a hne of
conduct almost too bold to advise. And yet,
such is the lamental^le state of infatuation
to which my mother's mind appears to be
reduced by the pernicious influence of this
Cartwright, that I think it would be more
dangerous still to recommend obedience/'
" Upon my soul I think so," replied Sir Gil-
bert, in an accent that showed he thought the
proposition too self-evident to be discussed. I
have been devilish angry with the girls, — with
Helen, I mean, — for I understand that little
idiot, Fanny, is just as mad as her mother ; but
that Helen, and that fine girl, Rosalind Tor-
rington, should shut themselves up with an
hypocritical fanatic and a canting mad woman,
is enough to put any man out of patience."
" The situation has been almost enough to
put Helen in her grave ; she looks wretchedly ;
and Miss Torrington is no longer the same
creature. It would wring your heart to see
these poor girls. Sir Gilbert ; and what are they
to do ?"
" Come to us, Charles. Let them both come
here instantly, and remain here till vour mo-
1 78 THE VICAR OF
ther's mad fit is over. If it lasts, I shall
advise you to take out a commission of lu-
nacy."
" The madness is not such as a physician
would recognise. Sir Gilbert ; and yet I give
you my honour that, from many things which
ray sister and Miss Torrington told me last
night, I really do think my mother's reason
must be in some degree deranged. And for
my poor little Fanny, six months ago the pride
and darling of us all, she is, I am quite per-
suaded, on the verge of insanity."
" And you mean to leave her in the power of
that distracted driveler, her mother, that the
work may be finished ?"
" What can I do. Sir Gilbert ?"
" Remove them all. Take them instantly
away from her, I tell you."
The blood rushed painfully to poor Mow-
bray's face. '' You forget, Sir Gilbert," he said,
" that I have not the means : you forget my
father's will."
" No, sir ; I do not forget it. Nor do I
forget either that, had I not in a fit of contemp-
tible passion refused to act as executor, I might,
1 think it possible, — I might have plagued her
WREXHILL. 179
heart out, and so done some good. I shall
never forgive myself!"
" But you could have given us no power
over the property, Sir Gilbert. We are beg-
gars."
" I know it, I know it !" replied the old gen-
tleman, clenching his fists. " I told you so
from the first : and now mark my words,— she'll
marry her saint before she's six months older."
" I trust that in this you are mistaken. The
girls have certainly no suspicions of the sort."
" The girls are fools, as girls always are.
But let them come here, I teU you, and we may
save their lives at any rate."
" Tell them both from me, Charles, that
they shall find a home, and a happy one, here ;
but don't let them chill that old man's heart
again by taking no notice of this, and keeping
out of his sight for another three months.
He'll have the gout in his stomach as sure as
they're born ; just tell Helen that from me."
Mowbray warmly expressed his gratitude for
their kindness ; and though he would not under-
take to promise that either Helen or Miss Tor-
rington would immediately decide upon leaving
his mother's house, in open defiance of her com-
ISO THE VICAR OF
mands, he promised that they should both come
over on the morrow, to be cheered and support-
ed by the assurance of their continued friend-
ship. He was then preparing to take his leave
when Lady Harrington laid her hand upon his
arm, saying,
" Listen to me, Charles, for a moment.
Those dear girls, and you too, my dear boy,
you are all surrounded with great difficulties,
and some consideration is necessary as to how
you shall meet them best. It won't do. Sir
Gilbert ; it will be neither right nor proper in
any way for Helen to set off at once in utter
and open defiance of Mrs. Mowbray. What I
advise is, that Charles should go home, take his
mother apart, and, like Hamlet in the closet
scene, ' speak daggers, but use none.' It does
not appear, from all we have yet heard, that
any one has hitherto attempted to point out to
her the deplorable folly, ay, and wickedness
too, which she is committing. I do not believe
she would admit Sir Gilbert ; and, to say the
truth, I don't think it would be very safe to
trust him with the job."
" D — n it ! I wish you would,'^ interrupted
Sir Gilbert. " I should like to have the talk-
WREXHILL. 181
iiig to her only just for an hour, and I'd con-
sent to have the gout for a month afterwards ;
I would, upon my soul !"
" Do be tame for a moment, you wild man of
the woods," said her ladyship, laying her hand
upon his mouth, " and let me finish what I was
saying. No, no. Sir Gilbert is not the proper
person ; but you are Charles. Speak to her with
gentleness, with kindness, but tell her the truth.
If you find her contrite and yielding, use your
victory with moderation ; and let her down
easily from her giddy elevation of saintshipto the
sober, quiet, even path of rational religion, and
domestic duty. But if she be restive — if she
still persist in forbidding Helen to visit her
father's oldest friends, Avhile making her own
once happy home a prison, and a wretched one,
— then, Charles Mowbray, I would tell her
roundly that she must choose between her
children and her Tartuff'e, and that if she keeps
him she must lose you."
" Bravo ! capital ! old lady ; if Charles
will just say all that, we shall be able to guess
by the result as to how things are between
them, and we must act accordingly. You
have your allowance paid regularly, Charles ?
182 THE VICAR OF
T think she doubled it, didn't she, after your
father died ?"
Charles looked embarrassed, but answered,
" Yes, Sir Gilbert, my allowance was doubled."
" D — n it, boy, don't answer like a Jesuit. —
Is it regularly paid ? — That was my question,
my main question."
" The first quarter was paid. Sir Gilbert ;
but before I left the University, instead of the
remittance, I received a letter from my mo-
ther, desiring me to transmit a statement of
all my debts to Stephen Corbold, Esq. solici-
tor, Wrexhill ; and that they should be at-
tended to ; which would, she added, be more
satisfactory to her than sending my allowance
without knowing how 1 stood with my trades-
men."
" And have you done this, my fine sir ?" said
Sir Gilbert, becoming almost purple with
anger.
" No, Sir Gilbert, I have not."
The baronet threw his arms round him, and
gave him a tremendous hug.
" I see you are worth caring for, my boy ;
I should never have forgiven you if you had.
Audacious rascal ! Why, Charles, that Cor-
WREXHILL. 183
bold has been poking his snuffling, hypocriti-
cal nose, into every house, not only in your pa-
rish but in mine, and in at least a dozen others,
and has positively beat poor old Gaspar Brown
out of the field. The old man called to take
leave of me not a week ago, and told me that
one after another very nearly every client he
had in this part of the world had come or sent
to him for their papers, in order to deposit
them with this canting Corbold ; and, as I
hear, all the little farmers for miles round are
diligently going to law in the name of the
Lord. But what did you do, my dear boy,
for money ? "
" Oh ! I have managed pretty well. It was
a disappointment certainly, and at first I felt
a Uttle awkward, for the letter did not reach
me till 1 had ordered my farewell supper ; and
as in truth I had no tradesmen's bills to pay,
I gave my orders pretty liberally, and of
course have been obliged to leave the account
unpaid, — an arrangement which to many others
would have had nothing awkward in it at all ;
but as my allowance has been always too
liberal to permit my being in debt during any
part of the time I have been at college, the not
paying my last bill there was disagreeable.
1 84 THE VICAR OF
However the people were abundantly civil, and
I flatter myself that, without the assistance of
Mr. Corbold, I shall be able to settle this mat-
ter before long.''
" What is the sum you have left unpaid,
Charles ?" inquired the baronet bluntly.
" Seventy-five pounds, Sir Gilbert."
" Then just sit down for half a moment, and
write a Hne enclosing the money; you may
cut the notes in half if you think there is any
danger."
And as he spoke he laid bank-notes to the
amount of seventy-five pounds on her lady-
ship's botanical dresser.
Young Mowbray, who had not the slightest
doubt of receiving his allowance from his mo-
ther as soon as he should ask her for it, would
rather not have been under a pecuniary obli-
gation even for a day ; but he caught the eye
of Lady Harrington, who was standing behind
her impetuous husband, and received thence a
perfectly intelligible hint that he must not re-
fuse the off'er. Most anxious to avoid renew-
ing the coldness so recently removed, he readily
and graciously accepted the offered loan, and
thereby most perfectly re-estabhshed the har-
mony which had existed throughout his life
WREXHILL. 185
between himself and the warm-hearted but
impetuous Sir Gilbert.
" Now, then," said the old gentleman with
the most cordial and happy good-huraour, " be
oflf", my dear boy ; follow my dame's advice to
the letter, and come back as soon as you con-
veniently can, to let us know what comes
of it."
Cheered in spirit by this warm renewal of
the friendship he so truly valued, young Mow-
bray set off on his homeward walk, pondering,
as he went, on the best mode of opening such a
conversation with his mother as Lady Harring-
ton recommended; a task both difficult and
disagreeable, but one which he believed it his
duty not to shrink from.
186 THE VICAR OF
CHAPTER XI.
Charles's conference with mrs. mowbray.
Strolling in the shrubbery near the house,
where for some time they had been anxiously
awaiting his return, he met his eldest sister
and Miss Torrington. Helen's first words
were, " Are they angry with me ?" and the
reply, and subsequent history of the \asit,
filled her heart with gladness. " And now,
my privy counsellors," continued Charles,
" tell me at what hour you should deem it
most prudent for me to ask my mother for an
audience."
" Instantly!'^ said Rosalind.
" Had he not better wait till to-morrow ?"
said Helen, turning very pale.
" If my advisers disagree among themselves,
WREXHILT-. ]87
I am lost," said Charles ; " for I give you my
word that I never in my whole life entered
upon an undertaking which made me feel so
anxious and undecided. Let me hear your
reasons for thus differing in opinion ? Why,
Rosalind, do you recommend such prodigious
promptitude ?"
" Because I hate suspense, — and because I
know the scene will be disagreeable to you, —
wherefore I opine that the sooner you get over
it the better."
" And you, Helen, why do you wish me to
delay it till to-morrow ?"
" Because, — oh ! Charles, — because I dread
the result. You have no idea as yet how com-
pletely her temper is changed. She is very
stern, Charles, when she is contradicted; and,
if you should make her angry, depend upon it
that it would be Mr. Cartwright who would
dictate your punishment."
" My punishment ! Nonsense, Helen ! I
shall make Miss Torrington both my Chancellor
and Archbishop, for her advice has infinitely
more wisdom in it than yours. Where is she ?
in her own dressing-room ?"
" I believe so," faltered Helen.
" Well, then, — adieu for half an hour, —
188 THE VICAR OF
perhaps for a whole one. Where shall I find
you when it is over?"
" In my dressing-room," said Helen.
" No, no/' cried Rosalind ; " I would not
have to sit with you there for an hour, watch-
ing you quiver and quake every time a door
opened, for my heiresship. Let us walk to
the great lime-tree, and stay there till you
come."
" And so envelop yourselves in a November
woodland fog, wherein to sit waiting till about
four o'clock ! The wisdom lies with Helen
this time, Miss Torrington ; I think you have
both of you been pelted long enough with
falling leaves for to-day, and therefore I
strongly recommend that you come in and wait
for my communication beside a blazing fire.
Have you no new book, no lively novel or
fancy-stirring romance, wherewith to beguile
the time ?'
" Novels and romances ! Oh ! Mr. Mow-
bray, — what a desperate sinner you must be !
The subscription at Hookham's has been out
these three months; and the same dear box
that used to be brought in amidst the eager
rejoicings of the whole family, is now become
the monthly vehicle of Evangelical Magazines,
WREXHILL. 189
Christian Observers, Missionary Reports, and
Religious Tracts, of all imaginable sorts and
sizes. We have no other modern literature
allowed us."
" Poor girls ! ' said Charles, laughing ; " what
do you do for books ?"
" Wliy, the old library supplies us indiffer-
ently well, I must confess ; and as Fanny has
changed her morning quarters from thence to
the print-room, which is now converted into a
chapel of ease for the vicar, we contrive to
abduct from thence such volumes as we wish
for without difficulty. But we were once very
near getting a book, which, I have been told,
is of the most exquisite interest and pathos of
any in the language, by a pleasant blunder of
Mrs. Mowbrav's. I chanced to be in the room
with her one day when she read aloud an old
advertisement which she happened to glance
her eye upon, stitched up in a Review of some
dozen years standing, I believe, ' Some passages
in the Life of Mr. Adam Blair, Minister of the
Gospel.' ' That's a book we ought to have,'
said she, very solemnly ; ' Rosalind, give me
that list for Ilatchard's, I will add this.' I
took up the advertisement as she laid it down,
and, not having it before her eyes, I suspect
190 THE VICAR OF
that she made some blunder about the title ;
for, when the box came down, I took care to be
present at the opening of it, and to my great
amusement, instead of the little volume that I
was hoping to see, 1 beheld all Blair's works,
with a scrap of paper from one of the shopmen,
on which was written, ' Mrs. Mowbray is re-
spectfully informed that the whole of Blair's
works are herewith forwarded, but that J. P.
is not aware of any other life of Adam than
that written by Moses.' This was a terrible
disappointment to me, I assure you."
They had now reached the house ; the two
girls withdrew their arms, and, having watched
Charles mount the stairs, they turned into the
drawing-room, — and from thence to the conser-
vatory, — and then back again, — and then up
stairs to lay aside their bonnets and cloaks, —
and then down again ; first one and then the
other looking at their watches, till they began
to suspect that they must both of them stand
still, or something very like it, so creepingly
did the time pass during which they waited for
his return.
On reaching the dressing-room door, Charles
knocked, and it was opened to him by
Fanny.
WREXHILL. 191
The fair brow of his mother contracted
at his approach ; and he immediately sus-
pected, what was indeed the fact, that Fan-
ny had been relating to her the conversation
which had passed between them in the morn-
ing.
He rather rejoiced at this than the contrary,
as he thought the conversation could not be
better opened than by his expressing his opi-
nions and feelings upon what had fallen from
her during this interview. He did not, how-
ever, wish that she should be present, and
therefore said,
" Will you let me, dear mother, say a few
words to you tete-a-tcte. Come, Fanny ; run
away, will you, for a little while ?"
Fanny instantly left the room, and Mrs.
Mowbray, without answering his request, sat
silently v/aiting for what he was about to say.
" I want to speak to you, mother, about our
dear Fanny. I assure you I am very uneasy
about her; I do not think she is in good
health, either of body or mind."
" Your ignorance of medicine is, I believe,
total, Charles," she replied dryly, " and there-
fore your opinion concerning her bodily health
192 THE VICAR OF
does not greatly alarm me ; and you must par-
don me if I say that I conceive your ignorance
respecting all things relating to a human soul,
is more profound still."
" I am sorry you should think so, dearest
mother; but I assure you that neither physic
nor divinity have been neglected in my edu-
cation."
" And by whom have you been taught?
Blind guides have been your teachers, who
have led you, I fear, to the very brink of de-
struction. When light is turned into darkness,
how great is that darkness !"
" My teachers have been those that my dear
father appointed me, and I have never seen
any cause to mistrust either their wisdom or
their virtue, mother."
