V W 
 
 J
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH
 
 A TALE 
 
 OF 
 
 A LONELY PAKISH 
 
 BY 
 
 F. MAEION CKAWFOBD 
 
 AUTHOR or 'ME. ISAACS," 'DR. CLADIUS,' 'A ROMAN SINGER,' 
 'ZOROASTER,' ETC. 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 LONDON 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1886. 
 
 [The rig/it of Translation is reserved.]
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 1886 
 BY F. MARION CRAWFORD
 
 , i 
 
 TO 
 
 St^otljer 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS TALE 
 
 NS, 
 
 A MEAN TOKEN OP A LIFELONG AFFECTION 
 
 SORRENTO, Christmas Day 1885.
 
 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE Eeverend Augustin Ambrose would gladly 
 have given up taking pupils. He was growing 
 old and Ms sight was beginning to trouble hirn ; 
 he was very weary of Thucydides, of Homer, of 
 the works of Mr. Todlmnter of which the green 
 bindings expressed a hope still unrealised, of conic 
 sections even of his beloved Horace. He was 
 tired of the stupidities of the dull young men 
 who were sent to him because they could not 
 "keep up," and he had long ceased to be sur 
 prised or interested by the remarks of the clever 
 ones who were sent to him because their educa 
 tion had not prepared them for an English 
 University. The dull ones could never be made 
 to understand anything, though Mr. Ambrose 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 generally succeeded in making them remember 
 enough to matriculate, by dint of ceaseless re 
 petition and a system of memoria technica which 
 embraced most things necessary to the salvation 
 of dull youth. The clever ones, on the other hand, 
 generally lacked altogether the solid foundation 
 of learning ; they could construe fluently but did 
 not know a long syllable from a short one ; they 
 had vague notions of elemental algebra and no 
 notion at all of arithmetic, but did very well in 
 conic sections ; they knew nothing of prosody, 
 but dabbled perpetually in English blank verse ; 
 altogether they knew most of those things which 
 they need not have known and they knew none 
 of those things thoroughly which they ought to 
 have known. After twenty years of experience 
 Mr. Ambrose ascertained that it was easier to 
 teach a stupid boy than a clever one, but that 
 he would prefer not to teach at all. 
 
 Unfortunately the small tithes of a small country 
 parish in Essex did not furnish a sufficient income 
 for his needs. He had been a Fellow of Trinity 
 College, Cambridge, within a few years of taking 
 his degree, wherein he had obtained high honours.
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 3 
 
 But he had married and had found himself 
 obliged to accept the first living offered to him, 
 to wit, the vicarage of Billingsfield, whereof his 
 college held the rectory and received the great 
 tithes. The entire income he obtained from his 
 cure never at any time exceeded three hundred 
 and forty-seven pounds, and in the year when it 
 reached that high figure there had been an 
 unusually large number of marriages. It was 
 not surprising that the vicar should desire to 
 improve his circumstances by receiving one or 
 two pupils. He had married young, as has been 
 said, and there had been children born to him, a 
 son and a daughter. Mrs. Ambrose was a good 
 manager and a good mother, and her husband 
 had worked hard. Between them they had 
 brought up their children exceedingly well. The 
 son had in his turn entered the church, had 
 exhibited a faculty of pushing his way which 
 had not characterised his father, had got a curacy 
 in a fashionable Yorkshire watering-place, and 
 was thought to be on the way to obtain a first- 
 rate living. In the course of time, too, the 
 daughter had lost her heart to a young physician
 
 4 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 who had brilliant prospects and some personal 
 fortune, and the Eeverend Augustin Ambrose had 
 given his consent to the union. Nor had he 
 been disappointed. The young physician had 
 risen rapidly in his profession, had been elected a 
 member of the London College, had transferred 
 himself to the capital and now enjoyed a rising 
 practice in Chelsea. So great was his success 
 that it was thought he would before long purchase 
 the goodwill of an old practitioner who dwelt in 
 the neighbourhood of Brompton Crescent, and 
 who, it was said, might shortly be expected to 
 retire. 
 
 It will be seen, therefore, that if Mr. Ambrose's 
 life had not been very brilliant, his efforts had on 
 the whole been attended with success. His 
 children were both happy and independent and 
 no longer needed his assistance or support; his 
 wife, the excellent Mrs. Ambrose, enjoyed unfail 
 ing health and good spirits ; he himself was still 
 vigorous and active, and as yet found no 
 difficulty in obtaining a couple of pupils at two 
 hundred pounds a year each, for he had early 
 got a reputation for successfully preparing young
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 5 
 
 gentlemen with whom no other private tutor 
 could do anything, and he had established the 
 scale of his prices accordingly. It is true that 
 he had sacrificed other things for the sake of 
 imparting tuition, and more than once he had 
 hesitated and asked himself whether he should 
 go on. Indeed, when he graduated, it was thought 
 that he would soon make himself remarkable by 
 the publication of some scholarly work ; it was 
 foretold that he might become a famous preacher ; 
 it was asserted that he was a general favourite 
 with the Fellows of Trinity and would get a 
 proportionately fat living but he had committed 
 the unpardonable sin of allowing his chances of 
 fortune to slip from him. He had given up his 
 fellowship, had married and had accepted an 
 insignificant country living. He asked nothing, 
 and he got nothing. He never attracted the 
 notice of his bishop by doing anything extra 
 ordinary, nor the notice of the public by appearing 
 in print. He baptized, married and buried the 
 people of Billingsfield, Essex, and he took private 
 pupils. He wrote a sermon once a fortnight, 
 and revised old ones for the other three occasions
 
 6 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 out of four. His sermons were good in their 
 way, but were intended for simple folk and did 
 no justice to the powers he had certainly 
 possessed in his youth. Indeed, as years went 
 on, the dry routine of his life produced its 
 inevitable effect upon his mind, and the produc 
 tions of Mr. Ambrose grew to be exceedingly 
 commonplace ; and the more commonplace he 
 became, the more he regretted having done so 
 little with the faculties he enjoyed, and the 
 more weary he became of the daily task of 
 galvanising the dull minds of his pupils into a 
 spasmodic activity, just sufficient to leap the 
 ditch that separates the schoolboy from the 
 undergraduate. He had not only educated his 
 children and seen them provided for in the 
 world ; he had also saved a little money and he 
 had insured his life for five hundred pounds. 
 There was no longer any positive necessity for 
 continuing to teach, as there had been thirty 
 years ago, when he first married. 
 
 So much for the circumstances of the Eeverend 
 Augustin Ambrose. Personally he was a man of 
 good presence, five feet ten inches in height;
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 7 
 
 active and strong, of a ruddy complexion with 
 smooth, thick gray hair and a plentiful gray 
 beard. He shaved his upper lip however, greatly 
 to the detriment of his appearance, for the said 
 upper lip was very long and the absence of the 
 hirsute appendage showed a very large mouth 
 with very thin lips, generally compressed into 
 an expression of remarkable obstinacy. His 
 nose was both broad and long and his gray eyes 
 were bright and aggressive in their glance. As 
 a matter of fact Mr. Ambrose was combative by 
 nature, but his fighting instincts seem to have 
 been generally employed in the protection of 
 rights he already possessed, rather than in 
 pushing on in search of fresh fields of activity. 
 He was an active man, fond of walking alone 
 and able to walk any distance he pleased; a 
 charitable man with the charity peculiar to 
 people of exceedingly economical tendencies and 
 possessing small fixed incomes. He would give 
 himself vast personal trouble to assist distress, 
 as though aware that since he could not give 
 much money to the poor he was bound to give 
 the best of himself. The good Mrs. Ambrose
 
 8 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 seconded him in this as in all his works ; 
 labouring hard when hard work could do any 
 good, but giving material assistance with a 
 sparing hand. It sufficiently defines the two 
 to say that although many a surly labourer in 
 the parish grumbled that the vicar and his wife 
 were "oncommon near," when money was con 
 cerned, there was nevertheless no trouble in 
 which their aid was not invoked and their 
 advice asked. But the indigent labourer not 
 uncommonly retrieved his position by asking a 
 shilling of one of the young gentlemen at the 
 vicarage, who were generally open-handed, good- 
 looking boys, blessed with a great deal more 
 money than brains. 
 
 At the time when this tale opens, however, it 
 chanced that one of the two young gentlemen 
 at the vicarage was by no means in the position 
 peculiar to the majority of youths who sought 
 the good offices of the Eeverend Augustin 
 Ambrose. John Short, aged eighteen, was in all 
 respects a remarkable contrast to his companion 
 the Honourable Cornelius Angleside. John 
 Short was apparently very poor ; the Honourable
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 9 
 
 Cornelius on the other hand had plenty of money. 
 Short was undeniably clever ; Angleside was 
 uncommonly dull. Short was the son of a 
 decayed literary man; Angleside was the son of 
 a nobleman. Short was by nature a hard 
 worker; Angleside was amazingly idle. Short 
 meant to do something in the world ; Angleside 
 had early determined to do nothing. 
 
 It would not be easy to define the reasons 
 which induced Mr. Ambrose to receive John 
 Short under his roof. He had never before 
 taken a pupil on any but his usual terms, and 
 at his time of life it was strange that he should 
 break through the rule. But here his peculiar 
 views of charity came into play. Short's father 
 had been his own chum at school, and his friend 
 at college, but had failed to reap any sub 
 stantial benefits from his education. He had 
 been a scholar in his way, but his way had not 
 been the way of other scholars, and when he 
 had gone up for honours he had got a bad third 
 in classics. He would not enter the church, he 
 could not enter the law, he had no interest 
 whatever, and he found himself naturally thrust
 
 10 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 into the profession of literature. For a time he 
 had nearly starved ; then he had met with some 
 success and had, of course, married without 
 hesitation ; after this he had had more mis 
 fortunes. His wife had died leaving him an 
 only son, whom in course of time he had sent to 
 school. But school was too expensive and he had 
 reluctantly taken the boy home again. It was 
 in a fit of despair that he wrote to his old friend 
 Augustin Ambrose, asking his advice. The 
 Reverend Augustin considered the matter with 
 the assistance of his wife, and being charitable 
 souls, they determined that they must help 
 Short to educate his son. Accordingly the vicar 
 of Billingsfield wrote to his old friend to say 
 that if he could manage to pay a small sum for 
 the lad's board, he, the vicar, would complete 
 the boy's education, so that he might at least 
 have a chance in the world. Short accepted the 
 offer with boundless gratitude and had hitherto 
 not failed to pay the vicar the small sum agreed 
 upon. The result of all this was that Mr. 
 Ambrose had grown very fond of John, and 
 John had derived great advantage from his
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 11 
 
 position. He possessed precisely what his father 
 had lacked, namely a strong bent in one direction, 
 and there was no doubt that he would distinguish 
 himself if he had a chance. That chance the 
 vicar had determined to give him. He had 
 made up his mind that his old friend's son 
 should go to college and show what he was able 
 to do. It was not an easy thing to manage, but 
 the vicar had friends in Cambridge and John 
 had brains ; moreover the vicar and John were 
 both very obstinate people and had both deter 
 mined upon the same plan, so that there was 
 a strong probability of their succeeding. 
 
 John Short was eighteen years of age, neither 
 particularly good-looking nor by any means the 
 reverse. He had what bankers commonly call a 
 lucky face ; that is to say he had a certain very 
 prepossessing look of honesty in his blue eyes, and 
 a certain look of energetic good will in his features. 
 When he was much older and wore a beard he 
 passed for a handsome man, but at eighteen he 
 could only boast the smallest of fair whiskers, 
 and when anybody took the trouble to look long 
 at him, which was not often, the verdict was
 
 12 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 that his jaw was too heavy and his mouth too 
 obstinate. In complexion he was fair, and 
 healthy to look at, generally sunburned in the 
 summer, for he had a habit of reading out of 
 doors ; his laugh was very pleasant, though it 
 was rarely heard ; his eyes were honest but 
 generally thoughtful ; his frame was sturdy and 
 already inclined rather to strength than to grace 
 ful proportion ; his head matched his body well 
 being broad and well -shaped with plenty of 
 prominence over the brows and plenty of fulness 
 above the temples. He had a way of standing as 
 though it would not be easy to move him, and a 
 way of expressing his opinion which seemed to 
 challenge contradiction. But he was not a 
 combative boy. If any one argued with him, it 
 soon appeared that he was not really argument 
 ative, but merely enthusiastic. It was not 
 necessary to agree with him, and there was small 
 use in contradicting him. The more he talked 
 the more enthusiastic he grew as he developed 
 his own views; until seeing that he was not 
 understood or that he was merely laughed at, 
 he would end his discourse with a merry laugh
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 13 
 
 at himself, or a shy apology for having talked 
 so much. But the vicar assured his wife that 
 the boy's Greek and Latin verses were something 
 very extraordinary indeed, and much better than 
 his own in his best days. For John was passion 
 ately fond of the classics and did not propose 
 to acquire any more mathematical knowledge 
 than was strictly necessary for his matriculation 
 and " little-go." He meant to be a famous scholar 
 and he meant to get a fellowship at his college 
 in order to be perfectly independent and to help 
 his father. 
 
 John was a constant source of wonder to his 
 companion the Honourable Cornelius Angleside, 
 who remembered to have seen fellows of that sort 
 at Eton but had never got near enough to them 
 to know what they were really like. Cornelius 
 had a vague idea that there was some trick 
 about appearing to know so much and that those 
 reading chaps were awful humbugs. How the 
 trick was performed he did not venture to explain, 
 but he was as firmly persuaded that it was managed 
 by some species of conjuring as that Messrs. 
 Maskelyne and Cook performed their wonders
 
 14 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 by sleight of hand. That one human brain 
 should actually contain the amount of knowledge 
 John Short appeared to possess was not credible 
 to the Honourable Cornelius, and the latter spent 
 more of his time in trying to discover how John 
 " did it " than in trying to " do it " himself. 
 Nevertheless, young Angleside liked Short after 
 his own fashion, and Short did not dislike Angleside. 
 John's father had given him to understand that 
 as a general rule persons of wealth and good 
 birth were a set of overbearing, purse-proud 
 bullies, who considered men of genius to be little 
 better than a set of learned monkeys, certainly 
 not good enough to black their boots. For John's 
 father in his misfortunes had imbibed sundry 
 radical notions formerly peculiar to poor literary 
 men, and not yet altogether extinct, and he had 
 accordingly warned his son that all mammon 
 was the mammon of unrighteousness, and that 
 the people who possessed it were the natural 
 enemies of people who had to live by their brains. 
 But John had very soon discovered that though 
 Cornelius Angleside possessed the three qualifica 
 tions for perdition, in the shape of birth, wealth
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 15 
 
 and ignorance, against which his poor father 
 railed unceasingly, he succeeded nevertheless in 
 making himself very good company. Angleside 
 was not overbearing, he was not purse-proud and 
 he was not a bully. On the contrary he was 
 unobtrusive and sufficiently simple in manner, 
 and he certainly never mentioned the subject of 
 his family or fortune ; John rather pitied him, on 
 the whole, until he began to discover that 
 Angleside looked up to him on account of his 
 mental superiority, and then John, being very 
 human, began to like him. 
 
 The life at the vicarage of Billingsfield, Essex, 
 was not remarkable for anything but its extreme 
 regularity. Prayers, breakfast, work, lunch, a 
 walk, work, dinner, work, prayers, bed. The 
 programme never varied, save as the seasons 
 introduced some change in the hours of the 
 establishment. The vicar, who was fond of a 
 little gardening and amused himself with a 
 variety of experiments in the laying of asparagus 
 beds, found occasional excitement in the pursuit 
 of a stray cat which had managed to climb his 
 wire netting and get at the heads of his favourite
 
 16 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 vegetable, in which thrilling chase he was usually 
 aided by an old brown retriever answering, when 
 he answered at all, to the name of Carlo, and by 
 the Honourable Cornelius, whose skill in throwing 
 stones was as phenomenal as his ignorance of 
 Latin quantities. The play was invariably opened 
 by old Eeynolds, the ancient and bowlegged 
 gardener, groom and man of all work at the 
 vicarage. 
 
 "Please sir, there's Simon G-unn's cat in the 
 sparrer-grass." The information was accompanied 
 by a sort of chuckle of evil satisfaction which at 
 once roused the sleeping passions of the Eeverend 
 Augustin Ambrose. 
 
 "Dear me, Eeynolds, then why don't you turn 
 her out ?" and without waiting for an answer, the 
 excellent vicar would spring from his seat and 
 rush down the lawn in the direction of the beds, 
 closely followed by the Honourable Cornelius, 
 who picked up stones from the gravel path as he 
 ran, and whose long legs made short work of the 
 iron fence at the bottom of the garden. Mean 
 while the aged Eeynolds let Carlo loose from the 
 yard and the hunt was prosecuted with great
 
 i.] A TALE OP A LONELY PARISH. 17 
 
 boldness and ingenuity. The vicar's object was 
 to get the cat out of the asparagus bed as soon 
 as possible without hurting her, for he was a 
 humane man and would not have hurt a fly. 
 Cornelius, on the other hand, desired the game to 
 last as long as possible, and endeavoured to 
 prevent the cat's escape by always hitting the 
 wire netting at the precise spot where she was 
 trying to get over it. In this way he would 
 often succeed in getting as much as half an hour's 
 respite from Horace. At last the vicar, panting 
 with his exertions and bathed in perspiration, 
 would protest against the form of assault. 
 
 " Eeally, Angleside," he would say, " I believe 
 I could throw straighter myself. I'm quite sure 
 Carlo can get her out if you leave him alone." 
 
 Whereupon Cornelius would put his hands in 
 his pockets and look on, and in a few minutes, 
 when the cat had been driven out and the vicar's 
 back was turned, he would slip a sixpence into 
 old Eeynold's hand, and follow his tutor reluc 
 tantly back to the study. Whether there was 
 any connection between the cat and the sixpence 
 is uncertain, but during the last months of 
 
 VOL. i. C
 
 18 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Angleside's stay at the vicarage the ingenuity of 
 Simon Gunn's yellow cat in getting over the wire 
 netting reached such a pitch that the vicar began 
 to prepare a letter to the Bishop Stortford 
 Chronicle, on the relations generally existing 
 between cats and asparagus beds. 
 
 Another event in the life of the vicarage was 
 the periodical lameness of the vicar's strawberry 
 mare, followed by the invariable discovery that 
 George Horsnell the village blacksmith had run 
 a nail into her foot when he shoed her last. 
 Invariably, also, the vicar threatened that in 
 future the mare should be shod by Hawkins the 
 rival blacksmith, who was a dissenter and had 
 consequently never been employed by the vicar 
 age. Moreover it was generally rumoured once 
 every year that old Nat Barker, the octogenarian 
 cripple who had not been able to stand upon his 
 feet for twenty years, was at the point of death. 
 He invariably recovered, however, in time to put 
 in an appearance by proxy at the distribution of 
 a certain dole of a loaf and a shilling on boxing 
 day. It was told also that in remote times the 
 Puckeridge hounds had once come that way and
 
 I.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 19 
 
 that the fox had got into the churchyard. A 
 repetition of this stirring event was anxiously 
 looked for during many years, every time that 
 the said pack met within ten miles of Billings- 
 field, but hitherto it had been looked for in vain. 
 On the whole the life at the vicarage was not 
 eventful, and the studies of the two young men 
 who imbibed learning at the feet of the Reverend 
 Augustin Ambrose were rarely interrupted. 
 
 Mrs. Ambrose herself represented the feminine 
 element in the society of the little place. The 
 new doctor was a strange man, suspected of being 
 a freethinker, and he was not married. The 
 Hall, for there was a Hall at Billingsfield, was 
 uninhabited, and had been uninhabited for years. 
 The estate which belonged to it was unimportant 
 and moreover was in Chancery and seemed likely 
 to stay there, for reasons no one ever mentioned 
 at Billingsfield, because no one knew anything 
 about them. From time to time a legal looking 
 personage drove up to the Duke's Head, which 
 was kept by Mr. Abraham Boosey, who was also 
 undertaker to the parish, and which was thought 
 to be a very good inn. The legal personage stayed
 
 20 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 a day or two, spending most of his time at the 
 Hall and in driving about to the scattered farms 
 which represented the estate, but he never came 
 to the vicarage, nor did the vicar ever seem to 
 know what he was doing nor why he came. " He 
 came on business" that was all that anybody 
 knew. His business was to collect rents, of 
 course; but what he did with them, no one 
 was bold enough to surmise. The estate was 
 in Chancery, it was said, and the definition 
 conveyed about as much to the mind of the 
 average inhabitant of Billingsfield, as if he had 
 been informed that the moon was in perigee or 
 the sun in Scorpio. The practical result of its 
 being in Chancery was that no one lived there. 
 
 John Short liked Mrs. Ambrose and the 
 Honourable Cornelius behaved to her with well- 
 bred affability. She always said Cornelius had 
 very nice manners, as indeed he had and had 
 need to have. Occasionally, perhaps four or five 
 times in the year, the Eeverend Edward Pewlay,. 
 who had what he called a tenor voice, and his 
 wife, who played the pianoforte very fairly, came 
 over to assist at a Penny Eeading. He lived
 
 i.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 21 
 
 " over Harlow way," as the natives expressed it, 
 he was what was called in those parts a rabid 
 Anglican, because he preached in his surplice and 
 had services on the Saints' days, and the vicar of 
 Billingsfield did not sympathise in his views. 
 Nevertheless he was very useful at Penny 
 Headings, and on one of these occasions produced 
 a very ingenious ghost for the delectation of the 
 rustics, by means of a piece of plate glass and a 
 couple of lamps. 
 
 There had indeed been festivities at the 
 vicarage to which as many as three clergymen's 
 wives had been invited, but these were rare 
 indeed. For months at a time Mrs. Ambrose 
 reigned in undisputed possession -of the woman's 
 social rights in Billingsfield. She was an ex 
 cellent person in every way. She had once been 
 handsome and even now she was fine-looking, of 
 goodly stature, if also of goodly weight; rosy, 
 even rubicund, in complexion, and rotund of 
 , feature ; looking at you rather severely out of 
 her large gray eyes, but able to smile very 
 cheerfully and to show an uncommonly good set 
 of teeth ; twisting her thick gray hair into a
 
 22 A TALE OF A LONELY PA11ISH. [CHAP. 
 
 small knot at the back of her head and then 
 covering it with a neatly made cap which she 
 considered becoming to her time of life ; dressed 
 always with extreme simplicity and neatness, 
 glorying in her good sense and in her stout 
 shoes; speaking of things which she called 
 "neat" with a devotional admiration and ex 
 pressing the extremest height of her disappro 
 bation when she said anything was "very untidy." 
 A motherly woman, a practical woman, a good 
 housekeeper and a good wife, careful of small 
 things because generally only small things came 
 in her way, devotedly attached to her husband, 
 whom she regarded with perfect justice as the 
 best man of her acquaintance adding, however, 
 with somewhat precipitous rashness that he was 
 the best man in the world. She took also a 
 great interest in his pupils and busied herself 
 mightily with their welfare. Since the arrival of 
 the new doctor who was suspected of free-thinking, 
 she had shown a strong leaning towards homoeo 
 pathy, and prescribed small pellets of belladonna 
 for the Honourable Cornelius's cold and infini 
 tesimal drops of aconite for John Short's head-
 
 [.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 23 
 
 aches, until she observed that John never had 
 a headache unless he had worked too much, and 
 Angleside always had a cold when he did not 
 want to work at all. Especially in the depart 
 ment of the commissariat she showed great 
 activity, and the reputation the vicar had acquired 
 for feeding his pupils well had perhaps more to 
 do with his success than he imagined. She was 
 never tired of repeating that Englishmen needed 
 plenty of good food, and she had no principles 
 which she did not practise. She even thought it 
 right to lecture young Angleside upon his idleness 
 at stated intervals. He always replied with great 
 gentleness that he was awfully stupid, you know, 
 and Mr. Ambrose was awfully good about it and 
 he hoped he should not be pulled when he went 
 up. And strange to relate he actually passed his 
 examination and matriculated, to his own immense 
 astonishment and to the no small honour and 
 glory of the Eeverend Augustin Ambrose, vicar 
 of Billingsfield, Essex. But when that great day 
 arrived certain events occurred which are worthy 
 to be chronicled and remembered.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 IN the warm June weather young Angleside went 
 up to pass his examination for entrance at Trinity. 
 There is nothing particularly interesting or worthy 
 of note in that simple process, though at that 
 time the custom of imposing an examination had 
 only been recently imported from Oxford. For 
 one whole day forty or fifty young fellows from 
 all parts of the country sat at the long dining- 
 tables in the beautiful old hall and wrote as 
 busily as they could, answering the printed 
 questions before them, and eyeing each other 
 curiously from time to time. The weather was 
 warm and sultry, the trees were all in full leaf 
 and Cambridge was deserted. Only a few hard- 
 reading men, who stayed up during the Long, 
 wandered out with books at the backs of the 
 colleges or strayed slowly through the empty
 
 OHAP. ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 25 
 
 courts, objects of considerable interest to the 
 youths who had come up for the entrance 
 examination chiefly pale men in rather shabby 
 clothes with old gowns and battered caps, and a 
 general appearance of being the worse for wear. 
 
 Angleside had been in Cambridge before and 
 consequently lost no time in returning to Billings- 
 field when the examination was over. Short was 
 to spend the summer at the vicarage, reading- 
 hard until the term began, when he was to go up 
 and compete for a minor scholarship ; Angleside 
 was to wait until he heard whether he had 
 passed, and was then going abroad to meet his 
 father and to rest from the extreme exertion of 
 mastering the " Apology " and the first books of 
 the " Memorabilia." John drove over to meet 
 the Honourable Cornelius, who was in a terrible 
 state of anxiety and left him no peace on the 
 way asking him again and again to repeat the 
 answers to the questions which had been proposed, 
 reckoning up the ones he had answered wrong 
 and the ones he thought he might have answered 
 right, and coming each time to a different con 
 clusion, finally lighting a huge brierwood pipe
 
 26 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 and swearing " that it was a beastly shame to 
 subject human beings to such awful torture." 
 John calmed him by saying he fancied Cornelius 
 had "got through"; for John's words were a 
 species of gospel to Cornelius. By the time 
 they reached the vicarage Angleside felt sanguine 
 of his success. 
 
 The vicar was not visible. It was a strange 
 and unheard of thing there were visitors in the 
 drawing-room. This doubtless accounted for the 
 fact that the fly from the Duke's Head was 
 standing on the opposite side of the road. 
 The two young men went into their study, 
 which was on the ground floor and opened 
 upon the passage which led to the drawing- 
 room from the little hall. Angleside remarked 
 that by leaving the door open they would 
 catch a glimpse of the visitor when he went 
 out. But the visitor stayed long. The curi 
 osity of the two was wrought up to a high 
 pitch; it was many months since there had 
 been a real visitor at the vicarage. Angleside 
 suggested going out and finding old Eeynolds 
 he always knew everything that was going on.
 
 11.] A TALE OF A LONELY TAKISH. 27 
 
 " If we only wait long enough," said Short 
 philosophically, " they are sure to come out." 
 
 " Perhaps," returned Cornelius rather doubtfully. 
 
 "They" did come out. The drawing-room 
 door opened and there was a sound of voices. 
 It was a woman's voice, and a particularly 
 sweet voice, too. Still no one came down 
 the passage. The lady seemed to be linger 
 ing in taking her leave. Then there was a 
 sound of small feet and suddenly a little girl 
 stood before the open door of the study, looking 
 wonderingly at the two young men. Short 
 thought he had never seen such a beautiful 
 child. She could not have been more than 
 seven or eight years old, and was not tall for her 
 age ; a delicate little figure, all in black, with 
 long brown curls upon her shoulders, flowing 
 abundantly from beneath a round black sailor's 
 hat that was set far back upon her head. 
 The child's face was rather . pale than very 
 fair, of a beautiful transparent paleness, with 
 the least tinge of colour in the cheeks ; her 
 great violet eyes gazed wonderingly into the 
 study, and her lips parted in childlike uncer-
 
 28 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 tainty, while her little gloved hand rested 
 on the door-post as though to get a sense of 
 security from something so solid. 
 
 It was only for a moment. Both the young 
 fellows smiled at the child unconsciously. Per 
 haps she thought they were laughing at her ; 
 she turned and ran away again ; then passed a 
 second time, stealing a long glance at the two 
 strangers, but followed immediately by the lady, 
 who was probably her mother, and whose voice 
 had been heard for the last few moments. 
 The lady, too, glanced in as she went by, and 
 John Short lost his heart then and there ; not 
 that the lady was beautiful as the little girl was, 
 but because there was something in her face, in 
 her figure, in her whole carriage, that moved the 
 boy suddenly as she looked at him and sent the 
 blood rushing to his cheeks and forehead. 
 
 She seemed young, but he never thought of her 
 age. In reality she was nine-and-twenty years 
 old but looked younger. She was pale, far 
 paler than the little girl, but she had those 
 same violet eyes, large, deep and sorrowful, 
 beneath dark, smooth eyebrows that arched high
 
 ir.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 29 
 
 and rose a little in the middle. Her mouth 
 was perhaps large for her face but her full lips 
 curved gently and seemed able to smile, though 
 she was not smiling. Her nose was perhaps too 
 small her face was far from faultless and it 
 had the slightest tendency to turn up instead 
 of down, but it was so delicately modelled that 
 an artist would have pardoned it that deviation 
 from the classic. Thick brown hair waved 
 across her white forehead and was hidden under 
 the black bonnet and the veil thrown back over 
 it. She was dressed in black and the close-fitting 
 gown showed off with unconscious vanity the 
 lines of a perfectly moulded and perfectly 
 supple figure. But it was especially her eyes 
 which attracted John's sudden attention at that 
 first glance, her violet eyes, tender, sad, almost 
 pathetic, seeming to ask sympathy and mar 
 vellously able to command it. 
 
 It was but for a moment that she paused. 
 Then came the vicar, following her from the 
 drawing-room, and all three went on. Presently 
 Short heard the front door open and Mi- 
 Ambrose shouted to the fly.
 
 30 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Muggins ! Muggins ! " 
 
 No one had ever been able to say why 
 Abraham Boosey, the publican, had christened 
 his henchman with an appellation so vulgar, 
 to say the least of it so amazingly cacophonous. 
 The man's real name was plain Charles Bird ; 
 but Abraham Boosey had christened him Muggins 
 and Muggins he remained. Muggins had had 
 some beer and was asleep, for the afternoon was 
 hot and he had anticipated his " fours." 
 
 Short saw his opportunity and darted out of 
 the study to the hall where the lady and her 
 little girl were waiting while the vicar tried to 
 rouse the driver of the fly by shouting at him. 
 John blushed again as he passed close to the 
 woman with the sad eyes ; he could not tell why, 
 but the blood mounted to the very roots of his 
 hair, and for a moment he felt very foolish. 
 
 " I'll wake him up, Mr. Ambrose," he said, 
 running out hatless into the summer's sun. 
 
 " Wake up, you lazy beggar ! " he shouted in 
 the ear of the sleeping Muggins, shaking him 
 violently by the arm as he stood upon the 
 wheel. Muggins grunted something and smiled
 
 IT.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 31 
 
 rather idiotically. "It was only the young 
 gentleman's play," he would have said. Bless 
 you ! he did not mind being shaken and screamed 
 at ! He slowly turned his horses and brought 
 the fly up to the door. John walked back 
 and stood waiting. 
 
 " Thank you," said the lady in a voice that 
 made his heart jump, as she came out from under 
 the porch and the vicar helped her to get in. 
 Then it was the turn of the little girl. 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear," said the vicar kindly 
 as he took her hand. 
 