" And know you not that your poor un-
happy father was benighted, led astray, and
lost by having himself listened to such teach-
ing as he caused to be given to you ? But you,
Charles, if you did not harden your heart, even
as the nether millstone, might even yet be
saved among the remnant. Put yourself into
the hands and under the training of the pious,
blessed minister whom the Lord hath sent us.
WREXHILL. 193
Open your sinful heart to Mr. Cartwright,
Charles, and you may save your soul alive ! "
" Mother !" said Charles with solemn earnest-
ness, " Mr. Cartwright's doctrines are dread-
ful and sinful in my eyes. My excellent and
most beloved father was a Protestant Christian,
born, educated, and abiding to his last hour in
the faith and hope taught by the established
church of his country. In that faith and hope,
mother, I also have been reared by him and
by you ; and rather than change it for the
impious and frightful doctrines of the sectarian
minister you name, who most dishonestly has
crept within the pale of an establishment whose
dogmas and discipline he profanes, — rather,
mother, than adopt this Mr. Cartwright's un-
holy belief, and obey his unauthorised and un-
scriptural decrees, I would kneel down upon
the steps of God's altar and implore him to lay
my bones beside my father's."
" Leave the room, Charles Mowbray !" ex-
claimed his mother almost in a scream ; " let
not the walls that shelter me be witness to
such fearful blasphemy !"
" I cannot, and I will not leave you, mother,
till I have told you how very wretched you
are making me and my poor sister Helen by
VOL. II. K
194 THE VICAR OF
thus forsaking that form of religion in which
from our earhest childhood we have been ac-
customed to see you worship God. Why, —
why, dearest mother, should you bring this
dreadful schism upon your family ? Can you
believe this to be your duty }"
" By what right, human or divine, do you
thus question me, lost, unhappy boy ? But
I will answer you; and I trust the mercy
of the Lord will visit me with forgiveness
for intercommuning with one who lives in
open rebellion to his saints ! Yes, sir ; I do
believe it is my duty to hold fast the con-
viction which the Lord, in his heavenly good-
ness, has sent me by the hand of his anointed.
I do believe it is my duty to testify by my
voice, and by every act of my life during the
remaining time for which the Lord shall spare
me for the showing forth of his glory, that I
consider the years that are past as an abomina-
tion in the sight of the Lord ; that my living
in peace and happiness with your unawakened
and unregenerate father was an abomination in
the sight of the Lord ; and that now, at the
eleventh hour, my only hope of being received
by Christ rests in my hating and abhorring, and
forsaking and turning away from, all that is.
WREXHILL. 195
and has been, nearest and dearest to my sinful
heart !"
Charles listened to this rant with earnest
and painful attention, and, when she ceased,
looked at her through tears that presently
overflowed his eyes,
" Have I then lost my only remaining pa-
rent?" said he. "And can you thus close
your heart against me, and your poor Helen,
my mother?"
" By the blessing of the Lord I am strong,"
replied the deluded lady, struggling to over-
come God's best gift of pure affection in her
heart. " By the blessing of Jesus, and by the
earnest prayers of his hohest saint, I am able
wretched boy, to look at thee and say, Satan,
avaunt ! But the Lord tries me sorely," she
continued, turning her eyes from the manly
countenance of her son, now wet with tears.
" Sorely, sorely, doomed and devoted boy,
does he try me! But he, the Lord's vicar
upon earth, the darling of the holy Jesus, the
chosen shepherd, the anointed saint, — he, even
he tells me to be of good cheer, for whom the
Ijord loveth he chasteneth.
" Can you then believe, mother, that the
merciful God of heaven and of earth approves
K 2
196 THE VICAR OF
your forsaking your children, solely because
they worship him as they have been taught to
do ? Can you believe that he approves your
turning your eyes and heart from them to
devote yourself to a stranger to your blood, a
preacher of strange doctrine, and one who loves
them not ?"
" I have already told you, impious maligner
of the holiest of men, that I know where my
duty lies. I know, I tell you, that I not only
know it, but will do it. Torment me no more !
Leave me, leave me, unhappy boy ! leave me,
that I may pray to the Lord for pardon for
having listened to thee so long."
She rose from her seat, and approached him,
as if to thrust him from the chamber ; but he
suffered her to advance without moving, and
when she was close to him, he threw his arms
round her, and held her for a moment in a
close embrace. She struggled violently to dis-
engage herself, and he relaxed his hold ; but,
dropping on his knees before her, at the same
moment he exclaimed wdth passionate tender-
ness, " My dear, dear mother ! have I then
received your last embrace ? Shall I never
again feel your beloved lips upon my cheeks,
my lips, my forehead ? Mother I what can
WREXHILL. 197
Helen and I do to win back your precious
love ?"
" Surely the Lord will reward me for this !"
said the infatuated woman almost wildly.
'^ Surely he will visit me with an exceeding
great reward ! and will he not visit thee too,
unnatural son, for art not thou plotting against
my soul to destroy it }"
" There is, then, no hope for us from the
voice of nature, no hope from the voice of
reason and of truth ? Then hear me, mother,
for I too must act according to the voice of
conscience. Helen and I must leave you ; we
can no longer endure to be so near you in
appearance, while in reality we are so fearfully
estranged. You have been very generous to
me in the sum which you named for my allow-
ance at my father's death ; and as soon as my
commission is obtained, that allowance will
suffice to support me, for my habits have never
been extravagant. May I ask you to assign a
similar sum to Helen ? This will enable her to
command such a home with respectable people
as may befit your daughter ; and you will not
doubt, I think, notwithstanding the unhappy
difference in our opinions on points of doctrine,
198 THE VICAR OF
that I shall watch over her as carefully as our
dear father himself could have done."
" He is a prophet ! yea, a prophet !" ex-
claimed Mrs. Mowbray; " and shall I be
blind even as the ungodly, and doubt his word
into whose mouth the Lord hath put the gift
of prophecy and the words of wisdom ? He
hath spoken, and very terrible things are come
to pass. Can your heart resist such proof
as this, Charles r^' she continued, raising her
eyes and hands to heaven : — " even what you
have now spoken, that did he predict and
foretell you should speak !"
" He guessed the point, then, at which we
could bear no more," replied Charles with bit-
terness : " and did he predict too what answer
our petition should receive ?'^
" He did," returned Mrs. Mowbray either
with real or with feigned simplicity; " and
even that too shall be verified. Now, then,
hear his blessed voice through my lips ; and as
I say, so must thou do. Go to your benighted
sister, and tell her that for her sake I will
wrestle with the Lord in prayer. With great
and exceeding anguish of spirit have I already
wrestled for her ; but she is strong and wilful.
A^REXHILL. 199
and resisteth alway. — Nevertheless, I will not
give her over to her own heart's desire; nor
will I turn mine eyes from her. For a while
longer I will endure, for so hath the Lord
commanded by the lips of his anointed : and
for you, unhappy son, I must take counsel
of the Lord from the same holy well-spring
of righteousness, and what he shall speak,
look that it come to pass."
" You have denounced a terrible sentence
against Helen, mother ! For nearly two years,
then, she must look forward to a verj^ wretched
life ; but, without your consent, I cannot till
she is of age remove her. Dear girl ! she has
a sweet and gentle spirit, and will, I trust, be
enabled to bear patiently her most painful situ-
ation. But as for myself, it may be as well to-
inform Mr. Cartwright at once, through you,
that any interference with me or my concerns
will not be endured ; and that I advise him, for
his OAvn sake, to let me hear and see as little of
him as possible."
Mrs. Mowbray seemed to listen to these
words in perfect terror, as if she feared a
thunderbolt must fall and crush at once the
speaker and the hearer of such daring impiety.
But the spirit of Charles was chafed ; and con-
200 THE VICAR OF
scious perhaps that he was in danger of saying
what he might wish to recall on the influence
which his mother avowed that the vicar had
obtained over her, he hastened to conclude the
interview, and added : " I will beg you, ma'am,
immediately to give me a draft for my quarter's
allowance, due on the first of this month. I
want immediately to send money to Oxford."
" Did I not tell you, Charles, to inform my
man of business, — that serious and exemplary
man, Mr. Corbold, — what money you owed in
Oxford, and to whom ? And did I not inform
you at the same time that he should have
instructions to acquit the same forthwith?"
" Yes, mother, you certainly did send me a
letter to that effect; but as my father per-
mitted me, before I came of age to pay my own
bills, and to dispose of my allowance as 1
thought fit, I did not choose to change my
usual manner of proceeding, and therefore left
what I owed unpaid, preferring to remit the
money myself. Will you please to give me
the means of doing this now ?"
" May the Lord be gracious to me and
mine, as I steadily now, and for ever, refuse to
do so great iniquity ! Think you, Charles, that
I, guided and governed, as I glory to say I am.
WREXHILL. 201
by one sent near me by the providence of the
Lord to watch over me now in my time of
need, — think you that I will hire and pay
your wicked will to defy the Lord and his
anointed ?"
" Do you mean, then, mother, to withdraw
my allowance?" said Charles.
" I thank my Lord and Saviour that I do !"
she replied, casting her eyes to heaven : " and
humbly on my knees will I thank the blessed
Jesus for giving me that strength, even in the
midst of weakness !"
As she spoke, she dropped upon her knees
on the floor, with her back towards her un-
happy son. He remained standing for a few
moments, intending to utter some nearly hope-
less words of remonstrance upon the cruel
resolution she had just announced ; but as she
did not rise, he left the room, and with a
heavy heart proceeded to look for Helen and
her friend ; though he would gladly have pre-
pared himself by an hour of solitude for com-
municating tidings which had very nearly over-
thrown his philosophy. But he had promised
to see them and to tell them all that passed ;
and he prepared to perform this promise with
k3
202 THE VICAR OF
a heavier heart than had ever before troubled
his bosom. He shrank from the idea of
appearing before Rosalind in a situation so
miserably humiliating, for at this moment fears
that the rejjort mentioned by Lady Harrington
might be true pressed upon him ; and though
his better judgment told him that such feelings
were contemptible, when about to meet the eye
of a friend he could not subdue them, and as
he opened the drawing-room door, the youthful
fire of his eye was quenched and his pale lip
trembled.
"^ Oh ! Charles, how dreadfully ill you look !"
exclaimed Helen.
" What can have passed ?" said Miss Tor-
rington looking almost as pale as himself.
" Much that has been very painful," he re-
plied ; " but I am ashamed at being thus over-
powered by it. Tell me, both of you, without
any reserve, have you ever thought — has the
idea ever entered your heads, that my unfortu-
nate mother was likely to marry Cartwright ?"
" No, — never,"' replied Helen firmly.
" Yes,'' said Rosalind falteringly ; — but
less with the hesitation of doubt, than from
fear of giving pain.
WREXHILL. 203
" Lady Harrington told me it was spoken
of," said Mowbray with a deep sigh.
" It is impossible \" sai'd Helen, " I cannot :
— I will not believe it. Rosalind ! if you have
had such an idea, how comes it that you have
kept it secret from me ?"
" If, instead of darkly fearing it," replied
Rosalind, " I had positively known it to be
true, I doubt if I should have named it,
Helen ; — I could not have borne that words so
hateful should have first reached the family
from me."
" Has she told you it is so ?" inquired Helen,
her lips so parched with agitation that she pro-
nounced the words with difficulty.
" No, dearest, she has not ; and perhaps I
am wrong both in conceiving such an idea, and
in naming it. But her mind is so violently, so
strangely wrought upon by this detestable man,
that I can only account for it by beheving that
he is "
There was much filial piety in the feeling that
prevented his finishing the sentence.
" It is so that I have reasoned," said Rosa-
lind. " Heaven grant that we be both mis-
taken ! — But will you not tell us, Charles, what
it is that has suggested the idea to you ? For
204 THE VICAR OF
Heaven's sake relate, if you can, what has pass-
ed between you ?'^
" If I can ! — Indeed I doubt my power.
She spoke of me as of one condemned of
God."
Rosahnd started from her seat. — " Do not
go on, Mr. Mowbray !" she exclaimed with
great agitation ; " I cannot bear this, and meet
her with such external observance and civility
as my situation demands. It can do us no
good to discuss this wicked folly, — this most
sinful madness. I, at least, for one, feel a
degree of indignation — a vehemence of irrita-
tion on the subject, that will not, I am sure,
produce good to any of us. She must go on
in the dreadful path in which she has lost
herself, till she meet something that shall
shock and turn her back again. But all that
can be done or said by others will but drive
her on the faster, adding the fervour of a mar-
tyr to that of a convert.'^
" You speak like an oracle, dear Rosalind,"
said poor Mowbray, endeavouring to smile, and
more relieved than he would have avowed to
himself at being spared the task of narrating
his downfall from supposed wealth to actual
penury before her.
WREXHILL. 205
'^ She speaks like an oracle, but a very sad
one," said Helen. " Nevertheless, we will listen
and obey. — You have spoken to my mother,
and what you have said has produced no good
effect : to me, therefore, it is quite evident that
nothing can. Were it not that the fearful use
which we hear made of the sacred name of
God makes me tremble lest I too should use
it irreverently, I would express the confidence
I feel, that if we bear this heavy sorrow well,
his care will be with vis : and whether we say
it or not, let us feel it. And now, Rosalind, we
must redeem our lost time, and read for an
hour or so upstairs. See ! we have positively
let the fire go out ; — a proof how extremely
injurious it is to permit our thoughts to fix
themselves too intensely on anything : — it ren-
ders one incapable of attending to the neces-
sary affairs of life. — There, Charles, is a ser-
mon for you. But don't look so miserable,
my dear brother ; or my courage will melt into
thin air."
" I will do my best to master it, Helen," he
replied ; ^' but I shall not be able to make
a display of my stoicism before you this even-
ing, for I must return to Oakley."
206 THE VICAR OF
" Are you going to dine there ? Why did
you not tell me so ?"
" If my conversation with my mother had
ended differently, Helen, I should have post-
poned my visit till to-morrow ; but as it is,
it will be better for me to go now. I will drive
myself over in the cab. I suppose I can have
Joseph ?" He rang the bell as he spoke.
" Let the cab be got ready for me in half an
hour : and tell Joseph I shall want him to go
out with me to dinner."
" The cab is not at home, sir,'^ replied the
servant.
" Is it gone to the coach-maker's ? — What is
the matter with it."
" There is nothing the matter with it, sir ;
but Mr. Cartwright has got it."
" Then let my mare be saddled. She is in
the stable, I suppose ?"
" Mr. Corbold has had the use of your mare,
Mr. Charles, for more than a month, sir : and
terribly worked she has been, Dick says."
" Very well — it's no matter : I shall walk,
William."
The servant retired, with an expression of
more sympathy than etiquette could warrant.