 " Good-bye," said the child. Then she hesitated 
 and looked at John, who was standing beside 
 the clergyman. "Good-bye," she repeated, hold 
 ing out her little hand shyly towards him. 
 John took it and grew redder than ever as 
 he felt that the lady was watching him. Then 
 the little girl blushed and laughed in her small 
 embarrassment, and climbed into the carriage. 
 
 " You will write, then ? " asked Mr. Ambrose 
 as he shut the door. 
 
 " Yes and thank you again. You are very, 
 very kind to me," answered the lady, and John
 
 32 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 thought that as she spoke there were tears in her 
 voice. She seemed very unhappy and to John 
 she seemed very beautiful. Muggins cracked 
 his whip and the fly moved off, leaving the 
 vicar and his pupil standing together at the 
 iron wicket gate before the house. 
 
 " Well ? Do you think Angleside got through ? " 
 asked Mr. Ambrose, rather anxiously. 
 
 Short said he thought Angleside was safe. 
 He hoped the vicar would say something about 
 the lady, but to his annoyance, he said nothing 
 at all. John could not ask questions, seeing it 
 was none of his business and was fain to con 
 tent himself with thinking of the lady's face 
 and voice. He felt very uncomfortable at dinner. 
 He thought the excellent Mrs. Ambrose eyed him 
 with unusual severity, as though suspecting what 
 he was thinking about, and he thought the vicar's 
 gray eye twinkled occasionally with the pleasant 
 sense of possessing a secret he had no intention 
 of imparting. As a matter of fact Mrs. Ambrose 
 was supremely unconscious of the fact that John 
 had seen the lady, and looked at him with some 
 curiosity, observing that he seemed nervous and
 
 ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 33 
 
 blushed from time to time and was more silent 
 than usual. She came to the conclusion that 
 he had been working too hard, as usual, and 
 that night requested him to take two little 
 pellets of aconite, and to repeat the dose in the 
 morning. Whether it was the result of the 
 homoeopathic medicine or of the lapse of a few 
 hours and a good night's rest, it is impossible to 
 say ; John, however, was himself again the 
 next morning and showed no further signs of 
 nervousness. But he kept his eyes and ears 
 open, hoping for some news of the exquisite 
 creature who had made so profound an im 
 pression on his heart. 
 
 In due time the joyful news arrived from 
 Cambridge that the Honourable Cornelius had 
 passed his examination and was at liberty to 
 matriculate at the beginning of the term. The 
 intelligence was duly telegraphed to his father, 
 and in a few hours came a despatch in answer, 
 full of affectionate congratulation and requesting 
 that Cornelius should proceed at once to Paris, 
 where his father was waiting for him. The 
 young man took an affectionate leave of the 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 vicar, of Mrs. Ambrose and especially of John 
 Short, for whom he had conceived an almost 
 superstitious admiration; old Eeynolds was not 
 forgotten in the farewell, and for several days 
 after Angleside's departure the aged gardener 
 was observed to walk somewhat unsteadily and 
 to wear a peculiarly thoughtful expression ; while 
 the vicar observed with annoyance that Straw 
 berry, the old mare, was less carefully groomed 
 than usual. Strangely coincident with these 
 phenomena was the fact that Simon Gunn's 
 yellow cat seemed to have entirely repented of 
 her evil practices, renouncing from the day when 
 Cornelius left for Paris her periodical invasion 
 of the asparagus beds at the foot of the 
 garden. But the vicar was too practical a 
 man to waste time in speculating upon the 
 occult relations of seemingly disconnected facts. 
 He applied himself with diligence to the work of 
 preparing John Short to compete for the minor 
 scholarship. The labour was congenial. He 
 had never taken a pupil so far before, and it was 
 a genuine delight to him to bring his own real 
 powers into play at last. As the summer wore
 
 ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 35 
 
 on, he predicted all manner of success for John 
 Short, and his predictions were destined before 
 long to be realised, for John did all he promised 
 to do and more also. To have succeeded in 
 pushing the Honourable Cornelius through his 
 entrance examination was a triumph indeed, but 
 an uninteresting one at best, and one which had 
 no further consequences. But to be the means 
 of turning out the senior classic of the University 
 was an honour which would not only greatly 
 increase the good vicar's reputation but would 
 be to him a source of the keenest satisfaction 
 during the remainder of his life ; moreover 
 the prospects which would be immediately opened 
 to John in case he obtained such a brilliant 
 success would be a very material benefit to his 
 unlucky father, whose talents yielded him but 
 a precarious livelihood and whose pitiable con 
 dition had induced his old schoolfellow to under 
 take the education of his son. 
 
 Much depended upon John's obtaining one or 
 more scholarships during his career at college. 
 To a man of inferior talents the vicar would 
 have suggested that it would be wiser to go to
 
 36 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 a smaller college than Trinity where he would 
 have less competition to expect; but as soon 
 as he realised John's powers, he made up his 
 mind that it would be precisely where competi 
 tion was hottest that his pupil would have the 
 greatest success. He would get something 
 perhaps his father would make a little more 
 money the vicar even dreamed of lending John 
 a small sum something would turn up ; at 
 all events he must go to the largest college and 
 do everything in the best possible way. Mean 
 while he must work as hard as he could during 
 the few months remaining before the beginning 
 of his first term. 
 
 Whether the lady ever wrote to Mr. Ambrose, 
 John could not ascertain ; she was never men 
 tioned at the vicarage, and it seemed as though 
 the mystery were never to be solved. But the 
 impression she had made upon the young man's 
 mind remained and even gained strength by the 
 working of his imagination; for he thought of her 
 night and day, treasuring up every memory of her 
 that he could recall, building romances in his 
 mind, conceiving the most ingenious reasons for
 
 II.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 37 
 
 the solitary visit she had made to the vicarage, 
 and inwardly vowing that if ever he should be at 
 liberty to follow his own inclinations he would go 
 out into the world and search for her. He was 
 only eighteen then, and of a strongly susceptible 
 temperament. He had seen nothing of the world, 
 for even when living in London, in a dingy lodging, 
 with his father, he had been perpetually occupied 
 with books, reading much and seeing little. Then 
 he had been at school, but he had seen the dark 
 side of school life the side which boys who are 
 known to be very poor generally see ; and more 
 than ever he had resorted to study for comfort 
 and relief from outward ills. Then at last he had 
 been transferred to a serener state in the vicarage 
 of Billingsfield and had grown up rapidly from a 
 schoolboy to a young man ; but, as has been said, 
 the feminine element at the vicarage was solely 
 represented by Mrs. Ambrose and the monotony 
 of her maternal society was varied only by the 
 occasional visits of the mild young Mrs. Edward 
 Pewlay. John Short had indeed a powerful and 
 aspiring imagination, but it would have been im 
 possible even by straining that faculty to its
 
 38 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 utmost activity to think in the same breath of 
 romance and of Mrs. Ambrose, for even in her 
 youth Mrs. Ambrose had not been precisely a 
 romantic character. John's fancy was not stimu 
 lated by his surroundings, but it fed upon itself 
 and grew fast enough to acquire an influence 
 over everything he did. It was not surprising 
 that, when at last chance threw in his way a 
 being who seemed instantly to realise and fulfil 
 his wildest dreams of beauty and feminine fascina 
 tion, he should have yielded without a struggle 
 to the delicious influence, feeling that henceforth 
 his ideal had taken shape and substance, and had 
 thereby become more than ever the ideal in which 
 he delighted. 
 
 He gave her names, a dozen of them every day, 
 christening her after every heroine in fiction and 
 history of whom he had ever read. But no name 
 seemed to suit her well enough ; whereupon he 
 wrote a Greek ode and a Latin epistle to the fair 
 unknown, but omitted to show them to the 
 Eeverend Augustin Ambrose, though he was 
 quite certain that they were the best he had ever 
 produced. Then he began to write a novel, but
 
 ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 39 
 
 suddenly recollected that a famous author had 
 written one entitled " No Name," and as that was 
 the only title he could possibly give to the work 
 he contemplated he of course had no .choice but 
 to abandon the work itself. He wrote more 
 verses, and he dreamed more dreams, and he 
 meanwhile acquired much learning and in pro 
 cess of time realised that he had but a few days 
 longer to stay at Billingsfield. The Michaelmas 
 term was about to open and he must bid farewell 
 to the hospitable roof and the learned conversation 
 of the good vicar. But when those last days 
 came he realised that he was leaving the scene 
 of his only dream, and his heart grew sad. 
 
 Indeed he loved the old red brick vicarage 
 with its low porch, overgrown with creepers, its 
 fragrant old flower garden, surrounding it on 
 three sides, its gabled roof, its south wall whereon 
 the vicar constantly attempted to train fig trees, 
 maintaining that the climate of England had 
 grown warmer and that he would prove it 
 John loved it all, and especially he loved the 
 little study, lined with the books grown familiar 
 to him, and the study door, the door through
 
 40 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 which he had seen that lovely face which he 
 firmly believed was to inspire him to do great 
 things and to influence his whole life for ever 
 after. He would leave the door open and place 
 himself just where he had sat that day, and then 
 he would look suddenly up with beating heart, 
 almost fancying he could again see those violet 
 eyes gazing at him from the dusky passage 
 blushing then to himself, like any girl, and bury 
 ing himself in his book till the fancy was grown 
 too strong and he looked up again. He had 
 attempted to sketch her face on a bit of paper; 
 but he had no skill and he thrust the drawing 
 into the paper basket, horrified at having made 
 anything so hideous in the effort to represent 
 anything so beautiful, and returned to making 
 odes upon her, and Latin epistles, in which he 
 succeeded much better. 
 
 And now the time had come when he must 
 leave all this dreaming, or at least the scene of 
 it, and go to college and win scholarships and 
 renown. It was hard to go and he showed his 
 regret so plainly that Mrs. Ambrose was touched 
 at what she took for his affection for the place
 
 ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 41 
 
 and for herself and for the vicar. John Short 
 was indeed very grateful to her for all the kind 
 ness she had shown him, and to Mr. Ambrose for 
 the learning he had acquired; for John was a 
 fine fellow and never forgot an obligation nor 
 undervalued one. But when we are very young 
 our hearts are far more easily touched to joy and 
 sadness by the chords and discords of our own 
 dreaming, than by the material doings of the world 
 around us, or by the strong and benevolent interest 
 our elders are good enough to take in us. We 
 feel grateful to those same elders if we have any 
 good in us, but we are far from feeling a similar 
 interest in them. We see in our imaginations 
 wonderful pictures, and we hear wonderful words, 
 for everything we dream of partakes of an un 
 known perfection and completely throws into 
 the shade the inartistic commonplaces of daily 
 life. As John Short grew older, he often regretted 
 the society of his old tutor and in the frequent 
 absence of important buttons from his raiment he 
 bitterly realised that there was no longer a 
 motherly Mrs. Ambrose to inspect his linen ; but 
 when he took leave of them what hurt him most
 
 42 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 was to turn his back upon the beloved old study, 
 upon the very door through which he had once, 
 and only once, beheld the ideal of his first love 
 dream. 
 
 Though the vicar was glad to see the boy 
 started upon what he already regarded as a career 
 of certain victory, he was sorry to lose him, not 
 knowing when he should see him again. John 
 intended to read through all the vacations until 
 he got his degree. He might indeed have come 
 down for a day or two at Christmas, but with 
 his very slender resources even so short a pleasure 
 trip was not to be thought of lightly. It was 
 therefore to be a long separation, so long to look 
 forward to that when John saw the shabby little 
 box which contained all his worldly goods put up 
 into the back of the vicar's dogcart, and stood at 
 last in the hall, saying good-bye, he felt as though 
 he was being thrust out into the world never to 
 return again, his heart seemed to rise in his throat, 
 the tears stood in his eyes and he could hardly 
 speak a word. Even then he thought of that 
 day when he had waked up the sleepy Muggins 
 to take away the beautiful unknown lady. He
 
 ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 43 
 
 felt he must be quick about his leave-taking, or 
 he would break down. 
 
 " You have been very good to me. I I shall 
 never forget it," he murmured as he shook hands 
 with Mrs. Ambrose. "And you, too, sir " he 
 added turning to the vicar. But the old clergy 
 man cut him short, being himself rather uncertain 
 about the throat. 
 
 " Good-bye, my lad. God bless you. We 
 shall hear of you soon showing them what you 
 can do with your Alcaics Good-bye." 
 
 So John got into the dogcart and was driven 
 off by the ancient Reynolds past the" " Duke's 
 Head," past the "Feathers," past the churchyard 
 and the croft the " croat," they called it in 
 Billingsfield and on by the windmill on the 
 heath, a hideous bit of grassless common euphem 
 istically so named, and so out to the high-road 
 towards the railway station, feeling very miserable 
 indeed. It is a curious fact, too, in the history 
 of his psychology that in proportion as he got 
 farther from the vicarage he thought more and 
 more of his old tutor and less and less of his un 
 finished dream, and he realised painfully that
 
 44 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 the vicar was nearly the only friend he had in 
 the world. He would of course find Cornelius 
 Angleside at Cambridge, but he suspected that 
 Cornelius, turned loose among a merry band of 
 undergraduates of his own position would be a 
 very different person from the idle youth he had 
 known at Billingsfield, trembling in the intervals 
 of his idleness at the awful prospect of the 
 entrance examination, and frantically attempting 
 to master some bit of stray knowledge which 
 might possibly be useful to him. Cornelius 
 would hunt, would gamble, would go to the races 
 and would give wines at college; John was to be 
 a reading man who must avoid such things as he 
 would avoid the devil himself, not only because 
 he was too wretchedly poor to have any share 
 whatever in the amusements of Cornelius and his 
 set, but because every minute was important, every 
 hour meant not only learning but meant, most 
 emphatically, money. He thought of his poor 
 father, grinding out the life of a literary hack in 
 a wretched London lodging, dining Heaven knew 
 where and generally supping not at all, saving 
 every penny to help his son's education, hard
 
 ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 45 
 
 working, honest, lacking no virtue except the 
 virtue of all virtues success. Then he thought 
 how he himself had been favoured by fortune 
 during these last years, living under the vicar's 
 roof, treated with the same consideration as the 
 high-born young gentlemen who had been his 
 companions, living well, sleeping well and getting 
 the best education in England for nothing or next 
 to nothing, while that same father of his had never 
 ceased to slave day and night with his pen, honestly 
 doing his best and yet enjoying none of the good 
 things of life, John thought of all this and set 
 his teeth boldly to face the world. A few 
 months, he thought, and he might have earned 
 a scholarship he might be independent. Then 
 a little longer less than three years and he 
 might, nay, he would, take high honours in the 
 university and come back crowned with glory, 
 with the prospect of a fellowship, with every 
 profession open to him, with the world at his 
 feet and with money in his hand to help his 
 father out of all his troubles. 
 
 That was how John Short went to Trinity. 
 It was a hard struggle at first, for he found him-
 
 46 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP' 
 
 self much poorer than he had imagined, and it 
 seemed as though the ends could not possibly 
 meet. There was no question of denying himself 
 luxuries ; that would have been easy enough. In 
 those first months it was the necessities that he 
 lacked, the coals for his little grate, the oil for his 
 one small lamp. But he fought bravely through 
 it, having, like many another young fellow who 
 has weathered the storms of poverty in pursuit of 
 learning, an iron constitution, and an even stronger 
 will. He used to say long afterwards that feeling 
 cold was a mere habit and that when one thoroughly 
 understood the construction of Greek verses, some 
 stimulus of physical discomfort was necessary to 
 make the imagination work well; in support of 
 which assertion he said that he had never done 
 such good things by the comfortable fire in the 
 study at Billingsfield vicarage as he did after 
 wards on winter nights by the light of a tallow 
 candle, high up in Neville's Court. Moreover, if 
 any one argued that it was better for an ex 
 tremely poor man not to go to Trinity, but to 
 some much smaller college, he answered that as 
 far as he himself was concerned he could not
 
 ii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 47 
 
 have done better, which was quite true and 
 therefore perfectly unanswerable. Where the 
 competition was less, he would have been satisfied 
 with less, he said ; where it was greatest a man 
 could only be contented when he had reached 
 the highest point possible. But before he attained 
 his end he suffered more than any one knew, 
 especially during those first months. For when 
 he had got his first scholarship, he insisted upon 
 sending back the little sums of hard-earned 
 money his father sent him from time to time, 
 and he consequently had nearly as hard work as 
 before to keep himself warm and to keep oil in 
 his lamp during the long winter's evenings. But 
 he succeeded, nevertheless.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 IN the month, of October of that year, a short 
 time after John had taken up his abode in 
 Trinity College, an event occurred which shook 
 Billingsfield to its foundations ; no less an event 
 than the occupation of the dwelling known as the 
 "cottage." What the cottage was will appear 
 hereafter. The arrival of the new tenants 
 occurred in the following manner. 
 