WREXHILL. 207
Helen looked at her brother in very mournful
silence ; but tears of indignant passion started
to the bright eyes of Rosalind. " Is there no
remedy for all this ?" she exclaimed. " Helen,
let us run away together. They cannot rob
me of my money, I suppose. Do ask Sir Gil-
bert, Charles, if I am obliged to stay here and
witness these hateful goings-on."
" I will — I will. Miss Torrington. It would
indeed, be best for you to leave us. But my
poor Helen, — she must stay and bear it."
" Then I shall stay too : and that I think
you might guess, Mr. Mowbray.^'
Rosalind's tears overflowed as she spoke ; and
Charles Mowbray looked at her with that
wringing of the heart which arises from think-
ing that all things conspire to make us wretch-
ed. When he was the reputed heir of fourteen
thousand a year, he had passed whole weeks in
the society of Rosalind, and never dreamed he
loved her ; — but now, now that he was a
beggar, and a beggar too, as it seemed, not
very likely to be treated with much charity by
his own mother, — now that it would be infamy
to turn his thouo;hts towards the heiress with
any hope or wish that she should ever be
208
THE VICAR OF
his, he felt that he adored her — that every hour
added strength to a passion that he would
rather die than reveal, and that without a
guinea in the world to take him or to keep
him elsewhere, his remaining where he was
would expose him to sufferings that he felt he
had no strength to bear.
WREXHILL. 209
CHAPTER XII.
THE vicar's progress, AND HIS COUNSEL TO FANNY AS
TO THE BEST MEANS OF ASSISTING THE POOR.
When the family assembled at dinner, and
Mrs. Mowbray perceived the place of her son
vacant, she changed colour, and appeared dis-
composed and absent during the whole time
she remained at table. This, however, was
not long ; for, a very few minutes after the
cloth was removed, she rose, and saying, " I
want you, Fanny," left the room with her
youngest daughter without making either ob-
servation or apology to those she left. The
result of this conference between the mother
and daughter was the despatching a note to the
Vicarage, which brought the vicar to join them
with extraordinary speed.
210 THE VICAR OF
Mrs. Mowbray then related witli a good deal
of emotion the scene which had taken place be-
tween herself and her son in the morning ; con-
cluding it with mentioning his absence at din-
ner, and her fears that, in his unregenerate state
of mind, he might be led to withdraw himself
altoo-ether from a home where oodUness had
begun to reign, and where, by the blessing of
the Lord Jesus, it would multiply and increase
every day that they were sjDared to live.
When she had concluded, Mr. Cartwright
remained for several minutes silent, his eyes
fixed upon the carpet, his arms folded upon his
breast, and his head from time to time moved
gently and sadly to and fro, as if the subject
on which he was meditating were both im-
portant and discouraging. At length he raised
his eyes, and fixed them upon Fanny,
" My dear child," he said, " Mdthdraw your-
self, and pray, while your mother and I remain
together. Pray for us, Fanny ! — pray for both
of us, that we may so do the duty appointed
unto us by the Lord, as what we may decide
to execute shall redound to his glory, and to
our everlasting salvation, world without end.
I
amen !"
WREXHILL. 211
Fanny rose instantly, and clasping her inno-
cent hands together, fervently exclaimed " I
wiU'.-lMdlir
Having opened the door, and laid his delicate
white hand upon her head, whispering an
ardent blessing as she passed through it, he
watched her as she retreated with a rapid step
to her chamber anxious to perform the duty
assigned her ; and then closing and bolting it
after her, he returned to the sofa near the fire,
and seated himself beside Mrs. Mowbray.
" My friend !" said Mr. Cartwright, taking
her hand ; " my dear, dear friend ! you are
tried, you are very sorely tried. But it is the
will of the Lord, and we must not repine at it :
rather let us praise his name alway P'
" I do !" ejaculated the widow with very
pious emotion ; " I do praise and bless his holy
name for all the salvation he hath vouchsafed
to me, a sinner — and to my precious Fanny
with me. Oh, Mr. Cartwright, it is very dear
to my soul to think that 1 shall have that little
holy angel with me in paradise ! But be my
guide and helper" — and here the good and
serious lady very nearly returned the pressure
with which her hand was held, — " oh ! be my
guide and helper with my other misguided
212 THE VICAR OF
children ! Tell me, dear Mr. Cartwright, what
must I do with Charles !"
"^ It is borne in upon my mind, my dear and
gentle friend, that there is but one chance left
to save that deeply-perilled soul from the ever-
lasting gulf of gnawing worms and of eternal
flame."
" Is there one chance V exclaimed the poor
woman in a real ecstasy. " Oh ! tell me what
it is, and there is nothing in the wide world
that I would not bear and suffer to obtain it."
" He must abandon the profession of arms,
and become a minister of the gospel.^'
" Oh ! Mr. Cartwright, he never will consent
to this. From his earliest childhood, his un-
happy and unawakened father taught him to
glory in the thought of fighting the battles of
his country ; and with the large fortune he
must one day have, is it not probable that he
might be tempted to neglect the cure of souls ?
And then, you know, Mr. Cartwright, that the
last state of that man would be worse than the
first."
Mr. Cartwright dropped the lady^s hand
and rose from his seat. " I must leave you,
then," he said, his rich voice sinking into a tone
of the saddest melancholy. " I must not — I
WREXHILL. 213
may not give any other counsel ; for in doing
so, I should betray my duty to the Lord, and
betray the confidence you have placed in me.
Adieu, then, beloved friend ! adieu for ever !
My heart — the weak and throbbing heart of a
man is even now heaving in my breast. That
heart will for ever forbid my speaking with
harshness and austerity to you. Therefore,
beloved but too feeble friend, adieu ! Should I
stay longer with you, that look might betray
me into forgctfulness of everything on earth —
and heaven too !"
The three last words were uttered in a low
and mournful whisper. He then walked to-
wards the door, turned to give one last look,
and having unfastened the lock and shot back
the bolt, was in the very act of departing, when
Mrs. Mowbra)'^ rushed towards him, exclaiming
" Oh, do not leave us all to everlasting damna-
tion ! Save us ! save us ! Tell me only what
to do, and I will do it.^'
In the extremity of her eagerness, terror, and
emotion, she fell on her knees before him, and
raising her tearful eyes to his, seemed silently
to reiterate the petition she had uttered.
Mr. Cartwright looked down upon her,
turned away for one short instant to rebolt the
214 THE VICAR OF
door, and then, raising his eyes to heaven, and
dropping on his knees beside her, he threw his
arms around her, impressed a holy kiss upon
her brow, exclaiming in a voice rendered tre-
mulous, as it should seem, by uncontrollable
agitation, " Oh, never ! never !"
After a few moments unavoidably lost by
both in efforts to recover their equanimity,
they rose and reseated themselves on the sofa.
The handkerchief of Mrs. Mowbray was at
her eyes. She appeared greatly agitated, and
totally unable to speak herself, sat in trembling
expectation of what her reverend friend should
say next.
It was not immediately, however, that Mr.
Cartwright could recover his voice ; but at
length he said, " It is impossible, my too lovely
friend, that we can either of us any longer
mistake the nature of the sentiment which we
feel for each other. But we have the comfort
of kno^\^[ng that this sweet and blessed senti-
ment is implanted in us by the will of the
Lord — holy and reverend be his name ! And
if it be sanctified to his honour and glory, it
becometh the means of raising us to glory ever-
lasting in the life to come. Wherefore, let us
not weep and lament, but rather be joyful and
I
WREXHILL. 215
give thanks that so it hath seemed good in his
sight?"
Mrs. Mowbray answered only by a deep
sigh, which partook indeed of the nature of a
sob ; and by the continued apphcation of her
handkerchief, it appeared that she wept freely.
Mr. Cartwright once more ventured to take
her hand; and that she did not withdraw it,
seemed to evince such a degree of Christian
humility, and such a heavenly-minded forgive-
ness of his presumption, that the pious feehngs
of his heart broke forth in thanksgiving.
" Praise and glory to the Lord alway !" he
exclaimed, " your suffering sweetness, dearest
Clara, loveliest of women, most dearly-beloved
in the Lord, — your suffering sweetness shall be
bruised no more ! Let me henceforward be
as the shield and buckler that shall guard thee,
so that thou shalt not be afraid for any terror
by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day.
And tell me, most beloved ! does not thy spirit
rejoice, and is not thy heart glad, even as my
heart, that the Lord hath been pleased to lay
his holy law upon us — even upon thee and
me ?"
" Oh, Mr. CartwTight !" replied the agitated
Mrs. Mowbray, " I know not what I can — I
216 THE VICAR OF
know not what I ought to do. May the Lord
guide me ! — for, alas ! I know not how to guide
myself !"
" And fear not, Clara, but he will guide
thee ! for he hath made thee but a httle lower
than the angels, and hath crowned thee with
glory and honour. And tell me, thou highly-
favoured of the Lord, doth not thy own heart
teach thee, that heart being taught of him, that
I am he to whom thou shouldst look for com-
fort now in the time of this mortal life? Speak
to me, sweet and holy Clara. Tell me, am I
deceived in thee ? Or art thou indeed, and
wilt thou indeed be mine ?"
" If I shall sin not by doing so, I will,
Mr. Cartwright ; for my spirit is too weak to
combat all the difficulties I see before me.
My soul trusts itself to thee — be thou to me
a strong tower, for I am afraid."
" Think you, Clara, that he who has led
you out of darkness into the way of life would
now, for the gratification of his own earthly
love, become a stumbling-ljlock in thy path ?
My beloved friend ! how are you to wrestle
and fight for and with that misguided young
man, who hath now, even now, caused you
such bitter sufferings ? He is thine ; therefore
WREXHILL. 217
he is dear to me. Let me lead him, even as I
have led thee, and his spirit too, as well as
thine and Fanny's, shall rejoice in the Lord his
Saviour I"
" Then be it so !" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray,
" Promise me only to lead Helen also into life
everlasting, and not to leave the poor benighted
Rosalind for ever in darkness, and I will con-
sent, Mr. Cartwright, to be your wife !"
Nothing could be more satisfactory than the
vicar's answer to this appeal, and had not the
good Mrs. Mowbray been too generous to
exact a penalty in case of failure, there can be
little doubt but that he would willingly have
bound himself under any forfeiture she could
have named, to have ensured a place in heaven,
not only to all those she mentioned, but to
every individual of her household, the scullion
and stable-boys included.
The great question answered of " To be or
not to be the husband of Mrs. Mowbray ?" the
vicar began to point out to her in a more com-
posed and business-like manner the great ad-
vantages both temporal and spiritual which
must of necessity result to her family from this
arrangement; and so skilfully did he manage
VOL. II. L
2 1 8 THE VICAR OF
her feelings and bend lier mind to his purpose,
that when at length he gave her lips the fare-
well kiss of affianced love, and departed, he
left her in the most comfortable and prayerful
state of composure imaginable. In about ten
minutes after he was gone, she rang her bell,
and desired that Miss Fanny might come to
her; when, without exactly telling her the
important business which had been settled
during the time she passed upon her knees,
she gave her to understand that Mr. Cartwright
had probably thought of the only means by
which all the unhappy disagreements in the
family could be settled.
" Indeed, mamma, I prayed for him," said
Fanny, lifting her eyes to Heaven ; " I prayed
most earnestly, that the Holy Spirit might
bring him wisdom to succour you according
to your wish, and therein to heal all our
troubles."
" And your prayers have been heard, my
dear child ; and the Lord hath sent him the
wisdom that we all so greatly needed. — Have
they had tea in the drawing-room, Fanny ?"
" I don't know, mamma. I have been kneel-
ing and praying all the time."
'' Then, my dear, you must want refresh-
WREXHILL. 219
ment. Go down and tell them that I am not
quite well this evening, and shall therefore not
come down again ; but they may send me some
tea by Curtis."
" I hope you are not very ill, my dearest
mother ?'^ said Fanny, looking anxiously at
her.
" No, dear, — not very ill — only a little
nervous.^'
******
While these scenes passed at Mowbray Park,
poor Charles was relieving his heart by relat-
ing, without reserve, what had passed between
him and his mother. His first words on enter-
ing the library, where Sir Gilbert and Lady
Harrington were seated, were, " Have you sent
that letter to Oxford, Sir Gilbert ?"
" Yes, I have," was the reply. " But why
do you inquire, Charles ?"
" Because, if you had not, I would have
begged you to delay it."
" And why so?"
In reply to this question, young Mowbray
told all that had passed ; observing, when his
painful tale was ended, that such being his
mother's decision, he intended to apply im-
L 2
220 THE VICAR OF
mediately to Corbold for the money he
wanted.
" Not you, by Jove, Charles ! You shall
do no such thing, I tell you ! What ! knuckle
and truckle to this infernal gang of hypo-
crites ? You shall do no such thing. Just
let me know all that is going on in the garri-
son, and if I don't counter-plot them, I am
a Dutchman."
" Puff not up your heart. Sir Knight, with
such vain conceits,'^ said Lady Harrington.
" You will plot like an honest man, and the
Tartuife will plot like a rogue. I leave you to
ffuess which will do the most work in the
shortest time. Nevertheless, you are right to
keep him out of the way of these people as
long as you can."
Notwithstanding the heavy load at his heart,
which Mowbray brought with him to Oakley,
before he had passed an hour \iath his old
friends his sorrows appeared lighter, and his
hopes from the future brighter and stronger.
Sir Gilbert, though exceedingly angry with
Mrs. Mowbray, still retained some respect for
her; and, spite of all his threatening hints
to the contrary, he no more believed that
WREXHILL. 221
the widow of his old friend would marry her-
self to the Reverend William Jacob Cart-
wright, than that he, when left a widower
by my lady, should marry the drunken land-
lady of the Three Tankards at Ramsden. He
therefore spoke to Charles of his present vexa-
tious embarrassments as of all evils that must
naturally clear away, requiring only a little
temporary good management to render them
of very small importance to him. Of Helen's
situation, however, Lady Harrington spoke
with great concern, and proposed that she
and Miss Torrington should transfer them-
selves from the Park to Oakley as soon as
Charles joined his regiment, and there remain
till Mrs. Mowbray had sufficiently recovered
her senses to make them comfortable at
home.
Before the young man left them, it was set-
tled that Colonel Harrington should immedi-
ately exert himself to obtain the commission
so long promised ; a service in the performance
of which no difficulty was anticipated, as the
last inquiries made on the subject at the Horse-
Guards were satisfactorily answered.