 The Eeverend Augustin Ambrose received a 
 letter, which he immediately showed to his wife, 
 as he showed most of his correspondence ; for 
 he was of the disposition which may be termed 
 wife -consulting. Married men are generally of 
 two kinds ; those who tell their wives everything 
 and those who tell them nothing. It is evident 
 that the relative merits of the two systems depend 
 chiefly upon the relative merits of the wives in
 
 CHAP, in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 49 
 
 question. Mr. Ambrose had no doubt of the 
 advantages of his own method and he carried 
 it to its furthest expression, for he never did 
 anything whatever without consulting his better 
 half. On the whole the plan worked well, for the 
 vicar had learning and his wife had common sense. 
 He therefore showed the letter to her and she 
 read it, and read it again, and finally put it away, 
 writing across the envelope in her own large, clear 
 hand the words Goddard, Cottage indicative 
 of the contents. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR It is now nearly five months 
 since I saw you last. Need I tell you that the 
 sense of your kindness is still fresh in my mem 
 ory? You do not know, indeed you cannot 
 know, what an impression your goodness made 
 upon me. You showed me that I was acting 
 rightly. It has been so hard to act rightly. 
 Of course you quite understand what I mean. 
 I cannot refer to the great sorrow which has 
 overtaken me and my dear innocent little Nellie. 
 There is no use in referring to it, for I have 
 told you all. You allowed me to unburden 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHA]-. 
 
 my heart to you during my brief visit, and 
 ever since that day I have felt very much, 
 I may say infinitely, relieved. 
 
 "I am again about to ask you a favour; I 
 trust indeed that I am not asking too much, but 
 I know by experience how kind you are and so 
 I am not afraid to ask this too. Do you re 
 member speaking to me of the little cottage? 
 The picture you drew of it quite charmed me, 
 and I have determined to take it, that is, if it is 
 still to be let and if it is not asking quite too 
 much of you. I mean, if you will take it 
 for me. You cannot think 'how grateful I shall 
 be and I enclose a cheque. I am almost sure 
 you said thirty-six pounds. It was thirty-six, 
 was it not ? The reason I venture to enclose 
 the money is because you are so very kind, but 
 of course you do not know anything certain 
 about me. But I am sure you will understand. 
 You said you were sure I could live with my 
 little girl in Billingsfield for three hundred a 
 year. I find I have a little more, in fact nearly 
 five hundred. If you tell me that I can have 
 the cottage, I will come down at once, for
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 51 
 
 town is very dreary and we have been here all 
 summer except a week at Margate. Let me 
 thank you again, you have been so very kind, 
 and believe me, my dear sir, very sincerely yours, 
 
 "MARY GODDARD." 
 
 "Augustin, my dear, this is very exciting," 
 said Mrs. Ambrose, as she handed the cheque 
 to her husband for inspection and returned the 
 letter to its envelope, preparatory to marking 
 it for future reference; and when, as has been 
 said, she had written upon the outside the words 
 Goddard, Cottage, and had put it away she 
 turned upon her husband with an inquiring 
 manner peculiar to her. Mr. Ambrose was 
 standing before the window, looking out at the 
 rain and occasionally glancing at the cheque 
 he still held in his hand. 
 
 "Just like a woman to send a cheque to 
 ' bearer ' through the post," he remarked, severely. 
 " However since I have got it, it is all right." 
 
 "I don't think it is all right, Augustin," 
 said his wife. " We are taking a great responsi 
 bility in bringing her into the parish. I am
 
 52 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 quite sure she is a dissenter or a Eomanist or 
 something dreadful, to begin with." 
 
 " My dear," answered the vicar, mildly, " you 
 make very uncharitable suppositions. It seems 
 to me that the most one can say of her is that 
 she is very unhappy and that she does not write 
 very good English." 
 
 " Oh, I have no doubt she is very unhappy. 
 But as you say we must not be uncharitable. I 
 suppose you will have to write about the 
 cottage." 
 
 "I suppose so," said Mr. Ambrose doubtfully. 
 "I cannot send her back the money, and the 
 cottage is certainly to let." 
 
 He deposited the cheque in the drawer of 
 his writing-table and began to walk up and 
 down the room, glancing up from time to time 
 at his wife who was lifting one after another 
 the ornaments which stood upon the chimney- 
 piece, in order to ascertain whether Susan had 
 dusted underneath them. She had many ways 
 of assuring herself that people did their work 
 properly. 
 
 " No," said she, " you cannot send her back
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 53 
 
 the money. But it is a very solemn responsi 
 bility. I hope we are doing quite right." 
 
 " I certainly would not hesitate to return the 
 cheque, my dear, if I thought any harm would 
 come of Mrs. Goddard's living here. But I don't 
 think there is any reason to doubt her story." 
 
 " Of course not. It was in the Standard, so 
 there is no doubt about it. I only hope no 
 one else reads the papers here." 
 
 " They read them in the kitchen," added 
 Mrs. Ambrose presently, " and they probably 
 take a paper at the Duke's Head. Mr. Boosey 
 is rather a literary character." 
 
 "Nobody will suppose it was that Goddard, 
 my dear," said the vicar in a reassuring tone of 
 voice. 
 
 " No you had better write about the cottage." 
 
 " I will," said the vicar ; and he forthwith 
 did. And moreover, with his usual willingness 
 to give himself trouble for other people, he took 
 a vast deal of pains to see that the cottage was 
 really habitable. It turned out to be in very 
 good condition. It was a pretty place enough, 
 standing ten yards back from the road, beyond
 
 54 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 the village, just opposite the gates of the park ; a 
 little square house of red brick with a high 
 pointed roof and a little garden. The walls 
 were overgrown with creepers which had once 
 been trained with considerable care, but which 
 during the last two years had thriven in un- 
 trimmed luxuriance and now covered the whole 
 of the side of the house which faced the road. 
 So thickly did they grow that it was with 
 difficulty that the windows could at first be 
 opened. The vicar sighed as he entered the 
 darkened rooms. His daughter had lived in 
 the cottage when she first married the young 
 doctor who had now gone to London, and the 
 vicar had been, and was, very fond of his 
 daughter. He had almost despaired of ever 
 seeing her again in Billingsfield ; the only 
 glimpses of her he could obtain were got by 
 going himself to town, for the doctor was so 
 busy that he always put off the projected visit to 
 the country and his wife was so fond of him 
 that she refused to go alone. The vicar sighed 
 as he forced open the windows upon the lower 
 floor and let the light into the bare and empty
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 55 
 
 rooms which had once been so bright and full 
 of happiness. He wondered what sort of person 
 Mrs. Goddard would turn out to be upon nearer 
 acquaintance, and made vague, unconscious con 
 jectures about her furniture as he stumbled up 
 the dark stairs to the upper story. 
 
 He was not left long in doubt. The arrange 
 ments were easily concluded, for the cottage 
 belonged to the estate in Chancery and the 
 lawyer in charge was very busy with other 
 matters. The guarantee afforded by the vicar's 
 personal application, together with the payment 
 of a year's rent in advance so far facilitated 
 matters that four days after she had written 
 to Mr. Ambrose the latter informed Mrs. Goddard 
 that she was at liberty to take possession. The 
 vicar suggested that the Billingsfield carrier, who 
 drove his cart to London once a week, could 
 bring her furniture down in two trips and save 
 her a considerable expense ; Mrs. Goddard ac 
 cepted this advice and in the course of a fortnight 
 was installed with all her goods in the cottage. 
 Having completed her arrangements at last, she 
 came to" call upon the vicar's wife.
 
 56 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard had not changed since she had 
 first visited Billingsfield, five months earlier, 
 though little Eleanor had grown taller and was 
 if possible prettier than ever. Something of 
 the character of the lady in black may have 
 been gathered from the style of her letter to 
 Mr Ambrose ; that communication had impressed 
 the vicar's wife unfavourably and had drawn 
 from her husband a somewhat compassionate 
 remark about the bad English it contained. 
 Nevertheless when Mrs. Goddard came to live in 
 Billingsfield the Ambroses soon discovered that 
 she was a very well-educated woman, that she 
 appeared to have read much and to have read 
 intelligently, and that she was on the whole 
 decidedly interesting. It was long, however, 
 before Mrs. Ambrose entirely conquered a certain 
 antipathy she felt for her, and which she ex 
 plained after her own fashion. Mrs. Goddard 
 was not a dissenter and she was not a Romanist ; 
 on the contrary she appeared to be a very good 
 churchwoman. She paid her bills regularly and 
 never gave anybody any trouble. She visited 
 the vicarage at stated intervals, and the vicarage
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 57 
 
 graciously returned her visits. The vicar himself 
 even went to the cottage more often than Mrs. 
 Ambrose thought strictly necessary, for the vicar 
 was strongly prejudiced in her favour. But Mrs. 
 Ambrose did not share that prejudice. Mrs. 
 Goddard, she said, was too effusive, talked too 
 much about herself and her troubles, did not 
 look thoroughly straightforward, probably had 
 foreign blood. Ay, there was the rub Mrs. 
 Ambrose suspected that Mrs. Goddard was not 
 quite English. If she was not, why did she 
 not say so, and be done with it ? 
 
 Mrs. Goddard was English, nevertheless, and 
 would have been very much surprised could she 
 have guessed the secret cause of the slight cold 
 ness she sometimes observed in the manner of the 
 clergyman's wife towards her. She herself, poor 
 thing, believed it was because she was in trouble, 
 and considering the nature of the disaster which 
 had befallen her, she was not surprised. She 
 was rather a weak woman, rather timid, and if 
 she talked a little too much sometimes it was 
 because she felt embarrassed ; there were times, 
 too, when she was very silent and sad. She had
 
 58 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 been very happy and the great catastrophe had 
 overtaken her suddenly, leaving her absolutely 
 without friends. She wanted to be hidden from 
 the world, and by one of those strange contrasts 
 often found in weak people she had suddenly 
 made a very bold resolution and had successfully 
 carried it out. She had come straight to a man 
 she had never seen, but whom she knew very 
 well by reputation, and had told him her story 
 and asked him to help her; and she had not 
 come in vain. The person who advised her to 
 go to the Eeverend Augustin Ambrose knew that 
 there was not a better man to whom she could 
 apply. She had found what she wanted, a sort 
 of deserted village where she would never be 
 obliged to meet any one, since there was absolutely 
 no society; she had found a good man upon 
 whom she felt she could rely in case of further 
 difficulty; and she had not come upon false 
 pretences, for she had told her whole story 
 quite frankly. For a woman who was naturally 
 timid she had done a thing requiring consider 
 able courage, and she was astonished at her own 
 boldness after she had done it. But in her
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 59 
 
 peaceful retreat, she reflected that she could not 
 possibly have left England, as many women in 
 her position would have done, simply because 
 the idea of exile was intolerable to her; she 
 reflected also that if she had settled in any 
 place where there was any sort of society her 
 story would one day have become known, and 
 that if she had spent years in studying her situa 
 tion she could not have done better than in 
 going boldly to the vicar of Billingsfield and 
 explaining her sad position to him. She had 
 found a haven of rest after many months of 
 terrible anxiety and she hoped that she might 
 end her days in peace and in the spot she had 
 chosen. But she was very young not thirty 
 years of age yet and her little girl would 
 soon grow up and then ? Evidently her dream 
 of peace was likely to be of limited duration ; 
 but she resigned herself to the unpleasant possi 
 bilities of the future with a good grace, in con 
 sideration of the advantages she enjoyed in the 
 present. 
 
 Mrs. Ambrose was at home when Mrs. Goddard 
 and little Eleanor came to the vicarage. Indeed
 
 60 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Mrs. Ambrose was rarely out in the afternoon, 
 unless something very unusual called her away. 
 She received her visitor with the stern hospitality 
 she exercised towards strangers. The strangers 
 she saw were generally the near relations of the 
 young gentlemen whom her husband received for 
 educational purposes. She stood in the front 
 drawing-room, that is to say, in the most im 
 pressive chamber of that fortress which is an 
 Englishman's house. It was a formal room, 
 arranged by a fixed rule and the order of it was 
 maintained inflexibly ; no event could be imagined 
 of such terrible power as to have caused the 
 displacement of one of those chairs, of one of 
 those ornaments upon the chimney-piece, of one 
 of those engravings upon the walls. The walls 
 were papered with one shade of green, the 
 furniture was covered with material of another 
 shade of green and the well -spared carpet 
 exhibited still a third variety of the same colour. 
 Mrs. Ambrose's sense of order did not extend to 
 the simplest forms of artistic harmony, but 
 when it had an opportunity of impressing itself 
 upon inanimate objects which were liable to
 
 II j.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 61 
 
 be moved, washed or dusted, its effects were 
 formidable indeed. She worshipped neatness 
 and cleanliness ; she left the question of taste 
 to others. And now she stood in the keep of 
 her stronghold, the impersonation of moral recti 
 tude and of practical housekeeping. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard entered rather timidly, followed 
 by little Eleanor whose ideas had been so much 
 disturbed by the recent change in her existence, 
 that she had grown unusually silent and her 
 great violet eyes were unceasingly opened wide 
 to take in the growing wonders of her situation. 
 Mrs. Goddard was still dressed in black, as when 
 John Short had seen her five months earlier. 
 There was something a little peculiar in her 
 mourning, though Mrs. Ambrose would have 
 found it hard to, define the peculiarity. Some 
 people would have said that if she was really 
 a widow her gown fitted a little too well, her 
 bonnet was a little too small, her veil a little 
 too short. Mrs. Ambrose supposed that those 
 points were suggested by the latest fashions 
 in London and summed up the difficulty by 
 surmising that Mrs. Goddard had foreign blood.
 
 62 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " I should have called before," said the latter, 
 deeply impressed by the severe appearance of the 
 vicar's wife, " but I have been so busy putting 
 my things into the cottage " 
 
 "Pray don't think of it," answered Mrs. 
 Ambrose. Then she added after a pause, " I am 
 very glad to see you." She appeared to have been 
 weighing in her conscience the question whether 
 she could truthfully say so or not. But Mrs. 
 Goddard was grateful for the smallest advances. 
 
 " Thank you," she said, " you are so very kind. 
 Will you tell Mr. Ambrose how thankful I 
 am for his kind assistance ? Yes, Nellie and I 
 have had hard work in moving, have not we, 
 dear ? " She drew the beautiful child close to 
 her and gazed lovingly into her eyes. But Nellie 
 was shy; she hid her face on her mother's 
 shoulder, and then looked doubtfully at Mrs. 
 Ambrose, and then hid herself again. 
 
 " How old is your little girl ?" asked Mrs. 
 Ambrose more kindly. She was fond of children, 
 and actually pitied any child whose mother perhaps 
 had foreign blood. 
 
 "Eleanor I call her Nellie is eight years
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 63 
 
 old. She will be nine in January. She is tall for 
 her age," added Mrs. Goddard with affectionate 
 pride. As a matter of fact Nellie was small 
 for her years, and Mrs. Ambrose, who was the 
 most truthful of women, felt that she could not 
 conscientiously agree in calling her tall. She 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " I am afraid you will find it very quiet in 
 Billingsfield," she said presently. 
 