" Meanwhile," said the baronet as he wruns
his hand at parting, " give not way for one
222 THE VICAR OF
single inch before the insolent interference of
these canters and ranters : remember who and
what you are, and that you have a friend who
will make the county too hot to hold any one,
male or female, who shall attempt to shake or
shackle you in your natural rights. Treat
your mother with the most perfect respect and
poUteness ; but make her understand that you
are your father's son, and that there is such a
thing as public opinion, which, on more occa-
sions than one, has been found as powerful as
any other law of the land. Cheer the spirits of
the poor woe-begone girls as much as you can ;
and tell Helen that her duty to her father's
memory requires that she should not neglect
her father's friends. And now, good night,
Charles ! Come to us as often as you can ; and
God bless you, my dear boy P'
By this advice young Mowbray determined
to act ; and wishing to escape any discussion
upon lesser points, he avoided all t^te-a-t^te
conversations with his mother, kept as much out
of Mr. Cartwright's way as possible, turned his
back upon the serious attorney whenever he
met him, and devoted his time to walking,
reading, and singing, with Miss Torrington
and his sister Helen, while waiting to receive
WREXHILL. 223
the news of his appointment. When this
should arrive, he determined once more to see
his mother in private, and settle with her, on
the best footing he could, the amount and
manner of his future supjolies.
This interval, which lasted nearly a month,
was by no means an unhappy one to Charles.
He had great confidence in the judgment of
Sir Gilbert Harrington, and being much more
inclined to believe in his mother's affection than
to doubt it, he resolutely shut his eyes upon
whatever was likely to annoy him, and gave
himself up to that occupation which beyond
all others enables a man or a woman either to
overlook and forget every other, — namely, the
making love from morning to night.
The manner in which this undeclared but
very intelligible devotion of the heart was re-
ceived by the fair oljject of it was such, per-
haps, as to justify hope, though it by no means
afforded any certainty that the feeling was re-
turned. Even Helen, who fully possessed her
brother's confidence, and had hitherto, as she
believed, fully possessed the confidence of Ro-
salind also, — even Helen knew not very well
what to make of the varying symptoms which
her friend's heart betrayed. That Miss Tor-
224 THE VICAR Of
rington took great pleasure in the society ot
Mr. Mowbray, it was impossible to doubt; and
that she wished him to find pleasure in hers,
was equally clear. His favourite songs only
were those which she practised in his absence
and sang in his presence ; he rarely praised a
passage in their daily readings which she might
not, by means of a little watching, be found to
have read again within the next twenty-four
hours. The feeble winter-blossoms from the
conservatory, of which he made her a daily
offering, might be seen preserved on her toilet
in a succession of glasses, and only removed at
length by a remonstrance from her maid, who
assured her that " stale flowers were unwhole-
some ; though, to be sure, coming out of that
elegant conservatory did make a difference, no
doubt." Yet even then, the bouquet of a
week old was not permitted to make its exit
till some aromatic leaf or still greeii sprig of
myrtle had been drawn from it, and deposited
somewhere or other, where its pretty mistress,
perhaps, never saw it more, but which never-
theless prevented her feeling that she had
thrown the flowers he had given her on Sun-
day in the breakfast-room, or on Monday in
the drawing-room ; &c. &c. &c., quite away.
WREXHILL. 225
Yet, with all this, it was quite impossible
that Charles, or even Helen, who kneAV more
of these little symptomatic whims than he did,
could feel at all sure what Rosalind's answer
would be if Mr. Mowbray made her a proposal
of marriage.
From time to time words dropped from Ro-
salind indicative of her extreme disapproba-
tion of early marriages both for women and
men, and declaring that there was nothing she
should dread so much as forming a union for
life with a man too young to know his own
mind. When asked by Charles at what age she
conceived it likely that a man might attain
this very necessary self-knovdedge, she answer-
ed with a very marked emphasis,
" Decidedly not till they are many years
older than you are, Mr. Mowbray."
Even to her own heart Rosalind would at
this time have positively denied, not only that
she loved Charles Mowbray,' but that Charles
Mowbray loved her. She was neither insen-
sible nor indifferent to his admiration, or to
the pleasure he took in her society ; but she
had heard Charles's judgment of her on her
arrival more than once repeated in jest. He
had said, that she was neither so amiable as
L 3
226 THE VICAR OF
Helen, nor so handsome as Fanny. To both
of these opinions she most sincerely subscribed,
and with such simple and undoubting acquies-
cence, that it was only when she began to read
in his eyes the legible "- I love you," that she
remembered his having said it. Then her wo-
man's heart told her, that inferior though she
might be, it was not her husband that must
be the first to discover it, and superior as he
was, — which she certainly was not disposed to
deny, — it was not with such disproportionate
excellence that she should be most likely to
form a happy union.
Had Mowbray guessed how grave and deep-
ly-seated in Rosalind's mind were the reasons
which would have led her decidedly to refuse
him, this flowery portion of his existence would
have lost all its sweetness. It was therefore
favourable to his present enjoyment that, con-
fident as he felt of ultimately possessing the
fortune to which he was born, he determined
not to propose to Rosalind till his mother had
consented to assure to him an independence
as undoubted as her own. The sweet vapour of
hope, therefore, — the incense with which young
hearts salute the morning of life, — enveloped
him on all sides : and pity is it that the rain-
WREXHILL. 227
bow-tinted mist should ever be blown away
from those who, like him, are better, as well as'
happier, for the halo that so surrounds them !
Many a storm is preceded by a calm, — many
a gay and happy hour only gives the frightful
force of contrast to the misery that follows
it.
Mr. Cartwright having once and again re-
ceived the plighted faith of Mrs. Mowbray, for
the present confined his operations solely to
the gentle task of urging her to hasten his hap-
piness, and the assurance of eternal salvation
to all her family.
But here, though the obstacles he had to
encounter were of a soft and malleable nature,
easily yielding to the touch, and giving way at
one point, they were yet difficult to get rid of
altogether ; for they were sure to swell up like
dough, and meet him again in another place.
Thus, when he proved to the pious widow
that the Lord could never wish her to delay
her marriage till her year of mourning was out,
seeing that his honour and glory, his worship
and service, would be so greatly benefited and
increased thereby, sho first agreed perfectly in
his view of the case as so put, but immediately
placed before him the violent odium which
228 THE VICAR OF
they should have to endure from the opinion
of the world. And then, when his eloquence
had convinced her, that it was sinful for those
who set not their faith in princes, nor in any
child of man, to regulate their conduct by such
worldly considerations, — though she confessed
to him that as their future associations would of
course be wholly and only among the elect,
she might perhaps overcome her fear of what
her neighbours and unregenerate acquaintance
might say, yet nevertheless she doubted if she
could find courage to send orders to her mil-
liner and dress-maker for coloured suits, even
of a sober and religious tint, as it was so very
short a time since she had ordered her half-
mourning.
It was more difficult perhaps to push this
last difficulty aside than any other; for Mr.
Cartwright could not immediately see how to
bring the great doctrine of salvation to bear
upon it.
However, though the ladv had not vet been
prevailed upon to fix the day, and even at in-
tervals still spoke of the eligibility of waiting
till the year of mourning was ended, yet on the
whole he had no cause to complain of the terms
on wliich he stood with her, and very wisely
WREXHILL. 229
permitted the peace of mind which he himself
enjoyed to diffuse itself benignly over all the
inhabitants of the Park and the Vicarage.
Henrietta, who throughout the winter had
been in too delicate a state of health to venture
out of the house, was permitted to read what
books she liked at the corner of the parlour-
fire ; while Mr. Jacob, far from being annoyed
by any particular strictness of domestic disci-
pline, became extremely like the wind which
bloweth where it listeth, wandering from farm-
house to farm-house— -nav, even from villasre to
village, without restriction of any kind from
his much-engaged father.
Fanny, however, was neither overlooked nor
neglected ; though to have now led her about
to httle tete-a-tete prayer-meetings in the
woods was impossible. First, the wintry
season forbad it ; and secondly, the very par-
ticular and important discussions v/hich busi-
ness rendered necessary in Mrs. Mowbray's
dressing-room— or, as it had lately been desig-
nated, Mrs. Mowbray's morning-parlour —
must have made such an occupation as difficult
as dangerous.
At these discussions Fanny was never in-
vited to appear. She prayed in company witli
230 THE VICAR OF
her mother and Mr. Cartwright, and some of
the most promising of the domestics, for an
hour in the mornino^ and an hour in the even-
ing ; but the manner in which the interval
between these two prayings was spent showed
very considerable tact and discrimination of
character in the Vicar of Wrexhill.
Soon after the important interview which
has been stated to have taken place between
the lady of the manor and the vicar had oc-
curred, Mr. Cartwright having met Fanny on
the stairs in his way to her mamma's morning
parlour, asked her, with even more than his
usual tender kindness, whether he might not
be admitted for a few minutes into her
"study;" for it was thus that her dressing-
room was now called by as many of the house-
hold as made a point of doing everything that
Mr. Cartwright recommended.
" Oh yes," she replied with all the zealous
piety which distinguishes the sect to which she
belonged, whenever their consent is asked to
do or suiFer anything that nobody else would
think it proper to do or suffer, — " Oh, yes ! —
will you come now, Mr. Cartwright?"
" Yes, my dear child, it is now that I wish
to come :" — and in another moment the Vicar
WREXHILL. 281
of Wrexhill and his beautiful young parishioner
were sitting t^te-a-t^te on the sofa of the young
lady's dressing-room.
As usual with him on all such occasions, he
took her hand. " Fanny !" he began,—" dear,
precious Fanny ! you know not how much of
my attention — how many of my thoughts are
devoted to you !"
" Oh I Mr. Cartwright, how ver)'-, very kind
you are to think of me at all !"
" You must listen to me, Fanny," (he still
retained her hand,) " you must now listen to
me with very great attention. You know I
think highly of your abihties — indeed I have
not scrupled to tell you it was my opinion that
the Lord had endowed you with great powers
for his own especial service and glory. That
last hymn, Fanny, confirms and strengthens
me in this blessed belief, and I look upon you
as a chosen vessel of the Lord. But, my child,
we must be careful that we use, and not abuse,
this exceeding great mercy and honour. Your
verses, Fanny, are sweet to my ear, as the
songs of the children of Israel to those who
were carried away captive. But not for me —
not for me alone, or for those who, liked me,
can taste the ecstasy inspired by holy song.
232 THE VICAR OF
has the Lord given unto you that power which
is to advance his kingdom upon earth. The
poor, the needy, those of no account in the
reckoning of the proud — they have all, my
dearest Fanny, a right to share in the precious
gift bestowed on you by the Lord. Wherefore,
I am now about to propose to you a work to
which the best and hohest devote their hves,
but on which you have never yet tried your
young strength : — I mean, my dearest child,
the writing of tracts for the poor.' '
" Oh ! Mr. Cartwright ! Do you really
think it possible that I can be useful in such a
blessed way ?"
" 1 am sure you may, my dear Fanny ; and
you know this will be the means of doing good
both to the souls and bodies of the Lord's
saints. For what 3^ou shall write, will not only
be read to the edification and salvation of many
Christian souls, but will be printed and sold
for the benefit either of the poor and needy, or
for the furthering such works and undertakings
as it may be deemed most fit to patronise and
assist."
" Oh ! Mr. Cartwright ! If I could be use-
ful in such a way as that, I should be very
thankful to the Lord; — only — I have a doubt."
WREXHILL, 233
Here the bright countenance of Fanny be-
came suddenly overclouded; she even trembled
and turned pale.
" What is it, my dear child, that affects you
thus ?" said the vicar with real surprise ; " tell
me, my sweet Fanny, what I have said to alarm
you ?"
" If I do this," said Fanny, her voice falter-
ing with timidity, " shall I not seem to be
trusting to works ?"
" Do you mean because the writings of au-
thors are called their works ?" said Mr. Cart-
wright very gravely.
"No! Mr. Cartv/right !" she replied, co-
louring from the feeling that if so good and
holy a man could quiz, she should imagine that
he was now quizzing her, — " No ! Mr. Cart-
wright ! — but if I do this, and trust to get
saving grace as a reward for the good I may
do, will not this be trusting to works ?"
" My dear child," he said, gently kissing
her forehead, " such tenderness of conscience
is the best assurance that what you will do will
be done in a right spirit. Then fear not, dear
Fanny, that those things which prove a snare
to the unbeliever should in like manner prove
a snare to the elect."
234 THE VICAR OF
Again Fanny Mowbray trembled. " Alas !
then I may stiU risk the danger of eternal fire
by this thing, — for am I of the elect ?"
The vicar knew that Mrs. Mowbray was
waiting for him, and fearing that this long
delay might have a strange appearance, he
hastily concluded the conversation by exclaim-
ing with as much vehemence as brevity, ^' You
are ! You are !'^
WREXHIl.L. 235
CHAPTER XIIL
MRS. SIMPSON'S CHARITABLE VISIT. — CHARLEs'S TROUBLES
CONTINUE.
From this time most of Fanny Mowbray's
hours were spent in writing tracts ; which, as
soon as completed, were delivered to Mr. Cart-
wright. He received them ever with expres-
sions of mingled admiration and gratitude,
constantly assuring her the next time they met,
that nothing could be more admirably calcu-
lated to answer the effect intended, and that
tlie last was incomparably superior to all which
had preceded it.
This occupation of writing tracts, first hit
upon for the convenient occupation of Fanny
Mowbray, was soon converted by the ready
wit of Mr. Cartwright into an occupation in
236 THE VICAR OF
one way or another for all the professing
Christians in his parish who happened to have
nothing to do.
Those who are at all acquainted with the
manner in which the " Church Methodists,"
as they are called, obtain the unbounded influ-
ence which they are known to possess in their
different parishes, particularly over the female
part of their congregations, must be aware, that
great and violent as the effect of their passion-
ate extempore preaching often is, it is not to
that alone that they trust for obtaining it.
From the time Mr. Cartwright became Vicar
of Wrexhill, he had been unremitting in his
exertions of every kind to obtain power, in-
fluence, and dominion throughout the parish,
and, on the whole, had been pretty generally
successful. How far his handsome person and
pleasing address contributed to this, it is not
here necessary to inquire ; but it is certain
that he drew upon these advantages largely
in his intercourse with the females in general,
and with the ladies in particular. But though
at first this particular species of devotion was
exceedingly agreeable to him, both in its exer-
cise and its success, he now found very con-
siderable inconvenience from the difficulty of
WREXHILL. 237
keeping up the frequency of his pastoral visits
to his fair converts without giving more time
to them than was consistent with his infinitely
more important avocations at the Park.
As soon, however, as he perceived how com-
pletely the writing of tracts occupied Fanny
Mowbray during the time that was formerly
bestowed upon listening to his sentimental di-
vinity, he determined that several others of his
female parishioners should dispose of their su-
perfluous time in the same manner.
Within twenty-four hours after he came
to this decision, the three Misses Richards had,
each and every of them, purchased a quire
of foolscap paper, a quarter of a hundred of
goose-quills, with a bottle of ink, and a Con-
cordance to the Bible, in common between
them. Miss Stokes too, the little blue-eyed
milliner, and Mrs. Knighton, the late post-
master's widow, and Mrs. Watkins, the haber-
dasher's wife, were all furnished with abundant
materials of the same value ; and all of them
determined to give up every earthly thing, if it
were necessary, rather than disappoint the dear,
blessed Mr. Cartwright of the comfort of re-
ceiving anything he expected from them.