 " Oh, I am used that is, I prefer a very 
 quiet place. I want to live very quietly for some 
 years, indeed I hope for the rest of my life. 
 Besides it will be so good for Nellie to live in 
 the country she will grow so strong." 
 
 "She looks very well, I am sure," answered 
 Mrs. Ambrose rather bluntly, looking at the child's 
 clear complexion and bright eyes. "And have 
 you always lived in town until now, Mrs. Goddard ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Oh no, not always, but most of the year, 
 perhaps. Indeed I think so." Mrs. Goddard felt 
 nervous before the searching glance of the elder 
 woman. Mrs. Ambrose concluded that she was 
 not absolutely straightforward.
 
 64 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 "Do you think you can make the cottage com 
 fortable ? " asked the vicar's wife, seeing that the 
 conversation languished. 
 
 " Oh, I think so," answered her visitor, glad to 
 change the subject, and suddenly becoming very 
 voluble as she had previously been very shy. 
 " It is really a charming little place. Of course 
 it is not very large, but as we have not got very 
 many belongings that is all the better ; and the 
 garden is small but extremely pretty and wild, 
 and the kitchen is very convenient ; really I 
 quite wonder how the people who built it could 
 have made it all so comfortable. You see there 
 are one two the pantry, the kitchen and two 
 rooms on the ground floor and plenty of room 
 upstairs for everybody, and as for the sun ! it 
 streams into all the windows at once from morning 
 till night. And such a pretty view, too, of that 
 old gate opposite where does it lead to, Mrs. 
 Ambrose ? It is so very pretty." 
 
 " It leads to the park and the Hall," answered 
 Mrs. Ambrose. 
 
 " Oh " Mrs. G-oddard's tone changed. " But 
 nobody lives there ?" she asked suddenly.
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 65 
 
 " Oh no it is in Chancery, you know." 
 
 "What what is that, exactly?" asked Mrs. 
 Goddard, timidly. " Is there a young heir waiting 
 to grow up I mean waiting to take possession?" 
 
 " No. There is a suit about it. It has been 
 going on for forty years my husband says, and 
 they cannot decide to whom it belongs." 
 
 " I see," answered Mrs. Goddard. " I suppose 
 they will never decide now." 
 
 " Probably not for some time." 
 
 " It must be a very pretty place. Can one go 
 in, do you think ? I am so fond of trees 
 what a beautiful garden you have yourself, Mrs. 
 Ambrose." 
 
 " Would you like to see it ? " asked the vicar's 
 wife, anxious to bring the visit to a conclusion. 
 
 " Oh, thank you of all things ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Goddard. "Would not you like to run 
 about the garden, Nellie ?" 
 
 The little girl nodded slowly and stared at 
 Mrs. Ambrose. 
 
 "My husband is a very good gardener," said 
 the latter, leading the way out to the hall. " And 
 so was John Short, but he has left us, you know." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Who was John Short ?" asked Mrs. Goddard 
 rather absently, as she watched Mrs. Ambrose 
 who was wrapping herself in a huge blue waterproof 
 cloak and tying a sort of worsted hood over 
 her head. 
 
 " He was one of the boys Mr. Ambrose prepared 
 for college such a good fellow. You may have 
 seen him when you came last June, Mrs. Goddard?" 
 
 "Had he very bright blue eyes a nice face?" 
 
 " Yes that is, it might have been Mr. Angleside 
 Lord Scatterbeigh's son he was here, too." 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Goddard, " perhaps it was." 
 
 " Mamma," asked little Nellie, " what is Laws 
 Catterbay ? " 
 
 " A peer, darling." 
 
 "Like the one at Brighton, mamma, with a 
 band?" 
 
 "No, child," answered the mother laughing. 
 " P, double E, E, peer a rich gentleman." 
 
 " Like poor papa then ? " inquired the irre 
 pressible Eleanor. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard turned pale and pressed the little 
 girl close to her side, leaning down to whisper in 
 her ear.
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 07 
 
 "You must not ask foolish questions, darling 
 I will tell you by and by." 
 
 " Papa was a rich gentleman," objected the 
 child. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard looked at Mrs. Ambrose, and the 
 ready tears came into her eyes. The vicar's wife 
 smiled kindly and took little Nellie by the hand. 
 " Come, dear," she said in the motherly tone 
 that was natural to her when she was not receiving 
 visitors. " Come and see the garden and you 
 can play with Carlo." 
 
 " Can't I see Laws Catterbay, too ? " asked the 
 little girl rather wistfully. 
 
 " Carlo is a great, big, brown dog," said Mrs. 
 Ambrose, leading the child out into the garden, 
 while Mrs. Goddard followed close behind. Before 
 they had gone far they came upon the vicar, 
 arrayed in an old coat, his hands thrust into a 
 pair of gigantic gardening gloves and a battered 
 old felt hat upon his head. Mrs. Goddard had felt 
 rather uncomfortable in the impressive society 
 of Mrs. Ambrose and the sight of the vicar's 
 genial face was reassuring in the extreme. She 
 was not disappointed, for he immediately relieved
 
 68 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 the situation by asking all manner of kindly 
 questions, interspersed with remarks upon his 
 garden, while Mrs. Ambrose introduced little 
 Nellie to the acquaintance of Carlo who had not 
 seen so pretty a little girl for many a day, and 
 capered and wagged his feathery tail in a manner 
 most unseemly for so clerical a dog. 
 
 So it came about that Mrs. Goddard established 
 herself at Billingsfield and made her first visit to 
 the vicarage. After that the ice was broken and 
 things went on smoothly enough. Mrs. Ambrose's 
 hints concerning foreign blood, and her husband's 
 invariable remonstrance to the effect that she 
 ought to be more charitable, grew more and more 
 rare as time went on, and finally ceased altogether. 
 Mrs. Goddard became a regular institution, and 
 ceased to astonish the inhabitants. Mr. Thomas 
 Keid, the sexton, was heard to remark from time 
 to time that he " didn't hold with th'm newfangle 
 fashins in dress ;" but he was a regular old 
 conservative, and most people agreed with Mr. 
 Abraham Boosey of the Duke's Head, who had 
 often been to London, and who said she did "look 
 just A one, slap up, she did !"
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 69 
 
 Mrs. Goddard became an institution, and in 
 the course of the first year of her residence in 
 the cottage it came to be expected that she should 
 dine at the vicarage at least once a week ; and 
 once a week, also, Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose went 
 up and had tea with her and little Eleanor at 
 the cottage. It came to pass also that Mrs. 
 Goddard heard a vast deal of talk about John 
 Short and his successes at Trinity, and she 
 actually developed a lively interest in his career, 
 and asked for news of him almost as eagerly as 
 though he had been already a friend of her own. 
 In very quiet places people easily get into the 
 sympathetic habit of regarding their neighbours' 
 interests as very closely allied to their own. The 
 constant talk about John Short, the vicar's sanguine 
 hopes for his brilliant future, and Mrs. Ambrose's 
 unlimited praise of his moral qualities, repeated 
 day by day and week by week produced a vivid 
 impression on Mrs. Goddard's mind. It would 
 have surprised her and even amused her beyond 
 measure had she had any idea that she herself 
 had for a long time absorbed the interest of this 
 same John Short, that he had written hundreds
 
 70 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 of Greek and Latin verses in her praise, while 
 wholly ignorant of her name, and that at the 
 very time when without knowing him, she was 
 constantly mentioning him as though she knew 
 him intimately well, he himself was looking back 
 to the one glimpse he had had of her, as to a 
 dream of unspeakable bliss. 
 
 It never occurred to Mr. Ambrose's mind to 
 tell John in the occasional letters he wrote that 
 Mrs. Goddard had settled in Billingsfield. John, 
 he thought, could take no possible interest in 
 knowing about her, and moreover, Mrs. Goddard 
 herself was most anxious never to be mentioned 
 abroad. She had come to Billingsfield to live 
 in complete obscurity, and the good vicar had 
 promised that as far as he and his wife were 
 concerned she should have her wish. To tell 
 even John Short, his own beloved pupil, would 
 be to some extent a breach of faith, and there 
 was assuredly no earthly reason why John should 
 be told. It might do harm, for of course the 
 young fellow had made acquaintances at Cam 
 bridge ; he had probably read about the Goddard 
 case in the papers, and might talk about it. If
 
 in.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 71 
 
 he should happen to come down for a day or 
 two he would probably meet her ; but that could 
 not be avoided. It was not likely that he would 
 come for some time. The vicar himself intended 
 to go up to Cambridge for a day or two after 
 Christmas to see him ; but the winter flew by 
 and Mr. Ambrose did not go. Then came 
 Easter, then the summer and the Long vacation. 
 John wrote that he could not leave his books 
 for a day, but that he hoped to run down next 
 Christmas. Again he did not come, but there 
 came the news of his having won another and 
 a more important scholarship ; the news also that 
 he was already regarded as the most promising 
 man in the university, all of which exceedingly 
 delighted the heart of the Eeverend Augustin 
 Ambrose, and being told with eulogistic comments 
 to Mrs. Goddard, tended to increase the interest 
 she felt in the existence of John Short, so that she 
 began to long for a sight of him, without exactly 
 knowing why. 
 
 Gradually, too, as she and her little girl passed 
 many peaceful days in the quiet cottage, the sad 
 woman's face grew less sorrowful. She spoke of
 
 72 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. in. 
 
 herself more cheerfully and dwelt less upon the 
 subject of her grief. She had at first been so 
 miserable that she could hardly talk at all without 
 referring to her unhappy situation though, after 
 her first interview with Mrs. Ambrose, no one had 
 ever heard her mention any details connected 
 with her trouble. But now she never approached 
 the subject at all. Her face lost none of its 
 pathetic beauty, it is true, but it seemed to 
 express sorrow past rather than present. Mean 
 while little Nellie grew daily more lovely, and 
 absorbed more and more of her mother's attention.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 EVENTS of such stirring interest as the establishment 
 of Mrs. Godclard in Billingsfield rarely come alone ; 
 for it seems to "be in the nature of great changes 
 to bring other changes with them, even when there 
 is no apparent connection whatever between them. 
 It took nearly two years for Billingsfield to 
 recover from its astonishment at Mrs. Goddard's 
 arrival, and before the excitement had completely 
 worn off the village was again taken off its feet 
 by unexpected news of stupendous import, even 
 as of old Pompeii was overthrown by a second 
 earthquake before it had wholly recovered from 
 the devastation caused by the first. The shock 
 was indeed a severe one. The Juxon estate was 
 reported to be out of Chancery, and a new squire 
 was coming to take up his residence at the Hall. 
 It is not known exactly how the thing first
 
 74 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 became known, but there was soon no doubt 
 whatever that it was true. Thomas Eeid, the 
 sexton, who remembered that the old squire died 
 forty years ago come Michaelmas, and had been 
 buried in a "wonderful heavy" coffin, Thomas 
 Eeid the stern censor of the vicar's sermons, a 
 melancholic and sober man, so far lost his head 
 over the news as to ask Mr. Ambrose's leave to 
 ring the bells, Mr. Abraham Boosey having 
 promised beer for the ringers. Even to the 
 vicar's enlightened mind it seemed fitting that 
 there should be some festivity over so great an 
 event and the bells were accordingly rung during 
 one whole afternoon. Thomas Eeid's ringers never 
 got beyond the first "bob" of a peal, for with 
 the exception of the sexton himself and old 
 William Speller the wheelwright, who pulled the 
 treble bell, they were chiefly dull youths who 
 with infinite difficulty had been taught what 
 changes they knew by rote and had very little 
 idea of ringing by scientific rule. Moreover Mr. 
 Boosey was liberal in the matter of beer that 
 day and the effect of each successive can that 
 was taken up the stairs of the old tower was
 
 IV.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 75 
 
 immediately apparent to every one within hearing, 
 that is to say as far as five miles around. 
 
 The estate was out of Chancery at last. For 
 forty years, ever since the death of the old squire, 
 no one had rightfully called the Hall his own. 
 The heir had lived abroad, and had lived in such 
 an exceedingly eccentric manner as to give ground 
 for a suit de lunatico inguirendo, brought by another 
 heir. With the consistency of judicial purpose 
 which characterises such proceedings the courts 
 appeared to have decided that though the natural 
 possessor, the eccentric individual who lived 
 abroad, was too mad to be left in actual posses 
 sion, he was not mad enough to justify actual 
 possession in the person of the next of kin. 
 Proceedings continued, fees were paid, a certain 
 legal personage already mentioned came down 
 from time to time and looked over the estate, 
 but the matter was not finally settled until the 
 eccentric individual died, after forty years of 
 eccentricity, to the infinite relief and satisfaction 
 of all parties and especially of his lawful suc 
 cessor Charles James. Juxon now, at last, " of 
 Billingsfield Hall, in the county of Essex, Esquire."
 
 76 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 In due time also Mr. Juxon appeared. It 
 was natural that he should come to see the vicar, 
 and as it happened that he called late in the 
 afternoon upon the day when Mrs. Goddard and 
 little Eleanor were accustomed to dine at the 
 vicarage, he at once had an opportunity of making 
 the acquaintance of his tenant ; thus, if we except 
 the free-thinking doctor, it will be seen that Mr. 
 Juxon was in the course of five minutes intro 
 duced to the whole of the Billingsfield society. 
 
 He was a man inclining towards middle age, 
 of an active and vigorous body, of a moderate 
 intelligence and of decidedly prepossessing ap 
 pearance. His features were of the strong 
 square type, common to men whose fathers for 
 many generations have lived in the country. His 
 eyes were small, blue and very bright, and to 
 judge from the lines in his sunburned face he 
 was a man who laughed often and heartily. He 
 had an abundance of short brown hair, parted 
 very far upon one side and brushed to a pheno 
 menal smoothness, and he wore a full brown 
 beard, cut rather short and carefully trimmed, 
 He immediately won the heart of Mrs. Ambrose
 
 IV.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 77 
 
 on account of his extremely neat appearance. 
 There was no foreign blood in him, she was 
 sure. He had large clean hands with large and 
 polished nails. He wore very well made clothes, 
 and he spoke like a gentleman. The vicar, too, 
 was at once prepossessed in his favour, and even 
 little Eleanor, who was generally very shy before 
 strangers, looked at him admiringly and showed 
 little of her usual bashfulness. But Mrs. Goddard 
 seemed ill at ease and tried to keep out of the 
 conversation as much as possible. 
 
 " There have been great rejoicings at the pros 
 pect of your arrival," said the vicar when the 
 new - comer had been introduced to both the 
 ladies. " I fancy that if you had let it be known 
 that you were coming down to-day the people 
 would have turned out to meet you at the 
 station." 
 
 " The truth is, I rather avoid that sort of thing," 
 said the squire, smiling. " I would rather enter 
 upon my dominions as quietly as possible." 
 
 " It is much better for the people, too," remarked 
 Mrs. Ambrose. " Their idea of a holiday is to 
 do no work and have too much beer."
 
 78 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " I daresay that would not hurt them much," 
 answered Mr. Juxon cheerfully. "By the bye, 
 I know nothing about them. I have never been 
 here before. My man of business wanted to 
 come down and show me over the estate, and 
 introduce me to the farmers and all that, but I 
 thought it would be such a bore that I would 
 not have him." 
 
 " There is not much to tell, really," said Mr. 
 Ambrose. " The society of Billingsfield is all 
 here," he added with a smile, " including one of 
 your tenants." 
 
 "Are you my tenant?" asked Mr. Juxon 
 pleasantly, and he looked at Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Yes," said she, " I have taken the cottage." 
 
 " The cottage ? Excuse me, but you know I 
 am a stranger here what is the cottage ? " 
 
 " Such a pretty place," answered Mrs. Ambrose, 
 "just opposite the park gate. You must have 
 seen it as you came down." 
 