The widow Simpson, and even her little lioly
238 THE VICAR OF
Minima, had also employment found for them :
which though it could but ill supply to that
regenerate lady the loss of Mr. Cartwright's
society, which at this particular time she was
in a great degree deprived of, served neverthe-
less to soothe her by the conviction, that though
not seen, she was remembered.
The part of the business consigned to Mrs.
Simpson was the seUing the tracts. It was
not without surprise that the people of the
neighbourhood, particularly the unawaked, saw
the parlour-windows of " the principal per-
son in the village" disfigured by a large square
paper, looking very much as if it announced
lodgings to let, but which upon closer examina-
tion proved to be inscribed as follows : " Reh-
gious tracts, hymns, and meditations sold here,
at one penny each, or ninepence halfpenny for
the dozen.''
Miss Minima's duty was to hold in her hand
a square box, with a slit cut in the lid thereof,
in which all who purchased the tracts were
requested to deposit their money for the same ;
and when the customer's appearance betokened
the possession of more pennies than their pur-
chase required, the Httle girl was instructed to
say.
WREXHILL. 239
" One more penny, please ma'am, (or sir,)
for the love of the Lord."
Thus, for the pleasant interval of a few
weeks, everything went on smoothly. Helen,
at the earnest request of her brother, and con-
vinced by his arguments, as well as those of
Lady Harrington and Rosalind, that under
existing circumstances it was right to do so,
made several morning visits to Oakley.
Had she been questioned concerning this,
she would most frankly have avowed both the
act and the motives for it. But no such
questionings came. Charles himself dined
there repeatedly, but was never asked why
he absented himself, nor where he had
been.
During this period, Mrs. Mowbray seemed
to encourage rather more than usual the inter-
course of the family with their Wrexhill neigh-
bours. The season being no longer favourable
for walking, the Mowbray carriage was to be
seen two or three times in a week at Mrs.
Simpson's, Mrs. Richards's, and the Vicarage ;
but it often happened, that though Mrs. Mow-
bray proposed a visit to Wrexhill while they
were at the breakfast-table, and that the coach-
man immediately received orders to be at the
240 THE VICAR OF
door accordingly, when the time arrived her
incUnation for the excursion was found to have
evaporated, and the young people went thither
alone.
Upon one occasion of this kind, when, Fanny
being deeply engaged in the composition of
a tract, and Charles gone to Oakley, Miss Tor-
rington and Helen had the carriage to them-
selves, they agreed that instead of making the
proposed visit to Mrs. Simpson, they should
go to inquire for a little patient of Helen's,
the child of a poor hard-working woman,
who had long been one of her pensioners at
Wrexhill.
The entrance to the house was by a side
door from a lane too narrow to permit the car-
riage to turn ; the two young ladies therefore
were put down at the corner of it, and their
approach was unheard by those who occupied
the room upon which the door of the house
opened, although it stood ajar. But as they
were in the very act of entering, they were
stopped by words so loud and angry, that they
felt disposed to turn back and abandon their
charitable intention altogether.
But Rosalind's ear caught a sound that made
her curious to hear more : and laying her hand
WREXHILL. 2-11
on Helen's arm, and at the same time making
a sign that she should be silent, they stood for
a moment on the threshold, that they might
decide whether to retreat or advance.
" You nasty abominable woman, you !"
these were the first words which distinctly
reached them ; " you nasty untidy creature !
look at the soap-suds, do, all splashed out
upon the ground ! How can you expect a
Christian lady, who is the principal person in
the parish, to come and look after your nasty
dirty soul, you untidy pig, you ?"
" Lord love you, my lady ! 'tis downright
unpossible to keep one little room neat, and fit
for the like of you, when I have the washing of
three families to do in it, — the Lord be praised
for it ! — and to cook my husband's bit of dinner,
and let three little ones crawl about in it, be-
sides."
" Stuff and nonsense !" responded the prin-
cipal person in the village ; " whoever heard
of washing making people dirty ? Look here,
— put out your hand, can't you ? I am sure I
shall come no nearer to you and your tub.
Take these three tracts, and take care you ex-
pound them to your husband ; and remember
VOL. II. M
242
THE VICAR OF
that you are to bring them back again in one
month without a single speck of dirt upon them/'
" You be sent by the new vicar, beant you,
Madam Simpson r" inquired the woman.
*' Sent, woman ? I don't know Avhat you
mean by ' sent.' Asa friend and joint labourer
with Mr. Cartwright in the vineyard of the
Lord, I am come to take your soul out of the
nethermost pit : but if you will persist in going
on soaping and rubbing at that rate instead of
listening to me, I don't see that you have any
more chance of salvation than your black kettle
there. Mercy on me ! I shall catch my death
of cold here ! Tell me at once, do you under-
take to expound these tracts to your hus-
band ?"
" Dear me ! no, my lady ; I was brought
up altogether to the washing line."
" What has that to do with it, you stupid
sinner ? I can't stay any longer in this horrid,
damp, windy hole : but take care that you ex-
pound, for I insist upon it ; and if you don't,
you may depend upon it Mr. Cartvmght
won't give you one penny of the sacrament
money."
So saying, the pious lady turned away and
WREXHILL. 243
opened the door upon Miss Torrington and
Helen.
Conscious, perhaps, that her Christian duty.
had not been performed in so lady-Uke a man-
ner as it might have been, had she known that
any portion of the Park family were within
hearing, the principal person in the village
started and coloured at seeing them : but, aware
how greatly she had outrun the two young
ladies in the heavenly race, she immediately
recovered herself and said,
" I am afraid, young ladies, that your errand
here is not the same as mine. Betty Thomas is
a poor sinful creature, and I hope you are not
going to give her money till she is reported elect,
Miss Mowbray ? It will really be no less than
a sin against the Holy Ghost if you do."
" She has a sick child, Mrs. Simpson,^' re-
plied Helen, " and I am going to give her money
to buy what will make broth for it."
Helen then entered the room, made her in-
quiries for the little sufferer, and putting her
donation into sinful Betty Thomas's soapy
hand, returned to Mrs. Simpson and Rosalind,
who remained conversing at the door.
It was raining hard, and Miss Mowbray
M 2
244 THE VICAR OF
asked Mrs. Simpson if she should take her
home.
" That is an offer that I won^t refuse, Miss
Mowbray, though I am within, and you are
without, the pale. But I am terribly subject
to catching cold ; and I do assure you that this
winter weather makes a serious Christian's
duty very difficult to do. I have got rid of
seventy tracts since the first of December."
" You sell the tracts, do you not, Mrs. Simp-
son ?" said Rosalind.
" Yes, Miss Torrington, — I sell them and
lend them, and now and then give them, when
I think it is a great object to have them seen
in any particular house."
" Have you collected much, ma'am, by the
sale ?"
" Not a very large sum as yet. Miss Tor-
rington ; but I am getting on in many different
ways for the furtherance of the Lord's work.
Perhaps, ladies, though you have not as yet
put your own hands to the plough that shall
open the way for you to a place among the
heavenly host, you may like to see my ac-
count ?"
" I should like it very much, Mrs. Simp-
son," said Rosalind.
WREXHILL. 245
The lady then drew from her reticule a
small pocket-book, from which she read several
items, which from various sources contributed,
as she said, " to fill a bag for the Lord," to be
expended upon his saints by the hands of their
pious vicar.
By the time this interesting lecture was
finished, the carriage had reached Mrs. Simp-
son's door, and having set her down, was or-
dered home. '
" Now will I give Charles a. pendant to the
exquisite poetical effusion which he bestoAved
on me some time since," said Rosalind, drawing
forth a pencil and paper from a pocket of the
carriage, in which Mrs. Mowbray was accus-
tomed of late to deposit what the vicar called
" sacred memoranda ;" by which were signified
all the scraps of gossip respecting the poor
people among whom she distributed tracts,
that she could collect for his private ear.
Having invoked the Sisters Nine for the
space of five minutes, she read aloud the result
to Helen, who declared herself willing to give
testimony, if called upon, to the faithful ren-
dering (save and except the rhymes) of the
financial document to which they had just
listened.
246 THE VICAR OF
Sixpence a week paid by each serious pew
In Mr. Cartwright's church, makes — one pound two ;
From Wrexhill workhouse, by a farthing rate
Collected by myself, just one pound eight ;j
Crumbs for the Lord, gather'd from door to door
Through Hampshire, makes exactly two pound four j
From twelve old ladies, offerings from the hive
In various sums, amount to three pound five;
From our new Sunday school, as the Lord's fee,
By pennies from each child, we've shillings three ;
And last of all, and more deserving praise
Than all the sums raised by all other ways,
" The desperate Sinner's certain Road to Heaven,"
Sold at the gallows foot, — thirteen pound seven.
" This is a new accomplishment/' said He-
len, laughing ; " and I declare to you, Ro-
salind, I think it very unnecessary. Catholic-
like, and unkind, to perform any more works
of supererogation in that fascinating style
upon the heart of poor Charles. I am afraid
he has had more than is good for him al-
ready.'^
" I do not think the beauty of my verses
will at all tend to injure Mr. Mowbray's j)eace
of mind," replied Rosalind rather coldly.
" However, we can watch their effects, you
know, and if we see any alarming symptoms
coming on, we can withdraw them."
Just before they reached the lodge- gates.
WREXHILL. 247
they perceived Charles on foot before them ;
'and stopping the carriage, Helen made him get
in, just to tell them, as she said, how her dear
godmother was, what kind messages she had
sent her, and though last, not least, whether
any tidings had been heard of the commis-
sion.
Charles appeared to be in excellent spirits ;
repeated many pleasant observations uttered by
Sir Gilbert on the effervescent nature of his
mother's malady ; told them that a commis-
sion in the Horse-Guards was declared to be
at his service as soon as the money for it was
forthcoming, for which, if needs must, even Sir
Gilbert had permitted him to draw on Mr. Cor-
bold ; and finally, that he believed they had all
alarmed themselves about Mr. Cartwright and
his pernicious influences in a very young and
unreasonable manner.
On reaching the house, they entered the li-
brary, which was the usual ^-inter sitting-room ;
but it was quite deserted. They drew round
the fire for a few minutes' further discussion of
the news and the gossip which Charles had
brought; and, apropos of some of the Oakley
anecdotes of the evangelical proceedings at
Wrexhill, Helen requested Rosalind to pro-
24S THE VICAR OF
duce her version of Mrs. Simpson's deeds of
grace.
" Willingly/' replied Miss Torrington, draw-
ing the paper, from her pocket. " You dedi-
cated a poem to me, Mr. Mowbray, some
weeks ago ; and I now beg to testify my grati-
tude by presenting you with this."
Charles took the paper, and while fixing
his eyes with a good deal of meaning upon
the beautiful giver, kissed it, and said, " Do
you make it a principle. Miss Torrington,
to return in kind every offering that is made
you r
" That is selon,'' she replied, colouring, and
turning round to say something to Helen : but
she was gone.
" Rosalind !" said Charles, thrusting her
paper unread into his bosom. " This com-
mission, though we hail it as good fortune,
will yet put an end to by far the happiest
period of my existence, unless — I may hope,
Rosalind, that — if ever the time should come —
and I now think it will come — when I may
again consider myself as the heir to a large
property, I may hope that you will some
day suffer me to lay this property at your
feet.''
WREXIIILL. 249
" Never lay your property at the feet of any
one, Mr. Mowbray," she rephed carelessly.
Charles coloured and looked grievously of-
fended. " You teach me at least, Miss Tor-
rington, to beware how I venture again to hope
that you would accept anything I could lay at
yours.'*
" Nay, do not say so, Mr. Mowbray : I
accept daily from you most willingly and grate-
fully unnumbered testimonies of friendship and
good will ; and if their being kindly welcomed
will ensure their continuance, you will not let
them cease."
" I am a coxcomb for having ever hoped for
more," said Charles, lea\ang the room with
cheeks painfully glowing and a heart indignant-
ly throbbing. He had not looked for this
repulse, and his disappointment was abundantly
painful. Over and over again had he decided,
while holding counsel with himself on the sub-
ject, that he would not propose to Rosalind till
his mother had made him independent; but
these resolutions were the result rather of a
feeling of generosity than of timidity. Yet
Charles Mowbray was no coxcomb. Miss Tor-
rington was not herself aware how many trifling
but fondly-treasured symptoms of partial lik-
M 3
250
THE VICAR OF
ing she had betrayed towards him during the last
few weeks ; and as it never entered his imagi-
nation to beheve that she could doubt the
reality of his strong attachment, he attriljuted
the repulse he had received, as well as all the
encouragement which led him to risk it, as
the result of the most cruel and cold-hearted
coquetry.
It is probable that he left Rosalind httle
l^etter satisfied with herself than he was with
her ; but unfortunately there is no medium by
which thoughts .carefully hid in one bosom can
be made to pour their light and warmth into
another, and much misery was in this instance,
as well as in ten thousand others, endured
by each party, only for want of understand-
ing what was going on in the heart of the
other.
Mowbray determined not to waste another
hour in uncertainty as to the manner in which
his commission was to be paid for, and his fu-
ture expenses supplied. But in his way to his
mother, he delayed long enough to say to
Helen,
" I have proposed, and been most scornfully
rejected, Helen. How could we either of us
ever dream that Miss Torrington showed any
WREXHILL. 251
more favour to me than she would have clone
to any brother of yours, had he been a hunch-
backed idiot ?"
Without waiting to receive any expression
either of surprise or sympathy, he left his
sister with the same hurried abruptness with
which he sought her, and hastened on to hnd
his mother.
She was sitting alone, with a bible on one
side of her, and two tracts on the other. In
her hand was a little curiously-folded note,
such as she now very constantly received at
least once a day, even though the writer might
have left her presence in health and perfect
contentment one short hour before.
She started at the sudden entrance of her
son, and her delicately pale face l^ecame as red
as a milkmaid's as she hastily placed the note
she was reading between the leaves of her bible.
But Charles saw it not ; every pulse M'ithin
him was beating with such violence, that it
required all the power left him to speak that
which he had to say. Had his mother been
weighing out a poison, and packets before her
labelled for himself and his sisters, he would
not have seen it.
252 THE VICAR OF
" Mother," he said, " I have received no-
tice that the commission in the Horse- Guards
which my father appHed for some time before
he died is now ready for me. Will you have
the kindness to furnish me with the means of
paying for it ? and will you also inform me on
what sum I may reckon for my yearly ex-
penses ? I mean to join immediately."