 "Oh, is that it?" said the squire. "Yes, I 
 saw it, and I wished I lived there instead of in 
 the Hall. It looks so comfortable and small. 
 The Hall is a perfect wilderness."
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 79 
 
 Mrs. Goddard felt a sudden fear lest her new 
 landlord should take it into his head to give her 
 notice. She only took the cottage by the year 
 and her present lease ended in October. The 
 arrival of a squire in possession at the Hall was 
 a catastrophe to which she had not looked forward. 
 The idea troubled her. She had accidentally 
 made Mr. Juxon's acquaintance, and she knew 
 enough of the world to understand that in such 
 a place he would regard her as a valuable 
 addition to the society of the vicar and the 
 vicar's wife. She would meet him constantly ; 
 there would be visitors at the Hall she would 
 have to meet them, too. Her dream of solitude 
 was at an end. For a moment she seemed so 
 nervous that Mr. Juxon observed her embarrass 
 ment and supposed it was due to his remark 
 about living in the cottage himself. 
 
 "Do not be afraid, Mrs. Goddard," he said 
 quickly, " I am not going to do anything so 
 uncivil as to ask you to give up the cot 
 tage. 
 
 Besides, it would be too small, you know." 
 
 " Have you any family, Mr. Juxon ? " inquired
 
 80 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Mrs. Ambrose with a severity which startled the 
 squire. Mrs. Ambrose thought that if there was 
 a Mrs. Juxon, she had been unpardonably deceived. 
 Of course Mr. Juxon should have said that he 
 was married as soon as he entered the room. 
 
 " I have a very large family," answered the 
 squire, and after enjoying for a moment the 
 surprise he saw in Mrs. Ambrose's face, he added 
 with a laugh, " I have a library of ten thousand 
 volumes a very large family indeed. Otherwise 
 I have no encumbrances, thank heaven." 
 
 "You are a scholar?" asked Mr. Ambrose 
 eagerly. 
 
 " A book fancier, only a book fancier," returned 
 the squire modestly. " But I am very fond of 
 the fancy." 
 
 "What is a book fancier, mamma?" asked 
 little Eleanor in a whisper. But Mr. Juxon 
 heard the child's question. 
 
 "If your mamma will bring you up to the 
 Hall one of these days, Miss Goddard, I will 
 show you. A book fancier is a terrible fellow 
 who has lots of books, and is pursued by a large 
 evil genius telling him he must buy every book
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 81 
 
 he sees, and that he will never by any possibility 
 read half of them before he dies." 
 
 Little Eleanor stared for a moment with her 
 great violet eyes, and then turning again to her 
 mother, whispered in her ear. 
 
 " Mamma, he called me Miss Goclclard !" 
 
 " Bun out and play in the garden, darling," said 
 her mother with a smile. But the child would 
 not go and sat down on a stool and stared at the 
 squire, who was immensely delighted. 
 
 " So you are going to bring all your library, Mr. 
 Juxon ? " asked the vicar returning to the charge. 
 
 " Yes and I beg you will make any use of it 
 you please/' answered the visitor. " I have a 
 great fondness for books and I think I have 
 some valuable volumes. But I am no great 
 scholar, as you are, though I read a great deal. 
 I have always noticed that the men who accumu 
 late great libraries do not know much, and the 
 men who know a great deal have very few books. 
 Now I will wager that you have not a thousand 
 volumes in your house, Mr. Ambrose." 
 
 "Five hundred would be nearer the mark," 
 said the vicar. 
 
 VOL. i. G
 
 82 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " The fewer one has the nearer one approaches 
 to Aquinas's homo unius libri" returned the squire. 
 "You are nine thousand five hundred degrees nearer 
 to ideal wisdom than I am." 
 
 Mr. Ambrose laughed. 
 
 " Nevertheless," he said, " You may be sure 
 that if you give me leave to use your books, I 
 will take advantage of the permission. It is in 
 writing sermons that one feels the want of a good 
 library." 
 
 " I should think it would be an awful bore to 
 write sermons," remarked the squire with such 
 perfect innocence that both the vicar and Mrs. 
 Goddard laughed loudly. But Mrs. Ambrose 
 eyed Mr. Juxon with renewed severity. 
 
 " I should fancy it would be a much greater 
 bore, as you call it, to the congregation if my 
 husband never wrote any new ones," she said 
 stiffly. Whereat the squire looked rather puzzled, 
 and coloured a little. But Mr. Ambrose came to 
 the rescue. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, my wife is quite right. There 
 are no people with such terrible memories as 
 churchwardens. They remember a sermon twenty
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 83 
 
 years old. But as you say, the writing of ser 
 mons is not an easy task when a man has been 
 at it for thirty years and more. A man begins 
 by being enthusiastic, then his mind gets into 
 a groove and for some time, if he happens to 
 like the groove, he writes very well. But by 
 and by he has written all there is to be said in 
 the particular line he has chosen and he does not 
 know how to choose another. That is the time 
 when a man needs a library to help him." 
 
 " I really don't think you have readied that 
 point, Mr. Ambrose," remarked Mrs. Goddard. 
 She admired the vicar and liked his sermons. 
 
 "You are fortunately not in the position of 
 my churchwardens," answered Mr. Ambrose. 
 " You have not been listening to me for thirty 
 years." 
 
 " How long have you been my tenant, Mrs. 
 Goddard ?" asked the squire. 
 
 " Nearly two years," she answered thoughtfully, 
 and her sad eyes rested a moment upon Mr. 
 Juxon's face with an expression he remembered. 
 Indeed he looked at her very often and as he 
 looked his admiration increased, so that when he
 
 84 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 rose to take his leave the predominant impression 
 of the vicarage which remained in his mind was 
 that of her face. Something of the same fascina 
 tion took hold of him which had seized upon 
 John Short when he caught sight of Mrs. Goddard 
 through the open door of the study, something of 
 that unexpected interest which in Mrs. Ambrose 
 had at first aroused a half suspicious dislike, now 
 long forgotten. 
 
 Before the squire left he invited the whole 
 party to come and dine with him at the Hall on 
 the following Saturday. He must have some 
 kind of a house-warming, he said, for he was 
 altogether too lonely up there. Mrs. Goddard 
 would bring Eleanor, of course ; they would dine 
 early it would not be late for the little girl. 
 If they all liked they could call it tea instead 
 of dinner. Of course everything was topsy-turvy 
 in the Hall, but they would excuse that. He 
 hoped to establish friendly relations with his 
 vicar and with his tenant his fair tenant. 
 Might he call soon and see whether there was 
 any thing that could be done to improve the 
 cottage ? Before the day when they were all
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 85 
 
 coming to dine? He would call to-morrow, 
 then. Anything that needed doing should be 
 done, Mrs. Goddard might be sure. When the 
 books arrived he would let Mr. Ambrose know, 
 of course, and they would have a day together. 
 
 So he went away, leaving the impression that 
 he was a very good-natured and agreeable man. 
 Even Mrs. Ambrose was mollified. He had 
 shocked her by his remark about sermon writing, 
 but he had of course not meant it, and he appeared 
 to mean to be very civil. It was curious to see 
 how all severity vanished from Mrs. Ambrose's 
 manner so soon as the stranger who aroused it 
 was out of sight and hearing. She appeared as 
 a formidably stern type of the British matron to 
 the chance visitors who came to the vicarage ; but 
 they were no sooner gone than her natural temper 
 was restored and she was kindness and geniality 
 itself. 
 
 But Mrs. Goddard was very thoughtful. She 
 was not pleased at the fact of an addition to the 
 Billingsfield community, and yet she liked the 
 appearance of the squire. He had declared his 
 intention of calling upon her on the following
 
 86 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 day, and she would be bound to receive him. 
 She was young, she had been shut off from the 
 world for two years, and the prospect of Mr. 
 Juxon's acquaintance was in itself not unpleasant; 
 but the idea that he was to be permanently 
 established in the Hall frightened her. She had 
 felt since she came to Billingsfield that from the 
 very first she had put herself upon a footing of 
 safety by telling her story to the vicar. But the 
 vicar would not without her permission repeat 
 that story to Mr. Juxon. Was she herself called 
 upon to do so ? She was a very sensitive woman, 
 and her impressionable nature had been strongly 
 affected by what she had suffered. An almost 
 morbid fear of seeming to make false pretences 
 possessed her. She was more than thirty years 
 of age, it is true, but she saw plainly enough in 
 her glass that she was more than passably good- 
 looking still. There were one or two gray threads 
 in her brown waving hair and she took no trouble 
 to remove them; no one ever noticed them. 
 There were one or two lines, very faint lines, in 
 her forehead ; no one ever saw them. She could 
 hardly see them herself. Supposing why should
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 87 
 
 she not suppose it ? supposing Mr. Juxon were 
 to take a fancy to her, as a lone bachelor of forty 
 and odd might easily take a fancy to a pretty 
 woman who was his tenant and lived at his gate, 
 what should she do ? He was an honest man, 
 and she was a conscientious woman ; she could 
 not deceive him, if it came to that. She would 
 have to tell him the whole truth. As she thought 
 of it, she turned pale and trembled. And yet 
 she had liked his face, she had told him he might 
 call at the cottage, and her woman's instinct fore 
 saw that she was to see him often. It was not 
 vanity which made her think that the squire 
 might grow to like her too much. She had had 
 experiences in her life and she knew that she was 
 attractive ; the very fear she had felt for the last 
 two years lest she should be thrown into the 
 society of men who might be attracted by her, 
 increased her apprehension tenfold. She could 
 not look forward with indifference to the expected 
 visit, for the novelty of seeing any one besides 
 the vicar and his wife was too great; she could 
 not refuse to see the squire, for he would come 
 again and again until she received him ; and yet,
 
 88 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 she could not get rid of the idea that there was 
 danger in seeing him. Call it as one may, that 
 woman's instinct of peril is rarely at fault. 
 
 In the late twilight of the June evening Mrs. 
 Goddard and Eleanor walked home together by 
 the broad road which led towards the park gate. 
 
 "Don't you think Mr. Juxon is very kind, 
 mamma ?" asked the child. 
 
 " Yes, darling, I have no doubt he is. It was 
 very good of him to ask you to go to the Hall." 
 
 "And he called me Miss Goddard," said 
 Eleanor. " I wonder whether he will always call 
 me Miss Goddard." 
 
 "He did not know your name was Nellie," 
 explained her mother. 
 
 " Oh, I wish nobody knew, mamma. It was 
 so nice. When shall I be grown up, mamma?" 
 
 " Soon, my child too soon," said Mrs. Goddard 
 with a sigh. Nellie looked at her mother and 
 was silent for a minute. 
 
 "Mamma, do you like Mr. Juxon?" she 
 asked presently. 
 
 " No, dear how can one like anybody one has 
 only seen once ?"
 
 rv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 89 
 
 " Oh but I thought you might," said Nellie. 
 ' Don't you think you will, mamma ? Say you 
 will do !" 
 
 "Why?" asked her mother in some surprise. 
 " I cannot say anything about it. I daresay he 
 is very nice." 
 
 " It will be so delightful to go to the Hall to 
 dinner and be waited on by big real servants 
 not like Susan at the vicarage, or Martha. Won't 
 you like it, mamma ? Of course Mr. Juxon will 
 have real servants, just like like poor papa." 
 Nellie finished her speech rather doubtfully as 
 though not sure how her mother would take it. 
 Mrs. Goddard sighed again, but said nothing. 
 She could not stop the child's talking why 
 should Nellie not speak of her father ? Nellie 
 did not know. 
 
 " I think it will be perfectly delightful," said 
 Nellie, seeing she got no answer from her mother, 
 and as though putting the final seal of affirmation 
 to her remarks about the Hall. But she ap 
 peared to be satisfied at not having been con 
 tradicted and did not return to the subject that 
 evening.
 
 90 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Mr. Juxon lost no time in keeping his word 
 and on the following morning at about eleven 
 o'clock, when Mrs. Goddard was just hearing 
 the last of Nellie's lesson in geography and 
 little Nellie herself was beginning to be terribly 
 tired of acquiring knowledge in such very warm 
 weather, the squire's square figure was seen to 
 emerge from the park gate opposite, clad in gray 
 knickerbockers and dark green stockings, a rose 
 in his buttonhole and a thick stick in his hand, 
 presenting all the traditional appearance of a 
 thriving country gentleman of the period. He 
 crossed the road, stopped a moment and whistled 
 his dog to heel and then opened the wicket gate 
 that led to the cottage. Nellie sprang to the 
 window in wild excitement. 
 
 " Oh what a dog !" she cried. " Mamma, do 
 come and see ! And Mr. Juxon is coming, too 
 he has green stockings !" 
 
 But Mrs. Goddard, who was not prepared 
 for so early a visit, hastily put away what might 
 be described as the debris of Nellie's lessons, to 
 wit, a much thumbed book of geography, a well 
 worn spelling book, a very particularly inky
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 91 
 
 piece of blotting paper, a pen of which most 
 the of stock had been subjected to the con 
 tinuous action of Nellie's teeth for several months, 
 and an ancient doll, without the assistance of 
 which, as a species of Stokesite memoria technica, 
 Nellie declared that she could not say her 
 lessons at all. Those things disappeared, and, 
 with them, Nellie's troubles, into a large drawer 
 set apart for the purpose. By the time Mr. 
 Juxon had rung the bell and Martha's answering 
 footstep was beginning to echo in the small 
 passage, Mrs. Goddard had passed to the con 
 sideration of Nellie herself. Nellie's fingers were 
 mightily inky, but in other respects she was 
 presentable. 
 
 " liun and wash your hands, child, and then 
 you may come back," said her mother. 
 
 " Oh mamma, must I go ? He's just coming 
 in." She gave one despairing look at her little 
 hands, and then ran away. The idea of missing 
 one moment of Mr. Juxon's visit was bitter, 
 but to be caught with inky fingers by a beautiful 
 gentleman with green stockings and a rose in his 
 coat would be more terribly humiliating still.
 
 92 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 There was a sound as of some gigantic beast 
 plunging into the passage as the front door was 
 opened, and a scream of terror from Martha fol 
 lowed by a good-natured laugh from the squire. 
 
 " You'll excuse me, sir, but he don't bite, sir, 
 does he ? Oh my ! what a dog he is, sir ' 
 
 " Is Mrs. Goddard in ? " inquired Mr. Juxon, 
 holding the hound by the collar. Martha opened 
 the door of the little sitting-room and the squire 
 looked in. Martha fled down the passage. 
 
 " Oh my ! What a tremendious dog that is, 
 to be sure ! " she was heard to exclaim as she 
 disappeared into the back of the cottage. 
 
 " May I come in ? " asked Mr. Juxon, rather 
 timidly and with an expression of amused per 
 plexity on his brown face. "Lie down, Stamboul !" 
 
 " Oh, bring him in, too," said Mrs. Goddard 
 coming forward and taking Mr. Juxon's hand. 
 " I am so fond of dogs." Indeed she was rather 
 embarrassed and was glad of the diversion. 
 
 "He is really very quiet," said the squire 
 apologetically, "only he is a little impetuous 
 about getting into a house." Then, seeing that 
 Mrs. Goddard looked at the enormous animal with
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 93 
 
 some interest and much wonder, he added, "he 
 is a Eussian bloodhound perhaps you never 
 saw one ? He was given to me in Constanti 
 nople, so I call him Stamboul good name for 
 a big dog is not it ? " 
 
 "Very," said Mrs. Goddard rather nervously. 
 Stamboul was indeed an exceedingly remarkable 
 beast. Taller than the tallest mastiff, he com 
 bined with his gigantic strength and size a grace 
 and swiftness of motion which no mastiff can 
 possess. His smooth clean coat, of a perfectly 
 even slate colour throughout, was without folds, 
 close as a greyhound's, showing every articula 
 tion and every swelling muscle of his body. 
 His broad square head and monstrous jaw betrayed 
 more of the quickness and sudden ferocity of the 
 tiger than those suggested by the heavy, lion-like 
 jowl of the English mastiff. His ears, too, 
 were close cropped, in accordance with the 
 Eussian fashion, and somehow the compactness 
 this gave to his head seemed to throw forward 
 and bring into prominence his great fiery eyes, 
 that reflected red lights as he moved, and did not 
 tend to inspire confidence in the timid stranger.
 
 94 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Do sit down," said Mrs. Goddard, and when 
 the squire was seated Stamboul sat himself down 
 upon his haunches beside him, and looked 
 slowly from his master to the lady and back 
 again, his tongue hanging out as though anxious 
 to hear what they might have to say to each 
 other. 
 
 " I thought I should be sure to find you 
 in the morning," began Mr. Juxon, after a pause. 
 " I hope I have not disturbed you ? " 
 
 "Oh, not at all. Nellie has just finished her 
 lessons." 
 
 "The fact is," continued the squire, "that I 
 was going to survey the nakedness of the land 
 which has fallen to my lot, and as I came out of 
 the park I saw the cottage right before me and I 
 could not resist the temptation of calling. I 
 had no idea we were such near neighbours." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Goddard, " it is very near." 
 
 Mr. Juxon glanced round the room. He was 
 not exactly at a loss for words, but Mrs. Goddard 
 did not seem inclined to encourage the con 
 versation. He saw that the room was not only 
 exceedingly comfortable but that its arrangement
 
 iv.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 95 
 
 betrayed a considerable taste for luxury. The 
 furniture was of a kind not generally seen in 
 cottages, and appeared to have formed part 
 of some -great establishment. The carpet itself 
 was of a finer and softer kind than any at the 
 Hall. The writing-table was a piece of richly 
 inlaid work, and the implements upon it were 
 of the solid, severe and valuable kind that are 
 seen in rich men's houses. A clock which 
 was undoubtedly of the Louis Quinze period 
 stood upon the chimney-piece. On the walls 
 were hung three or four pictures which, Mr. 
 Juxon thought, must be both old and of great 
 value. Upon a little table by the fireplace lay 
 four or five objects of Chinese jade and Japanese 
 ivory and a silver chatelaine of old workmanship. 
 The squire saw, and wondered why such a very 
 pretty woman, who possessed such very pretty 
 things, should choose to come and live in his 
 cottage in the parish of Billingsfield. And 
 having seen and wondered he became interested 
 in his charming tenant and endeavoured to 
 carry on the conversation in a more con 
 fidential strain.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 "You have done more towards beautifying the 
 cottage than I could have hoped to do," said Mr. 
 Juxon, leaning back in his chair and resting one 
 hand on Stamboul's great head. 
 
 " It was very pretty of itself," answered 
 Mrs. Goddard, "and fortunately it is not very 
 big, or my things would look lost in it." 
 
 " I should not say that you have so many 
 beautiful things. They seem to suit the place 
 so well. I am sure you will never think of 
 taking them away." 
 
 "Not if I can help it I am too glad to be 
 quiet." 
 
 "You have travelled a great deal, Mrs. 
 Goddard ? " asked the squire. 
 
 " No not exactly that only a little, after all. 
 I have not been to Constantinople for instance,"
 
 CHAP. V.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 97 
 
 she added looking at the hound Mr. Juxon had 
 brought from the East. "You are indeed a 
 traveller." 
 
 " I have travelled all my life," said the squire, 
 indifferently, as though the subject of his wander 
 ings did not interest him. " From what little I 
 have seen of Billingsfield I fancy you will find 
 all the quiet you could wish, here. Eeally, I 
 realise that at my own gate I must come to you 
 for information. What sort of man is that 
 excellent rector down there, whom I met last 
 night ? " 
 
 The squire's tone became more confidential 
 as he put the question. 
 
 "Well he is not a rector, to begin with," 
 answered Mrs. Goddard with a smile, " he is the 
 vicar, and he is a most good man, whom I have 
 always found most kind." 
 
 " I can readily fancy that," said Mr. Juxon. 
 " But his wife seems to be of the severe type." 
 
 " ISTo she struck me so at first, too. I think 
 it is only with strangers. She is such a motherly 
 sort of woman, you do not know ! She only has 
 that little manner when you first meet her." 
 
 VOL. i. H
 
 98 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " What a strange thing that is ! " remarked 
 the squire, looking at Mrs. Goddard. "The 
 natural belief of English people in each other's 
 depravity until they have had time to make 
 acquaintance ! And is there no one else here 
 no doctor no doctor's wife ? " 
 
 " Not a soul," answered Mrs. Goddard. " There 
 is a doctor, but the vicarage suspects him of free 
 thought. He certainly never goes to church. He 
 has no wife." 
 
 "This is the most Arcadian retreat I ever 
 was in. Upon my word, I am a very lucky 
 man." 
 
 " I suppose that it must be a relief when one 
 has travelled so much," replied Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Or suffered very much," added the squire, 
 half unconsciously, looking at her sad face. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. At that moment the 
 door opened and Nellie entered the room, having 
 successfully grappled with the inkstains. She 
 went straight to the squire, and held out her 
 hand, blushing a little, but looking very pretty. 
 Then she saw the huge head of Stamboul who 
 looked up at her with a ferociously agreeable
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 99 
 
 canine smile, and thwacked the carpet with his 
 tail as he sat ; Nellie started back. 
 
 " Oh, what a dog ! " she exclaimed. But very 
 soon she was on excellent terms with him ; little 
 Nellie was not timid, and Stamboul, who liked 
 people who were not afraid of him and was 
 especially fond of children, did his best to be 
 amusing. 
 
 " He is a very good dog," remarked Mr. Juxon. 
 " He once did me a very good service." 
 
 " How was that ? " 
 
 " I was riding in the Belgrade forest one 
 summer. I was alone with Stamboul following. 
 A couple of ruffians tried to rob me. Stamboul 
 caught one of them." 
 
 " Did he hurt him very much ? " 
 
 " I don't know he killed him before the 
 fellow could scream, and I shot the other," replied 
 the squire calmly. 
 
 " What a horrible story ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Goddard, turning pale. " Come here, Nellie 
 don't touch that dreadful dog ! " 
 
 " Do not be afraid he is perfectly harmless. 
 Come here Stamboul ! " The huge beast obeyed,
 
 100 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 wagging his tail, and sat down at his master's 
 feet, still looking rather wistfully at Nellie who 
 had been playing with him. " You see," con 
 tinued Mr. Juxon, "he is as quiet as a lamb 
 would not hurt a fly ! " 
 
 " I think it is dreadful to have such animals 
 about," said Mrs. Goddard in a low voice, still 
 looking at the dog with horror. 
 
 " I am sorry I told you. It may prejudice 
 you against him. I only meant to explain 
 how faithful he is, that is all. You see a 
 man grows fond of a creature that has saved his 
 life." 
 
 " I suppose so, but it is rather startling to see 
 such an animal so near to one. I fear I am 
 very nervous." 
 
 "By the bye," said the squire with the bold 
 irrelevancy of a man who wants to turn the 
 subject, " are you fond of flowers ? " 
 
 " I ? " said Mrs. Goddard in surprise. " Yes 
 very. Why ? " 
 
 " I thought you would not mind if I had the 
 garden here improved a little. One might put 
 in a couple of frames. I did not see any flowers
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 101 
 
 about. I am so fond of them myself, you see, 
 that I always look for them." 
 
 " You are very kind," answered Mrs. Goddard. 
 " But I would not have you take any trouble on 
 my account. "We are so comfortable and so fond 
 of the cottage already " 
 
 " Well, I hope you will grow to like it even 
 better," returned the squire with a genial smile. 
 " Anything I can do, you know " he rose as 
 though to take his leave. " Excuse me, but may 
 I look at that picture ? Andrea del Sarto ? 
 Yes, I thought so wonderful upon my word, 
 in a cottage in Billingsfield. Where did you 
 find it?" 
 
 " It was my husband's," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Ah ah, yes," said the squire in a subdued 
 tone. " I beg your pardon," he added, as people 
 often do, unconsciously, when they fancy they 
 have accidentally roused in another a painful 
 train of thought. Then he turned to go. " We 
 dine at half-past seven, you know, so as to be 
 early for Miss Nellie," he said, as he went out. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard was glad he was gone, though 
 she felt that he was not unsympathetic. The
 
 102 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 story of the dog had frightened her, and her own 
 mention of her husband had made her nervous 
 and sad. More than ever she felt that fear of 
 being in a false position, which had assailed her 
 when she had first met the squire on the previous 
 evening. He had at once opened relations with 
 her in a way which showed that he intended to 
 be intimate; he had offered to improve her 
 cottage, had insisted upon making frames in her 
 garden, had asked her to dinner with the Am 
 broses and had established the right to talk to 
 her whenever he got a chance. He interested 
 her, too, which was worse. His passing references 
 to his travels and to his adventures, of which he 
 spoke with the indifference of a man accustomed 
 to danger, his unassuming manner, his frank ways 
 everything about him awakened her interest. 
 She had supposed that in two years the very 
 faculty of being interested by a man would be 
 dulled if not destroyed ; she found to her annoy 
 ance that though she had seen Mr. Juxon only 
 twice she could not put him out of her thoughts. 
 She was, moreover, a nervous, almost morbid, 
 woman, and the natural result of trying to forget
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 103 
 
 liis existence was that she could think of nothing 
 else. 
 
 How much better it would be, she thought, if 
 he knew her story from the first. He might 
 then be as friendly as he pleased ; there would 
 be no danger in it, to him or to her. She almost 
 determined to go at once and ask the vicar's 
 advice. But by the time she had nearly made 
 up her mind it was the hour for luncheon, and 
 little Nellie's appetite was exigent. By the time 
 lunch was over her determination had changed. 
 She had reflected that the vicar would think her 
 morbid, that, with his usual good sense, he would 
 say there was no necessity for telling the squire 
 anything ; indeed, that to do so would be un 
 dignified. If the squire were indeed going to 
 lead the life of a recluse as he proposed doing, he 
 was not really a man to cause her any appre 
 hension. If he had travelled about the world for 
 forty years without having his heart disturbed by 
 any of the women he must have met in that 
 time, he was certainly not the kind of man, when 
 once he had determined to settle in his home, to 
 fall in love with the first pretty woman he met.
 
 104 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 It was absurd ; there was no likelihood of it ; it 
 was her own miserable vanity, she told herself, 
 which made the thing seem probable, and she 
 would not think any more about it. She, a 
 woman thirty-one years of age, with a daughter 
 who ere long would be growing up to woman 
 hood ! To be afraid of a mere stranger like Mr. 
 Juxon afraid lest he should fall in love with 
 her ! Could anything be more ridiculous ? Her 
 duty was to live quietly as she had lived before, 
 to take no more notice of the squire than was 
 necessary in order to be civil, and so all would 
 be well. 
 
 And so it seemed for a long time. The squire 
 improved the garden of the cottage and Mrs. 
 Goddard and Nellie, with the Ambroses, dined at 
 the Hall, which at first seemed an exceedingly 
 dreary and dismal place, but which, as they 
 returned thither again and again, grew more and 
 more luxurious, till the transformation was com 
 plete. Mr. Juxon brought all manner of things 
 to the house ; vans upon vans arrived, laden with 
 boxes of books and pictures and oriental carpets 
 and rare objects which the squire had collected in
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 105 
 
 his many years of travel, and which he appeared 
 to have stored in London until he had at last 
 inherited the Hall. The longer the Ambroses 
 and Mrs. Goddard knew him, the more singularly 
 impressed they were with his reticence concerning 
 himself. He appeared to have been everywhere, 
 to have seen everything, and he had certainly 
 brought back a vast collection of more or less 
 valuable objects from his travels, besides the 
 large library he had accumulated and which 
 contained many rare and curious editions of 
 ancient books. He was evidently a man of very 
 good education, and a much better scholar than 
 he was willing to allow. The vicar delighted in 
 his society and when the two found themselves 
 together in the great room which Mr. Juxon had 
 lined with well-filled shelves, they remained for 
 hours absorbed in literary and scholastic talk. 
 But whenever the vicar approached the subject of 
 the squire's past life, the latter became vague 
 and gave ambiguous answers to any direct ques 
 tions addressed to him. He evidently disliked 
 talking of himself, though he would talk about 
 anything else that occurred to him with a fluency
 
 106 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 which Mrs. Ambrose declared was the only un- 
 English thing about him. The consequence was 
 that the vicar became more and more interested 
 in his new acquaintance, and though the squire 
 was so frank and honest a man that it was 
 impossible to suspect him of any doubtful action 
 in the past, Mr. Ambrose suspected that he had 
 a secret. Indeed after hearing the story Mrs. 
 Goddard had confided to his ears, nothing would 
 have surprised the vicar. After finding that so 
 good, so upright and so honourable a woman as 
 the fair tenant of the cottage could be put into 
 such a singularly painful position as that in 
 which she now found herself, it was not hard to 
 imagine that this singular person who had in 
 herited the Hall might also have some weighty 
 reason for loving the solitude of Billingsfield. 
 
 To chronicle the small events which occurred 
 in that Arcadian parish, would be to overstep the 
 bounds of permissible tediousness. In such 
 places all events move slowly and take long to 
 develop to their results. The passions which in 
 our own quickly moving world spring up, flourish, 
 wither and are cut down in a month require
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 107 
 
 when they are not stimulated by the fertilising 
 heat of artificial surroundings, a longer period for 
 their growth ; and when that growth is attained 
 they are likely to be stronger and more deeply 
 rooted. It is not true that the study of them 
 is less interesting, nor that they have less im 
 portance in themselves. The difficulty of narra 
 tive is greater when they are to be described, 
 for it is necessary to carry the imagination in 
 a short time over a long period, to show how 
 from small incidents great results follow, and to 
 show also how the very limited and trivial 
 nature of the surroundings may cause important 
 things to be overlooked. Amidst such influences 
 acquaintance is soon made between the few 
 persons so thrown together, but each is apt to 
 regard such new acquaintance merely as bearing 
 upon his or her own particular interests. It is 
 surprising to see how people will live side by 
 side in solitude, even in danger, in distant 
 settlements, in the mining districts of the West, 
 in up-country stations in India, on board ship, 
 even, for months and years, without knowing 
 anything of each other's previous history ; whereas
 
 108 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 in the crowded centres of civilisation and society 
 the first questions are "Where does he come 
 from?" "What are his antecedents?" "What 
 has he done in the world ?" And unless a man 
 can answer such inquiries to the general satisfac 
 tion he is likely to be heavily handicapped in the 
 social race. But in more primitive situations 
 men are ruled by more primitive feelings of 
 mutual respect ; it is considered that a man 
 should not be pressed to speak of things he 
 shows no desire to discuss and that, provided he 
 does not interfere with his neighbour's wellbeing, 
 his past life is nobody's business. One may feel 
 curiosity concerning him, but under no circum 
 stances is one justified in asking questions. 
 
 For these reasons, although Mr. Juxon's 
 arrival and instalment in the Hall were regarded 
 with satisfaction by the little circle at Billings- 
 field, while he himself was at once received into 
 intimacy and treated with cordial friendliness, 
 he nevertheless represented in the minds of all 
 an unsolved enigma. And to the squire the 
 existence of one of the circle was at least as 
 problematical as his own life could seem to any
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 109 
 
 of them. The more he saw of Mrs. Goddard, 
 the more he wondered at her and speculated 
 about her and the less he dared to ask her any 
 questions. But he understood from Mr. Ambrose's 
 manner, that the vicar at least was in possession 
 of her secret, and he inferred from what he was 
 able to judge about the vicar's character that the 
 latter was not a man to extend his friendship to 
 any one who did not deserve it. Whatever Mrs. 
 Goddard's story was, he felt sure that her troubles 
 had not been caused by her own misconduct. 
 She was in every respect what he called a good 
 woman. Of course, too, she was a widow ; the 
 way in which she spoke of her husband implied 
 that, on those rare occasions when she spoke of 
 him at all. Charles James Juxon was a 
 gentleman, whatever course of life he had 
 followed before settling in the country, and he 
 did not feel that he should be justified in asking 
 questions about Mrs. Goddard of the vicar. 
 Besides, as time went on and he found his own 
 interest in her increasing, he began to nourish 
 the hope that he might one day hear her story 
 from her own lips. In his simplicity it did not
 
 110 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 strike him that he himself had grown to be an 
 object of interest to her. 
 