Mrs. Mowbray's little agitation had entirely
subsided, and she answered with much so-
lemnity, " You come to me, Charles, in a very
abrupt manner, and apparently in a very
thoughtless frame of mind, to speak on subjects
which to my humble capacity seem fraught
with consequences most awfully important. —
The Horse-Guards ! Oh ! Charles ! is it pos-
sible you can have lived for many weeks in
such a regenerated family as mine, and yet
turn your thoughts towards a life so profane
as that of an officer in the Horse-Guards }"
" Let my life pass where it may, mother, I
trust it will not be a profane one. I should ill
repay my father's teaching if it M^ere. This is
the profession which he chose for me ; it is the
one to which I have always directed my hopes,
and it is that which I decidedly prefer. 1
WREXHILL. 253
trust, therefore, that you will not object to my
following the course which my most excellent
father pointed out to me."
" I shall object to it, sir : and pray under-
stand at once, that I will never suffer the in-
temperate pleadings of a hot-headed young
man to overpower the voice of conscience in my
heart."
Poor Mowbray felt inclined to exclaim,
" When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions."
For a moment he remained perfectly silent, and
then said, " This is very terrible news for me,
mother. You shall hear, I trust, no intempe-
rate pleadings, but I hope you will let me rea-
son with you on the subject. Siirely you will
not blame me for wishing in this, and in all
things, to adhere as closely as may be to my
dear father's wishes ?"
" If your poor father, Charles, groped
through life surrounded on all sides with outer
darkness, is that any reason that I should suffer
the son he left under my care and control to do
so likewise ? When he left the whole of my
property at my whole and sole disposal, it was
254 THE VICAR OF
plain that he felt there was more hope of wis-
dom abiding in me than in you. It is herein,
and herein only, that I must labour to do ac-
cording to his wishes and his will, and endea-
vour so to act that all may see his confidence in
me was not misplaced."
" For God's sake, mother ! think well before
you determine upon disappointing all my hopes
in this most cruel manner ; and believe me,
that no lookers-on between you and me — ex-
cept perhaps the mischievous fanatic who has
lately chosen to meddle so impertinently in our
affairs — but will feel and say that I have been
ill-treated."
Had Mowbray not been stung and irritated
as he was before this conversation, it is proba-
ble he would not have remonstrated thus warm-
ly with a mother, whom he had ever accus-
tomed to treat with the most tender observance
and respect.
She looked at him with equal anger and
astonishment, and remained for some time
without speaking a word, or withdrawing her
eyes from his face. If her son felt inclined
to quote Shakespeare at the beginning of the
conversation, she might have done so at the
WREXHILL. 255
end of it : for all she wished to say was com-
prised in these words :
" Nay, tben, I'll send those to you that can speak."
She did not, however, express herself exactly
thus, but ended her long examination of his
flushed and agitated countenance by pronounc-
ing almost in a whisper,
" This is very terrible ! But I thank
the Lord I am not left quite alone in the
world !''
Having thus spoken, she rose and retired
to her bed-room, leaving her very unhappy son
in possession of her " morning parlour," and
of more bitter thoughts than had ever before
been his portion.
Ha\nng continued for some moments exactly
in the position in which she left him, he at
length started up, and endeavouring to rouse
himself from the heavy trance that seemed
to have fallen on him, he hastened to find
Helen.
" It is all over with me Helen !" said he.
" You know what I met with in the library ; —
and now my mother protests against my ac-
cepting my commission, because she says that
556 THE VICAR OF
officers lead profane lives. What is to become
of me, Helen ?"
" Have patience, clearest Charles ! All this
cannot last. It cannot be supposed that we
can submit ourselves to the will of Mr. Cart-
wright : and depend upon it that it is he who
has dictated this refusal. Do not look so very
miserable, my dear brother ! I think you
would do very wisely if you returned to Oak-
ley to dinner, — for many reasons."
" God bless you, love, for the suggestion !
It will indeed be a relief to me. I know not
at this moment which I most desire to avoid —
my mother, or Miss Torrington. Have you
seen her — Rosalind, I mean ?"
" No, Charles, — not since you parted from
her. I heard her enter her room and lock the
door. The answer you have received from her
surprises me more, and vexes me more, than
even my mother's."
" God bless you, Helen ! you are a true
sister and a true friend. I will go to Sir Gil-
bert ; — biit it rains hard — I wish I had the cab,
or my own dear mare to ride. But that's a
minor trouble ; — it irks me though, for it comes
from the ,same quarter."
" It does indeed;— and it irks me too, be-
J
•WREXHILL. 257
lieve me. But patience, Charles ! — courage
and patience will do much."
" Will it give me the heart of the woman
I love, Helen ? — or rather, will it give her a
heart ? It is that which galls me. I have
been deceived — trifled with, and have loved
with my whole heart and soul a most heartless
fair-seeming coquette.'^
" That you have not, Charles !" replied
Helen warmly ; " that you have not ! I too
have mistaken Rosalind's feelings towards you.
Perhaps she has mistaken them herself: but
she is not heartless ; and above all, there is no
seeming about her."
"How I love you for contradicting me,
Helen ! — and for that bright flush that so
eloquently expresses anger and indignation at
my injustice ! But if she be not a coquette,
then must I be a most consummate puppy ;
for as I live, Helen, I thought she loved
me."
" I cannot understand it. But I know that
Rosalind Torrington is warm-hearted, gene-
rous, and sincere ; and whatever it is which has
led us to misunderstand her, either now or
heretofore, it cannot be coquetry, or false-seem-
ing of any kind."
258 THE VICAR OF
'' Well — be it so : I w^ould rather the fault
were mine than hers. But I will not see her
again to-day if I can help it. So good-b'ye,
Helen : my lady must excuse my toilet; — I
cannot dress and then M'alk through Oakley |
lane."
WREXHILL. 259
CHAPTER XIV.
THE ENIRY.
It was very nearly midnight when Mowbray
returned from his visit to Sir Gilbert Harring-
ton's. To his great surprise, he found Helen
waiting for him, even in the hall ; for the mo-
ment she heard the door-l:)ell she ran out to
meet him.
" Why are you up so late, Helen ?'' he
exclaimed : " and for God's sake tell me what
makes you look so pale. — Where is Rosa-
lind ?"
" She is in bed ; — she has been in tears all
day ; I made her go to bed. But, oh, Charles !
my mother ! — she has left the house."
" Gracious Heaven ! what do you mean ?
260 THE VICAR OF
Did she leave the house in answer ? Did she ask
for me ?'^
" No, Charles : nor for me either !"
" And where on earth is she gone ?"
" No one in the house has the remotest idea :
it is impossible even to guess. But slie has
taken Fanny and Curtis with her."
" When did she set out ?"
" While Rosalind and I were eating our
miserable, melancholy dinner. Mr. Cartwright,-
I find, called after you went, and was shown,
as usual, to her dressing-room ; but he did not
stay, Thomas says, above half an hour, for he
both let him in and out. Soon after he went
away, Fanny was sent for; and she and Curtis
remained with her till a few minutes before
dinner-time. Curtis then went into the kitchen,
it seems, and ordered a tray to be taken for my
mother and Fanny into the dressing-room, and
the only message sent to Rosalind and me was,
that mamma was not well, and begged not to be
disturbed. Curtis must have seen the coach-
man and settled everything with him very se-
cretly; for not one of the servants, except the
new stable-boy, knew that the carriage was
ordered."
WREXHILL. 261
" How are we to interpret this, Helen ? —
Such a night too ! — as dark as pitch. Had
I not known the way bUndfold, I should never
have got home. I left Sir Gilbert in a rage
because I would not sleep there; — but my
heart was heavy ; I felt restless and anxious
at the idea of remaining from you during the
night : I think it was a presentiment of this
dreadful news. — Oh ! what a day has this
been to me ! So gay, so happy in the morn-
ing ! so supremely wretched before night !— 1
can remember nothing that I said which could
I)OSsibly have driven her to leave her home.
What can it mean, Helen ?"
" Alas ! Charles, I have no power to answer
you. If asking questions could avail, might I
not ask what I have done ? And yet, at the
moment of her leaving home for the night, she
sent me word that I was not to disturb her ■'"
"" The roads too are so bad ! Had she lamps,
Helen ?"
" Oh yes. Some of the maids, while shut-
ting up the rooms upstairs, saw the lights mov-
ing very rapidly towards the lodges."
" It is an inexplicable and very painful mys-
ter)'. But go to bed, my dearest Helen ! you
look most wTctchedly ill and miserable."
262 THE VICAR OF
'' 111 ? — No, I am not ill, Charles, but miser-
able ; yes, more miserable than I have ever felt
since my poor father's death was first made
known to me."
The following morning brought no relief to
the anxiety which this strange absence occa-
sioned. Rosalind joined the brother and sister
at breakfast, and her jaded looks more than
confirmed Helen's report of the preceding night.
Charles, however, hardly saw her sufficiently
to know how she looked, for he carefully avoid-
ed her eyes ; but if the gentlest and most
soothing tone of voice, and the expression of
her almost tender sympathy in the uneasiness
he was enduring, could have consoled the young
man for all he had suffered and was suffering,
he would have been consoled.
The day passed heavily ; but Helen looked so
very ill and so very unhappy, that Charles could
not bear to leave her ; and though a mutual feel-
ing of embarrassment between himself and
Rosalind made his remaining with them a
very doubtful advantage, he never quitted
them.
But it was quite in vain that he attempted to
renew the occupations which had made the last
six weeks-pass so delightfully. He began to
I WREXHILL. 263
read ; but Helen stopped him before the end
of the page by saying, " I cannot think what
is the reason of it, Charles, but I cannot com-
prehend a single syllable of what you are
reading."
Rosalind, blushing to the ears, and actually
trembling from head to foot, invited him to
play at chess with her. Without replying a
word, he brought the table and set up the men
before her ; but the result of the game was,
that Charles gave Rosalind checkmate, and it
was Helen only who discovered it.
At an early hour they separated for the
night ; for the idea of Malting for Mrs. Mow-
bray seemed equally painful to them all, and
the morrow's sun rose upon them only to bring
a repetition of the sad and restless hours of the
day that was past. Truly might they have
said they were weary of conjecture ; for so
completely had they exhausted every supposi-
tion to which the imagination of either of the
party could reach, without finding one on
which common sense would permit them to re-
pose, that, by what seemed common consent,
they ceased to hazard a single " maybe"
more.
264 THE VICAR OF
They were sitting with their coffee-cups be-
fore them, and Rosahnd was once more trying
to fix the attention of Charles, as well as her
own, to the chess-board, when a lusty pull at
the door-bell produced an alarm which caused
all the servants in the house to jump from their
seats, and one half the chessmen to be over-
turned by the violent start of Rosalind.
A few moments of breathless expectation
followed. The house door was opened, and
the steps of several persons were heard in
the hall, but no voice accompanied them.
Helen rose, but trembled so violently, that
her brother threw his arms round her and
almost carried her to a sofa. Rosahnd stood
beside her, looking very nearly as pale as
herself; while Charles made three steps for-
ward and one back again, and then stood
with his hands clasped and his eyes fixed on
the door in a manner which showed that, in
spite of his manhood, he was very nearly as
much agitated as his companions.
The next sound they heard was the voice of
the lady of the mansion, and she spoke loud
and clear, as she laid her hand on the lock,
and partly opening the door, said, addressing
WREXHILL. 265
the butler, who with half a dozen other serving-
men had hurried to answer the bell,
" Chivers ! order all the servants to meet
me in this room immediately ; and fail not to
come yourself."
Mowbray had again stepped forward upon
hearing his mother's voice, but stopped short
to listen to her words ; and having heard them,
he turned back again, and placing himself
behind the sofa on which Helen sat, leaned
over it to whisper in her ear — " Let me not
see you overcome, Helen ! and then I shall be
able to bear anything."
As he spoke, the door was thrown widely
open, and a lady entered dressed entirely in
white and very deeply veiled, followed by
Fanny Mowbray and Mr. Cartwright.
A heavy sense of faintness seized on the
heart of Helen, but she stood up and en-
deavoured to advance ; Rosalind, on the con-
trary, stepped back and seated herself in the
darkest corner of the room ; while Charles
hastily walked towards the veiled lady, and
in a voice thick from emotion, exclaimed,
" My mother !"
'^ Yes, Charles !" she replied ; " your mo-
VOL. II. N
266
THE VICAR OF
ther ; but no longer a widowed, desolate mo-
ther, shrinking before the unnatural rebuke of
her son. I would willingly have acted with
greater appearance of deliberation, but your
conduct rendered this impossible. Mr. Cart-
wright ! permit me to present you to this hot-
headed young man and his sister, as my husband
and their father."
This terrible but expected annunciation was
received in total silence. Mowbray seemed
to think only of his sister ; for without looking
towards the person thus solemnly presented
to him, he turned to her, and taking her by
the arm, said, " Helen ! — you had better sit
down."
Fanny, who had entered the room imme-
diately after her mother, looked j^ale and
frightened ; but though she fixed a tearful
eye on Helen, she attempted not to approach
her.
Mr. Cartwright himself stood beside his
bride, or rather a little in advance of her ; his
tall person drawn up to its greatest height.
Meekness, gentleness, and humility appeared
to have his lips in their keeping ; but un-
quenchable triumph was running riot in his
WREXHILL. 2G'J
eyes, and flashed upon every individual before
hiiii with a very unequivocal and somewhat
scornful air of authority.
This tableau endured till the door was again
thrown open, and one by one the servants en-
tered, forming at last a long line completely
across the room. When all were in their mar-
shalled places, which here, as elsewhere, were
in as exact conformity to the received order of
precedence as if they had been nobles at a
coronation, the lady bride again lifted her voice
and addressed them thus :
" I have called you all together on the pre-
sent occasion in order to inform you that Mr.
Cartwright is my husband and your master.
I hope it is unnecessary for me to say that
everything in the family must henceforward be
submitted solely to his pleasure, and that his
commands must on all occasions supersede
those of every other person. I trust you will
all show yourselves sensible of the inestimable
blessing I have bestowed upon you in thus
giving you a master who can lead you unto
everlasting life ; and as I have married for the
glory of God, so I trust to receive his blessing
upon the same, and to see every member of my
family advancing daily under the guidance of
N 2
268 THE VICAR OF
tlieir earthly master's hand to that state which
shall ensure them favour from their heavenly
one in the life to come. Amen ! Repeat, I beg
you — all of you repeat with me Amen !"
Though there were some throats there in
which Amen would have stuck, there were
enough present besides these to get up a to-
lerably articulate Amen.
Mr. Cartwright then stepped forward, and
laying his hat and gloves on the table, said
aloud, " Let us pray !"
The obedient menials knelt before him,
— all save one. This bold exception was the
housekeeper ; a staid and sober person of fifty
years of age, who during the dozen years she
had presided over the household, had con-
stantly evinced a strict and conscientious ad-
herence to her religious duties, and was, more-
over, distinguished for her uniformly respectful,
quiet, and unobtrusive demeanour. But she now
stepped forward from her place at the head of
the line, and said in a low voice, but very
slowly and distinctly,
" I cannot, sir, on this occasion kneel down
to pray at your bidding. This is not a holy
business at all, Mr. Cartwright ; and if you
were to give me for salary the half of what you
WREXHILL. 2b'9
are about to wring from the orphan children
of my late master, (deceased just eight calendar
months ago,) I would not take it, sir, to live
here and witness what I cannot but look upon
as great sin."
The good woman then gave a sad look at
Helen and her brother who were standing to-
gether, dropped a respectful curtsey as her
eyes rested on them, and then left the room.
" Her sin be on her own head !" said Mr.
Cartwright as he himself kneeled down upon a
footstool which stood near the table. He diew
a cambric handkerchief from his pocket, gave
a preparatory " hem," and apparently uncon-
scious that Miss Torrington had darted from
the remote corner in which she had been
ensconced and followed the housekeeper out
of the room, remained for a moment with his
eyes fixed on Mowbray and Helen, who re-
mained standing.
" It would be a frightful mockery for us
to kneel !" said Charles, drawing his sister back
to the sofa she had quitted. " Sit down with
me, Helen ; and when we are alone, we will
pray to God for strength to er.dure as we
ought to do whatever calamity it is his will to
try us with."
270
THE VICAR OF
The bride was kneeling beside her husband ;
])ut she rose up and said, " You are of age,
Charles Mowbray, and too stiff-necked and
wilful to obey your mother : but you, Helen, I
command to kneel.''
She then replaced herself with much solem-
nity ; and Helen knelt too, while breathing a
silent prayer to be forgiven for what she felt to
be profanation.
Charles stood for a moment irresolute, and
then said, dropping on his knees beside her,
" God will pardon me for your sake, dear
Helen, — even for kneeling at a service that
my heart disclaims."
Mr. Cartv/right hemmed again, and began :
" I thank thee, O Lord ! that by thy es-
pecial calling and election I am placed where
so many sinful souls are found, who through
and by me may be shown the path by which to
escape the eternal pains of hell. But let thy
flames blaze and ])urn, O Lord ! for those
who neglect so o-reat salvation ! Pour down
upon them visibly thy avenging judgments,
and let the earth see it and be afraid. To me,
O Lord ! grant power, strength, and courage
to do the work that is set before me. Let me
be a rod and a scourge to the ungodly; and let
WREXHILL. 271
no sinful weakness on the part of the wife
whom thou hast given me come across or over-
shadow the Ught received from thee through the
Holy Ghost for the leading of the rebellious
back unto thy paths. Bless, O Lord ! my vir-
tuous wife ; teach her to be meekly obedient to
my word, and to thine through me ; and make
her so to value the inestimable mercy of being
placed in the guiding hands of thy elected
servant, that the miserable earthly dross which
she maketh over to me in exchange for the
same may seem but as dirt and filthiness in
her sight ! May such children as are already
born unto her be brought to a due sense of thy
exceeding mercy in thus putting it into their
mother's heart to choose thine elected servant
to lead them through the dangerous paths of
youth 5 — make them rejoice and be exceeding
glad for the same, for so shall it be good in
thy sight !"
This terrible thanksgiving, with all its mi-
nute rehearsing of people and of things, went
on for a considerable time longer ; but enough
has been given to show the spirit of it. As
soon as it was ended, the new master of the
mansion rose from his knees, and waiting with
an appearance of some little impatience till his
272
THE VICAR OF
audience had all recovered their feet, he turned
to his bride with a smile of much complacency,
and said,
" Mrs. Cartwright, my love, where shall I
order Chivers to bring us some refreshments ?
Probably the dining-room fire is out. Shall we
sup here ?"
" Wherever you please," answered the lady
meekly, and blushing a little at the sound of
her new name pronounced for the first time
before her children.
This address and the answer to it were too
much for Helen to endure with any appearance
of composure. She hid her face in her hand-
kerchief as she passed her mother, and giving
Fanny, who was seated near the door, a hasty
kiss, left the room, followed by her brother.
Helen ran to the apartment of Rosalind; and
Mowbray ran with her, forgetful, as it seemed,
of the indecorum of such an unauthorised in-
trusion at any time, and more forgetful still of
the icy barrier which had seemed to exist be-
tween him and its fair inhabitant since the first
expression of his love and of his hope had been
so cruelly chilled by her light answer to it.
But in this moment of new misery everything
was forgotten but the common sorrow : they
WREXHILL. 273
found Rosalind passionately sobbing, and
Mrs. Williams, the housekeeper, weeping very
heartily, beside her.
" Oh, my Helen !" exclaimed the young
heiress, springing forward to meet her ; " Wil-
liams says they cannot take my money from
me. Will you let us divide my fortune and
live together ?"
" Williams forgets your age, Rosalind," re-
pHed Helen : but though there was pain in
recalling this disqualifying truth, there was a
glance of pleasure too in the look with which
Helen thanked her j and Charles, as he gazed
on her swollen eyes and working features, felt
that, cruel as she had been to him, she must
ever be the dearest, as she was the best and
the lovehest, being in the world.
And there was assuredly comfort, even at
such a moment, in the devoted friendship of
Rosalind, and in the respectful but earnest
expressions of affection from the good house-
keeper; but the future prospects of Charles
and his sisters was one upon which it was
impossible to look without dismay.
" What ought we to do ?" said Helen, ap-
pealing as much to her old servant as her
young friend. " Can it be our duty to live
N 3
274
THE VICAR OF
with this hypocritical and designing wretch,
and call him father ?"
" No !" replied Rosalind vehemently. " To
do so would be shame and sin."
" But where can the poor girls take refuge ?
You forget, Miss Torrington, that they are
penniless/' said Charles.
" But I am not penniless, sir,^' replied Ro-
salind, looking at him with an expression of
anger that proceeded wholly from his formal
mode of address, but which he interpreted as
the result of a manner assumed to keep him at
a distance.
" May I venture to say one word, my dear
children, before I take my leave of you ?" said
Mrs. Williams.
" Oh yes!' said Helen, taking her by the
hand, " I wish you would give us your advice,
Williams : we are too young to decide for our-
selves at such a dreadful moment as this."
" And for that very reason, my dear Miss
Helen, I would have you wait a little before
you decide at all. Master Charles,— I beg his
pardon — Mr. Mowbray, — is altogether a dif-
ferent consideration : and if so be it is any way
possible for him, I think he should leave, and
wait for the end elsewhere ; but for you and
WREXHILL. 2/5
poor Miss Fanny, my dear young lady, i do
think you must learn to bear and forbear till
such time as you may leave your misguided
mamma, and perhaps accept this noble young
lady's offer, and sliare her great fortune with
her, — for a time I mean. Miss Helen, — for it
can't be but my mistress will come to her
senses sooner or later, and then she will re-
member she is a mother ; and she will remem-
ber too, take my word for it, the noble-hearted
but too confiding gentleman, who was your
father."
Tears flowed from every eye, for poor Mow-
bray was no exception, at this allusion to the
beloved father, the gentle master, and the
friendly guardian ; but this did not prevent
the good woman's words from having their full
weight, — it rather added to it, for it brought
back the vivid remembrance of one in whose
temper there was no gall.
" It will be hard to bear, Williams," re-
plied Helen ; " but I do indeed believe that
you are right, and that, for a time at least,
this cruelly changed house must be our home.
But do you know that in the midst of all our
misery, I have one comfort, — I think poor
Fanny will be restored to ns. Did you see
•2'J6 THE VICAR OF
the expression of her lovely face as she looked
at us, Charles ? Even you did not look more
miserable."'
" And if that be so, Miss Helen, it may
atone for much ; for it was a grievous sight to
see the poor innocent child taking all Mr.
Cartwright's brass for gold. If she has got
a peep at his cloven foot, I shall leave you
almost with a light heart — for I have grieved
over her."
" I will take all the comfort I can, Williams,
from your words, and will follow your counsel
too, upon one condition ; and that is, nobody
must prevent my setting off betimes to-morrow
luorning, as you and I did, Rosalind, once
before, for Oakley. If my dear godmother
advises me as you do, Williams, I will return
and quietly put my neck into this hateful yoke,
and so remain till Heaven shall see fit to
release me."
" Heaven knows, I shall not oppose that
plan," said Rosalind, eagerly; " for, to my
judgment, it is the very best you can pursue."
" Indeed I think so," added Charles ; " and,
dark and dismal as the mornings are, I would
advise you, Helen, to set out before the time
arrives for either accepting or refusing the
WREXHILL. 277
general summons to join the family breakfast-
table."
" And may I go too ?" said Rosalind with
a glance half reproachful at Charles for the
manner in which he seemed to avoid speaking
to her.
" May you, Rosalind ?" cried Helen. " For
pity's sake, do not fancy it possible that I can
do anything without you now : I should feel
that you were forsaking me."
" I never forsake any one that I have ever
loved," said Rosalind with emotion, " what-
ever you or any one else may think to the
contrary.^'
" Well, then, we will all three go together.
But you little thought, Rosalind, when you
first came here, that you would have to trudge
through muddy lanes and under wintry skies
for want of a carriage : but on this occasion, at
least, we will not ask Mr. Cartwright to permit
us the use of one of his."
" Then go to bed, my dear young ladies,"
said Mrs. Williams, " that you may be early
up to-morrow : and let me hear from you, Miss
Helen. I shall not go from Wrexhill, at least
not till I know a little how you will settle
everything. 1 will take Mrs. Freeman's pretty
278 THE VICAR OF
little rooms, that you always admire so much,
Master Charles ; and there I will stay for the
present."
" Oh ! that beautiful little cottage that they
call the Mowbray Arms !" said Rosalind.
" How we shall envy her, Helen !"
The party then separated ; for the good
housekeeper most strenuously opposed Ro-
salind's proposition of passing the night with
her friend.
" You would neither of you sleep a wink,
ladies, if you bide together. And now, though
there is more sorrow with you than such young
hearts ought to have, yet you will sleep when
you have nobody to talk to about it ; for what
makes old folks wake and watch, will often
make young folks sleep."
And the good woman's prediction proved
true ; though the sleep that followed the tre-
mendous blow they had received was too
feverish and full of dreams to make the waking
feel like that delightful return to new life and
new joy which the waking of the young should
ever be.
I
WREXHILL. 279
CHAPTER XV.
WALK TO OAKLEY. — DOMESTIC ARHANGF.M F.NTS.
THE VILLAGE INN.
Fortunately for their proposed expedi-
tion, the morning broke more briglitly than a
December morning could reasonably be ex-
pected to do, and the trio set off on their walk
to Oakley almost as soon as it was light. The
expedition, notwithstanding the unhappy cause
of it, would have been less silent and less sad,
had not Charles thought Rosalind capricious
and cruel, and had not Rosalind thought
Charles unkind and cold.
Nothing could appear more likely to per-
petuate the unfortunate misunderstanding be-
tween them than the heavy misfortune that
had fallen upon Mowbray. His total de-
280
THE VICAR OF
pendence, contrasted with Miss Torrington's
wealth, was perpetually recurring to him, pro-
ducing a degree of restraint in his manner
that cut Rosalind to the heart, and roused
all her womanly pride to prevent the long-
combated feeling of attachment to which his
present sorrows gave tenfold strength from
betraying itself.
The tripping lightly through summer paths,
and the picking one's way through wintry
lanes, are two very diiferent operations ; and
notwithstanding their early rising, they found
the baronet and his lady already at the break-
fast-table.
The astonishment occasioned by their ap-
pearance was great, bvit yet it was a joyous
astonishment, and it was some time before Sir
Gilbert's noisy welcome subsided sufficiently
for her ladyship's more quiet and more anx-
ious inquiries could be either answered or
heard.
At length there was something in the tone
of Helen's voice, the glance of Rosalind's eye,
and the silent pressure of Mowbray's hand,
which awakened his attention.
" Why, you have walked over to see us, my
dear girls, and it was behaving like a pair of
WREXHIJ.L. 281
little angels to do so ; but you're not one half
as well pleased to see me as I am to see you.
Come here, Helen; sit down in my own chair
here and get warm, and then the words will
thaw and come forth like the notes from the
horn of Munchausen's j^ost-boy. And your
black eyes, Miss Rose, don't look half as saucy
as they used to do : and as for Charles, —
What, in God's name, is the matter with ye
all ?"
Helen burst into tears and buried her face
in Lady Harrington's bosom.
" Sir Gilbert," said Mowbray, colouring to
the temples, " my mother is married !''
" The devil she is !" thundered the old man,
clenching his fists. '' Married, is she: — Jesa-
bel ! — May your poor father's ghost haunt her
to her dying hour ! — ?\[arried ! To that cant-
ing cur the Vicar of Wrexhill ? Is it not so :"
" Even so, Sir Gilbert."
" God help you, my poor children !" said
Lady Harrington in accents of the deepest
sorrow ; " this is a grief that it will indeed be
hard to bear !''
" And we come to vou for counsel how to
bear it, my ^ear lady," said Mowbray, " though
little choice is left us. Yet, Helen says, if
282 THE VICAR OF
you tell her that she must submit to call this
man her father, it will be easier for her to do
it."
" God bless her, darling child !" said the old
lady, fondly caressing her ; " how shall I ever
find the heart to bid her do v/hat it must
break her heart to think of?"
" Bid her call that rascal father ?'' cried Sir
Gilbert. "My Lady Harrington must be strange-
ly altered, Mowbray, before she will do that :
she is a very rebelKous old lady, and a most
prodigious shrew ; but you do her no justice,
Charles, in believing she would utter such atro-
cious words.'^
" But what is to become of Helen, my dear
Sir Gilbert, if she quarrel with this man ?"
" Come to us, to be sure, — what's the man
to her ? Has your precious mother made any
settlement upon you all ?"
" I imagine not ; indeed I may say that I
am sure she has not."
" Am I a prophet, my lady ? how did I tell
you Mowbray's sentimental will would answer ?
And has this meek and gentle lady proved her-
self deserving of all the pretty things I said of
her^^"
•' There is but small comfort in rememberinir
WREXHILL. 283
how truly, how very truly, your predictions
foretold what has happened, Gilbert : and he
has predicted that you must come here, my
sweet Helen ; let this come true likewise."
" I cannot leave poor Fanny, Lady Har-
rington," replied Helen : " I cannot leave my
dear and generous friend Rosalind : and yet
your oifered kindness cheers my heart, and I
shall think of it with pleasure and gratitude as
long as I live."
" But I thought Fanny was a disciple of
this Calvinistic gentleman's ? If so, it were
better she remained with him till she has learned
to distinguish hypocrisy from virtue, and cant
from true religion. And for Miss Torrington,
I shall rejoice to have her for my guest for as
long a time as she can find our old-fashioned
mansion agreeable to her.^'
" You are very, very kind !" replied the
two friends in the same breath.
" Then so let it be. Charles, these good
girls will stay here for the present ; so let us
eat our breakfast, — sufficient to the day is the
evil thereof. Let me save them from the
odious spectacle of the Yicar of Wrexhill esta-
blishing himself at Mowbray Park, and the
future must take care of Itself."
284 THE VICAR OF
But, Fanny," said Helen doubtingly,
slie looked so unhappy as she followed my
mother in last night, that I feel almost certain
her fit of enthusiasm is already over."
" So much the better, my dear," said Sir
Gilbert ; " but it will do her a vast deal of
good to watch the reverend gentleman's pro-
ceedings in his new character. That scratch
upon her intellect must be cauterised before I
shall believe it cured ; and when the operation
is complete, she may join the party here. As
for you, my dear boy, when your breakfast is
finished I have something for your ear in pri-
vate."
This something was the proposal of a loan
sufficient for the purchase of the commission,
and for the supply of the expenses consequent
upon joining his corps. But this Mowbray
could not be prevailed upon to accept ; and his
reaso:is for refusing it were such, that when he
could prevail on the friendly old gentleman to
listen to him., he could not deny that there was
much weight in them.
" If I withdraw myself altogether from my
mother at this moment," said Charles, " I shall
give her husband an excellent and very plausi-
ble excuse for persuading her to banish me from
I
W'REXHILL. 285
her house and her heart for ever. Whereas if
1 remain near her, it can hardly, I think, he
doubted that some reaction will take place in
her feelings, and that she will at last be in-
duced to treat me as a son. At any rate. Sir
Gilbert, not even your generous kindness shall
induce me to abandon this hope till I feel per-
suaded that it is a vain one. In my opinion,
my duty and my interest equally dictate this
line of conduct ; and if so, you are the last
man in the world to dissuade me from pursu-
ing it."
Whether there were too much of firm deci-
sion in Mowbray's manner to leave any hope
of overcoming it, or that Sir Gilbert was really
convinced by his arguments, was difiicult to
decide ; but he yielded the point on condition
that the two girls should be left at Oakley, at
least for the present, and be regulated as to
their future conduct by the manner in which
afi'airs went on at the Park.
This being settled much to the satisfaction
of all parties, Lady Harrington made Miss
Torrin"-ton describe the entree of this most
undesired interloper ; a task which the fair
Rosalind performed with great spirit, though
286
THE VICAR OF
she confessed that the impatient feeling to
which she yielded in leaving the room was now
a cause of regret, as she had lost thereby some
notable traits in the history of that eventful
hour.
Lady Harrington was greatly delighted at the
conduct of Mrs. Williams ; and when Charles
left them to inform Mrs. Cartwright that her
daughter and her ward had accepted an invi-
tation to remain at Oakley for a few days, she
proposed that they should pay her a visit at
the Mowbray Arms, both to give her the sa-
tisfaction of knowing that her conduct was ap-
proved, and likewise to give her the comfort of
knowing that Helen and Miss Torrington were
for the present removed from such scenes as
they had witnessed the night before.
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon
when Lady Harrington's carriage drove across
the common to the little public-house already
described as the Mowbray Arms. As they
approached, they perceived several persons
who appeared to be occupied in very eager
and deep discussion before the door.
" What are they doing there ?" said Lady
Harrington.
WREXHILL. 287
Rosalind put forward her head to ascertain
this, but in an instant drew it back again, ex-
claiming, " Mr. Cartwright is there !
"Mr. Cartwright !" exclaimed Helen, turn-
ing very pale. " Oh, lady Harrington, do
not let me see him !"
Lady Harrington let down the glass behind
the coachman, and said aloud, " Turn round
instantly and drive home."
This order being immediately obeyed, the
party escaped the sight of the vicar; but in
gaining this advantage they lost that of behold-
insr a scene which must have drawn forth a
smile, even from Helen herself.
The parties engaged in it were Mrs. Free-
man, her daughter Sally, Jem the horse-boy,
an elderly traveller called forth by the clamour
from the warm comforts of Mrs. Freeman's
fire-side, and Mr. Cartwright himself. A short
retrospect wnll be necessary to explain his busi-
ness there.
As soon as the prayer of that morning had
reached its final Amen — for as the subject mat-
ter of it consisted chiefly in vehement implor-
ings of the divine favour on such of his new
family and household as should show unto him
the most perfect submission and obedience, the
288 THE VICAR OF
Amen, to make assurance doubly sure, was
three several times repeated ; — as soon however
as it M'as finally pronounced, the vicar, his
lady, and the pale Fanny sat down to breakfast.
It would be tedious to tell how many glances
of furtive but deep-felt delight the newly-made
master of the house cast on each and every of
the minute yet not unimportant differences be-
tween this breakfast-table and any others at
which he had occupied a place of equal autho-
rity : suffice it to say that there were many.
The meal, indeed, altogether lasted much
longer than usual ; but as soon as it was ended,
and that Mr. Cartwright had watched with
feelings of great complacency the exit of its
component parts by the hands of two footmen,
and a butler, he told his wife that he should be
obliged, though most unwillingly, to leave her
for some hours, as there were many things to
which his personal attention was required.
" Will the rooms be ready to-day for Jacob
and Henrietta, my love }"
" They are quite ready now, my dear Mr.
Cartwright. When may we hope to see
them }"
" To call and give them their orders about
coming here, is one part of the business that
I
WREXHILL. 289
takes me from you, my sweet Clara. There
are some small bills in the village, too, with
which your happy husband must not be dunned,
sweet love. What ready-money have you,
dearest, in the house ?"
" Of money I have very Httle indeed," said
Mrs. Cartwright, unlocking her desk and draw-
ing thence a purse with ten or twelve soveriegns
in it. I pay everything by drafts."
" By far the best way, my love. But your
drafts, dear, are no longer worth anything ; and
I must therefore see Corbold, to give orders
that everything is put right about that at the
banker's, and so forth : and this must really be
done without delay."
" Certainly it must," said the lady. " Shall
I I mean, will you send one of the men to
Wrexhill to bring him here ?"
Mr. Cartwright laid his hand on the bell, but
ere he pulled it, checked his hand and said,
" No ! I must walk to the village, and there-
fore I will call on him myself."
" Shall you prefer walking, my dear Mr.
Cartwright ?"
" Why, no : I had forgot : perhaps it would
be as well to take the carriage."
VOL. II. o
290
THE VICAR OF
" Oh, certainly ! And you can bring Hen-
rietta back with you."
" True, dear, — she will certainly want the
carriage : I will go, and send her and her band-
boxes back in it — and then perhaps drive my-
self back in the cab. It is at the Vicarage, you
know."
" Is it? I did not remember that. Then
how are they gone this morning ? — those un-
dutiful children, I mean, who have chosen to
set off this morning without even leaving a
message for us. I imagined that Charles had
packed them both into the cab, as he has often
done his sisters/'
" Do not waste a thought on them, my be-
loved Clara ! It is evident that they have
neither of them ever felt the slightest affection
for you ; and would it not be worse than folly
for you, beloved and adored as you are, to let
any thought of them come to blight our hap-
piness ?"
After this and many more tender and affec-
tionate passages had passed between them, Mr.
Cartwright set off for the Vicarage in his own
coach, as he told himself more than once as he
drove along ; and having informed his son and
WREXHILL, 291
daughter, not greatly to the surprise of either,
that Mowbray Park was to be their future
home, he left them to prepare for their re-
moval, telhng Henrietta that he would send his
carriage back from Mr. Corbold's, where it
should set him down, and that she might fill it,
if she chose, with her own luggage, as he
should drive Jacob home in his cab."
At Mr. Corbold's the conversation was rather
religious, and moreover extremely satisfactory
to both parties. One or two of his most
prayerful parishioners among the tradespeople
were next called upon, and permitted to offer
their congratulations and thanksgivings, and
then told to send their bills to the Park. After
this, the reverend bridegroom walked down the
village street to the common, returning the
humble bowings and curtsyings that crossed
his path with a benignant sweetness of counte-
nance that spoke much of the placid content-
ment that dwelt within.
It was not, however, solely to enjoy this
pleasing interchange of heavenly-minded civility
that he directed his steps along this well-fre-
quented path — though that was something, — but
for the purpose also of transacting a httle busi-
o 2
292 THE VICAR OF
ness Math Freeman, the prosperous landlord of
the Mowbray Arms.
This good man and his family, it may be
observed, had been great favourites with the
family of Mr. Wallace, the late vicar, but
stood not so high by many degrees in the esti-
mation of the present. They were honest,
industrious, regular church-going people^ who
had never, during the twenty years they had
kept the village inn, been accused or even sus-
pected of having neglected a Sabbath, or of
having ever permitted any indecorum either on
that or any other day, to be practised under
their roof. But they had steadily refused to
attend Mr. Cartwright's Tuesday evening's ex-
pounding, and his Thursday evening's lecture ;
the good woman, who was no bad scholar, al-
leging as the reason for this, that they knew of
iio such religious service being enjoined by the
church of which they were members, and that
not considering themselves in any way called
upon to amend the ordinances of the religion
in which they were born and bred, they
thought it more according to their condition to
remain at home and endeavour to do their duty
in that state of hfe to which it had pleased God
to call them.
WllEXHILL. 293
This explanation having been very clearly and
distinctly given to the vicar in the presence of
several witnesses, before whom he had intended
to make a rather marked display of pastoral
piety and eloquence, though uttered with very
becoming modesty and respect, had produced
an impression against the painstaking Dorothy
and all her household never to be forgotten or
forgiven.
Mr. Cartwright had even taken the trouble
of waiting upon the magistrates of the neigh-
bourhood, requesting them to refuse to con-
tinue Freeman's licence, assuring them that he
was a man whose character was likely to pro-
duce a very demoralising influence on his
parish. But as these gentlemen had happened
to know the good man for many years, they
begged to consider of it ; and the Vicar of
Wrexhill was thus left to discover other ways
and means by which to dislodge his obnoxious
parishioner.
A very favourable occasion for this now
seemed to offer itself, and he accordingly pro-
ceeded with an elastic step and dignified gait
towards the Mowbray Arms.
At the moment he appeared in sight, the ex-
housekeeper of the Park was describing to
294 THE VICAR OF
Mrs. Freeman and her daughter Sally the
return of its mistress and most unwelcome mas-
ter on the preceding evening.
" Why, here he comes, as sure as I live !"
exclaimed Dorothy. " What in the wide world
can bring him here ? It must be to preachify
you, Mrs. Williams."
" And that's what he shall never do again :
— so step out and speak to him outside —
there's a dear good woman ; and if I see you
can't get rid of him, I'll make my way out of
the back door, and so go round and slip in
again and up to my own room before he can
catch me."
To facilitate this escape, Mrs. Freeman
walked forth and met the reverend bride-
groom just as he had reached the foot of
the post from whence depended the Mowbray
Arms.
" Good morning, Mrs. Freeman," he said, in
the peculiar accent in which he always ad-
dressed those who were not (to use his own
phrase) of his father's house, — a tone in which
cold outward civility was struggling with hot
internal hatred ;- " Good morning, Mrs. Free-
man."
" Good morning, sir," resjionded Mrs. Fi'ee-
WREXHILL. 295
man with a very proper and ceremonious
curtsy.
" I have called to mention to you a neces-
sary alteration that must immediately take
place on your premises. You must forthwith
take down the Mowbray Arms, which have no
longer any connexion with the neighbourhood ;
and it may be, if you conduct yourselves pro-
perly, I may permit you to substitute the Cart-
wright Arms.^'
" I believe, sir," said Mrs. Freeman in a
tone rather too much approaching to indiffer-
ence, " that a publican may exhibit what sign
he likes, provided it be not offensive to com-
mon decency : and I think there may be a
many,^' she added, turning away to re-enter
her house, " who might object to the sign
you propose, as not coming wdthin that
line.''
She had made a step or two towards the
door, when she turned again upon hearing the
voice of the vicar raised to a very unusual
])itch. He was not addressing her, however,
but the boy Jem, who chanced at that moment
to be entering the little rickyard with a ladder
upon his shoulder.
" Brmg here that ladder, boy !" vociferated
the imperious great man.
296 THE VICAR OF
The boy obeyed, saying, as he drew near,
" What's your pleasure, sir }"
" Fix your ladder against this post, d'ye
hear ? and mount — steady, mind, — and take the
sign off the hooks. When you have got it loose,
you may let it drop. If it breaks, it's no mat-
ter, — it is of no farther value."
" Take down master's sign, your honour ?"
said Jem, opening his mouth and eyes to their
greatest dimensions, but not approaching an
inch nearer to the signpost.
" Do you dispute my orders, you little ruf-
fian ?" cried the holy vicar, his eyes flashing,
and his cane raised in a very threatening at-
titude.
" You be the parson of the parish, I know,"
said the boy, looking steadily in his face ; " and
they do say you be something else besides,
now; but I don't see that's a reason for my
lugging master's sign down."
At this moment the feelings of the man over-
came those of the saint, and Mr. Cartwright
seizing upon the ladder, succeeded in disen-
gaging it from the boy's hands, and himself
placing it against the post, had already got
one foot upon it, when Mrs. Freeman stepped
back, and taking a quiet but firm hold of his
arm, said,
WREXHILL. 297
'* It is a trespass and a damage you are com-
mitting, sir, and I warn you to desist ; and
I wish with all my heart that there was no
worser trespass and damage upon your con-
science — or at least that there was still as
good time to stop it. But, married or not to
the lady, we won't have nothing to do with
your arms, Mr. Cartwright, nor your legs nei-
ther, if you please, sir; so don't be after
climbing that fashion to disturb our property,
for it don't look clerical nohow."
Mr Cartwright raised his voice much be-
yond its usual pitch, to answer ; and at this
moment Sally and the traveller, moved by a
very natural feeling of curiosity, joined the
group.
" Why, what's the gentleman after ?" said
the wayfaring man, deliberately taking out a
pair of huge near-sighted spectacles to examine
into the mystery. " I should take un to be a
parson by his cloth ; only I never did hear of a
reverend climbing a ladder, save and except
the famous Dr. Dodd, as I've read of in the
Newgate Calendar."
This harangue, short as it was, saved the
Mowbray Arms from farther molestation for
the present ; for the vicar withdrew his foot.
298
THE VICAR OF WREXHILL.
But the glance with which he greeted the
speaker was very nearly aAvful. Dorothy Free-
man, however, turned on her heel, nothing
heeding it : her guest and daughter followed
her into the house ; Jem quietly took up his
ladder and proceeded on his business ; and the
Vicar of Wrexhill, with feelings which the
hope of future vengeance alone enabled him to
endure with decent philosophy, was fain to
turn on his heel also and walk oif.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
6-/^
LONDON:
SCHUIZE AND CO. 13, FOf.AND STRKET.
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