 Somehow, during the summer and autumn of 
 that year, Mrs. Goddard contracted a habit of 
 watching the park gate from the window of the 
 cottage, particularly at certain hours of the day. 
 It was only a habit, but it seemed to amuse her. 
 She used to sit in the small bay window with 
 her books, reading to herself or teaching Nellie, 
 and it was quite natural that from time to time 
 she should look out across the road. But 1 it 
 rarely happened, when she was installed in that 
 particular place, that Mr. Juxon failed to appear 
 at the gate, with his dog Starnboul, his green 
 stockings, his stick and the inevitable rose in 
 his coat. Moreover he generally crossed the 
 road and, if he did not enter the cottage and 
 spend a quarter of an hour in conversation, he 
 at least spoke to Mrs. Goddard through the open 
 window. It was remarkable, too, that as time 
 went on what at first had seemed the result of 
 chance, recurred with such invariable regularity 
 as to betray the existence of a fixed rule. 
 Nellie, too, who was an observant child, had
 
 V.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. Ill 
 
 ceased asking questions but watched her mother 
 with her great violet eyes in a way that made 
 Mrs. Goddard nervous. Nellie liked the squire 
 very much but though she asked her mother very 
 often at first whether she, too, was fond of that 
 nice Mr. Juxon, the answers she received were 
 not encouraging. How was it possible, Mrs. 
 Goddard asked, to speak of liking anybody one 
 had known so short a time ? And as Nellie was 
 quite unable to answer such an inquiry, she 
 desisted from her questions and applied herself 
 to the method of personal observation. But 
 here, too, she was met by a hopeless difficulty. 
 The squire and her mother never seemed to have 
 any secrets, as Nellie would have expressed it. 
 They met daily, and daily exchanged very much 
 the same remarks concerning the weather, the 
 garden, the vicar's last sermon. When they 
 talked about anything else, they spoke of books, 
 of which the squire lent Mrs. Goddard a great 
 number. But this was a subject which did not 
 interest Nellie very much; she was not by any 
 means a prodigy in the way of learning, and 
 though she was now nearly eleven years old was
 
 112 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 only just beginning to read the Waverley novels. 
 On one occasion she remarked to her mother 
 that she did not believe a word of them and did 
 not think they were a bit like real life, but the 
 momentary fit of scepticism soon passed and 
 Nellie read on contentedly, not omitting however 
 to watch her mother in order to find out, as her 
 small mind expressed it, " whether mamma really 
 liked that nice Mr. Juxon." Events were slowly 
 preparing themselves which would help her to 
 come to a satisfactory conclusion upon that 
 matter. 
 
 Mr. Juxon himself was in a very uncertain 
 state of mind. After knowing Mrs. Goddard for 
 six months, and having acquired the habit of 
 seeing her almost every day, he found to his 
 surprise that she formed a necessary part of his 
 existence. It need not have surprised him, for 
 in spite of that lady's surmise with regard to his 
 early life, he was in reality a man of generous 
 and susceptible temperament. He recognised in 
 the charming tenant of the cottage many qualities 
 which he liked, and he could not deny that she 
 was exceedingly pretty. Being a strong man he
 
 v.J A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 113 
 
 was particularly attracted by the pathetic expres 
 sion of her face, the perpetual sadness that was 
 visible there when she was not momentarily 
 interested or amused. Had he suspected her 
 paleness and air of secret suffering to be the 
 result of any physical infirmity, she would not 
 have interested him so much. But Mrs. Goddard's 
 lithe figure and easy grace of activity belied all 
 idea of weakness. It was undoubtedly some 
 hidden suffering of mind which lent that sadness 
 to her voice and features, and which so deeply 
 roused the sympathies of the squire. At the end 
 of six months Mr. Juxon was very much in 
 terested in Mrs. Goddard, but despite all his 
 efforts to be agreeable he seemed to have made 
 no progress whatever in the direction of banishing 
 her cares. To tell the truth, it did not enter 
 his mind that he was in love with her. She 
 was his tenant ; she was evidently very unhappy 
 about something ; it was therefore undeniably 
 his duty as a landlord and as a gentleman to 
 make life easy for her. 
 
 He wondered what the matter could be. At 
 first he had been inclined to think that she was 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 poor and was depressed by poverty. But though 
 she lived very simply, she never seemed to be in 
 difficulties. Five hundred pounds a year go a 
 long way in the village of Billingsfield. It was 
 certainly not want of money which made her 
 unhappy. The interest of the sum represented 
 by the pictures hung in her little sitting-room, 
 not to mention the other objects of value she 
 possessed, would have been alone sufficient to 
 afford her a living. The squire himself would 
 have given her a high price for these things, 
 but in six months she never in the most distant 
 manner suggested that she wished to part with 
 them. The idea then naturally suggested itself 
 to Mr. Juxon's mind that she was still mourning 
 for her husband, and that she would probably 
 continue to mourn for him until some one, himself 
 for instance, succeeded in consoling her for so 
 great a loss. 
 
 The conclusion startled the squire. That was 
 not precisely the part he contemplated playing, 
 nor the species of consolation he proposed to 
 offer. Mrs. Goddard was indeed a charming 
 woman, and the squire liked charming women
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 115 
 
 and delighted in their society. But Mr. Juxon 
 was a bachelor of more than forty years standing, 
 and he had never regarded marriage as a thing of 
 itself, for himself, desirable. He immediately 
 thrust the idea from his mind with a mental 
 " vacle retro Satanas ! "and determined that things 
 were very agreeable in their present state, and 
 might go on for ever ; that if Mrs. Goddard was 
 unhappy that did not prevent her from talking 
 very pleasantly whenever he saw her, which was 
 nearly every day, and that her griefs were 
 emphatically none of his business. Before very 
 long however Mr. Juxon discovered that though 
 it was a very simple thing to make such a 
 determination it was a very different thing to 
 keep it. Mrs. Goddard interested him too much. 
 When he was with her he was perpetually 
 longing to talk about herself instead of about 
 the weather and the garden and the books, and 
 once or twice he was very nearly betrayed into 
 talking about himself, a circumstance so extra 
 ordinary that Mr. Juxon imagined he must be 
 either ill or going mad, and thought seriously 
 of sending for the doctor. He controlled the
 
 116 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 impulse, however, and temporarily recovered ; but 
 strange to say from that time forward the 
 conversation languished when he found himself 
 alone with Mrs. Goddard, and it seemed very 
 hard to maintain their joint interest in the 
 weather, the garden and the books at the proper 
 standard of intensity. They had grown intimate, 
 and familiarity had begun to breed a contempt of 
 those petty subjects upon which their intimacy 
 had been founded. It is not clear why this 
 should be so, but it is true, nevertheless, and 
 many a couple before Charles Juxon and Mary 
 Goddard had found it out. As the interest of 
 two people in each other increases their interest 
 in things, as things, diminishes in like ratio, and 
 they are very certain ultimately to reach that 
 point described by the Frenchman's maxim " a 
 man should never talk to a woman except of 
 herself or himself." 
 
 If Mr. Juxon was not in love with Mary 
 Goddard he was at least rapidly approaching a 
 very dangerous state ; for he saw her every day 
 and could not let one day go by without seeing 
 her, and moreover he grew silent in her company,
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 117 
 
 to a degree which embarrassed her and made 
 him feel himself more stupid than he had ever 
 dreamed possible ; so that he would sometimes 
 stay too long, in the hope of finding something 
 to say, and sometimes he would leave her 
 abruptly and go and shut himself up with his 
 books, and busy himself with his catalogues and 
 his bindings and the arrangement of his rare 
 editions. One day at last, he felt that he had 
 behaved so very absurdly that he was ashamed 
 of himself, and suddenly disappeared for nearly 
 a week. When he returned he said he had 
 been to town to attend a great sale of books, 
 which was perfectly true ; he did not add that 
 the learned expert he employed in London could 
 have done the business for him just as well. 
 But the trip had done him no good, for he grew 
 more silent than ever, and Mrs. Goddard even 
 thought his brown face looked a shade paler 
 but that might have been the effect of the winter 
 weather. Ordinary sunburn she reflected, as she 
 looked at her own white skin in the mirror, will 
 generally wear off in six months, though freckles 
 will not.
 
 118 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 If Mr. Juxon was not in love, it would be 
 very hard to say what Mary Goddard felt. It 
 was not true that time was effacing the memory 
 of the great sorrow she had suffered. It was 
 there still, that memory, keen and sharp as ever ; 
 it would never go away again so long as she 
 lived. But she had been soothed by the quiet 
 life in Billingsfield ; the evidences of the past 
 had been removed far from her, she had found 
 in the Eeverend Augustin Ambrose one of those 
 rare and manly natures who can keep a secret for 
 ever without ever referring to its existence even 
 with the person who has confided it. For a few 
 days she had hesitated whether to ask the vicar's 
 advice about Mr. Juxon or not. She had thought 
 it her duty to allow Mr. Ambrose to tell the squire 
 whatever he thought fit of her own story. But 
 she had changed her mind, and the squire had 
 remained in ignorance. It was best so, she 
 thought ; for now, after more than six months, 
 Mr. Juxon had taken the position of a friend 
 towards her, and, as she thought, showed no 
 disposition whatever to overstep the boundaries 
 of friendship. The regularity of his visits and
 
 v.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 119 
 
 the sameness of the conversation seemed of them 
 selves a guarantee of his simple goodwill. It 
 did not strike her as possible that if he were 
 going to fall in love with her at all, that catas- 
 .trophe should be postponed beyond six months 
 from their first acquaintance. Nor did it seem 
 extraordinary to her that she should actually 
 look forward to those visits, and take pleasure 
 in that monotonous intercourse. Her life was 
 very quiet ; it was natural that she should take 
 whatever diversion came in her way, and should 
 even be thankful for it. Mr. Juxon was an 
 honest gentleman, a scholar and a man who had 
 seen the world. If what he said was not always 
 very original it was always very true, a merit 
 not always conceded to the highest originality. 
 He spoke intelligently ; he told her the news ; 
 he lent her the newest books and reviews, and 
 offered her his opinions upon them, with the 
 regularity of a daily paper. In such a place, 
 where communications with the outer world 
 seemed as difficult as at the antipodes, and 
 where the remainder of society was limited to 
 the household of the vicarage, what wonder
 
 120 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 was it if she found Mr. Juxon an agreeable com 
 panion, and believed the companionship harmless? 
 But far down in the involutions of her feminine 
 consciousness there was present a perpetual curi 
 osity in regard to the squire, a curiosity she 
 never expected to satisfy, but was wholly unable 
 to repress. Under the influence of this feeling 
 she made remarks from time to time of an 
 apparently harmless nature, but which in the 
 squire promoted that strange inclination to talk 
 about himself, which he had lately observed and 
 which caused him so much alarm. He said to 
 himself that he had nothing to be concealed, and 
 that if any one had asked him direct questions 
 concerning his past he would have answered 
 them boldly enough. But he knew himself to 
 be so singularly averse to dwelling on his own 
 affairs that he wondered why he should now be 
 impelled to break through so good a rule. Indeed 
 he had not the insight to perceive that Mrs. 
 Goddard lost no opportunity of leading him to 
 the subject of his various adventures, and, if 
 he had suspected it, he would have been very 
 much surprised.
 
 V.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 121 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose were far from guessing 
 what an intimacy had sprung up between the 
 two. Both the cottage and the Hall lay at a 
 considerable distance from the vicarage, and 
 though Mrs. Ambrose occasionally went to see 
 Mrs. Goddard at irregular hours in the morning 
 and afternoon, it was remarkable that the squire 
 never called when she was there. Once Mrs. 
 Ambrose arrived during one of his visits, but 
 thought it natural enough that Mr. Juxon should 
 drop in to see his tenant. Indeed when she 
 called the two were talking about the garden 
 as usual.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 JOHN SHORT had almost finished his hard work 
 at college. For two years and a half he had 
 laboured on acquiring for himself reputation and 
 a certain amount of more solid advantage in the 
 shape of scholarships. Never in that time had 
 he left Cambridge even for a day unless com 
 pelled to do so by the regulations of his college. 
 His father had found it hard to induce him to 
 come up to town ; and, being in somewhat easier 
 circumstances since John had declared that he 
 needed no further help to complete his educa 
 tion, he had himself gone to see his son more 
 than once. But John had never been to Bil- 
 lingsfield and he knew nothing of the changes 
 that had taken place there. At last, however, 
 Short felt that he must have some rest before 
 he went up for honours ; he had grown thin and
 
 CHAP, vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 123 
 
 even pale ; his head ached perpetually, and his 
 eyes no longer seemed so good as they had been. 
 He went to a doctor, and the doctor told him 
 that with his admirable constitution a few days 
 of absolute rest would do all that was necessary. 
 John wrote to Mr. Ambrose to say that he would 
 at last accept the invitation so often extended 
 and would spend the week between Christmas 
 and New Year's day at Billingsfield. 
 
 There were great rejoicings at the vicarage. 
 John had never been forgotten for a day since he 
 had left, each successive step in his career had 
 been hailed with hearty delight, and now that at 
 last he was coming back to rest himself for a 
 week before the final effort Mrs. Ambrose was as 
 enthusiastic as her husband. Even Mrs. Goddard 
 who was not quite sure whether she had ever 
 seen John or not, and the squire who had certainly 
 never seen him, joined in the general excitement. 
 Mrs. Goddard asked the entire party to tea at 
 the cottage and the squire asked them to come 
 arid skate at the Hall and to dine afterwards ; 
 for the weather was cold and the vicar said John 
 was a very good skater. "Was there anything
 
 124 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 John could not do? There was nothing he 
 could not do much better than anybody else, 
 answered Mr. Ambrose; and the good clergy 
 man's pride in his pupil was perhaps not the less 
 because he had at first received him on charitable 
 considerations, and felt that if he had risked much 
 in being so generous he had also been amply re 
 warded by the brilliant success of his undertaking. 
 
 When John arrived, everybody said he was 
 " so much improved." He had got his growth 
 now, being close upon one and twenty years of 
 age ; his blue eyes were deeper set ; his downy 
 whiskers had disappeared and a small moustache 
 shaded his upper lip ; he looked more intellectual 
 but not less strong, though Mrs. Ambrose said he 
 was dreadfully pale perhaps he owed some of 
 the improvement observed in his appearance to 
 the clothes he wore. Poor boy, he had been but 
 scantily supplied in the old days; he looked 
 prosperous, now, by comparison. 
 
 " We have had great additions to our society, 
 since you left us," said the vicar. "We have 
 got a squire at the Hall, and a lady with a little 
 girl at the cottage."
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 125 
 
 "Such a nice little girl" remarked Mrs. Ambrose. 
 
 When John found out that the lady at the 
 cottage was no other than the lady in black to 
 whom he had lost his heart two years and a half 
 before, he was considerably surprised. It would 
 be absurd to suppose that the boyish fancy which 
 had made so much romance in his life for so many 
 months could outlast the excitements of the Uni 
 versity. It would be absurd to dignify such a 
 fancy by any serious name. He had grown to 
 be a man since those days and he had put away 
 childish things. He blushed to remember that 
 he had spent hours in writing odes to the 
 beautiful unknown, and whole nights in dreaming 
 of her face. And yet he could remember that as 
 much as a year after he had left Billingsfield he 
 still thought of her as his highest ideal of woman, 
 and still occasionally composed a few verses to 
 her memory, regretting, perhaps, the cooling of 
 his poetic ardour. Then he had gradually lost 
 sight of her in the hard work which made up his 
 life. Profound study had made him more prosaic 
 and he believed that he had done with ideals for 
 ever after the manner of many clever young
 
 126 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 fellows who at one and twenty feel that they are 
 separated from the follies of eighteen by a great 
 and impassable gulf. The gulf, however, was not 
 in John's case so wide nor so deep but what, at 
 the prospect of being suddenly brought face to 
 face, and' made acquainted, with her who for so 
 long had seemed the object of a romantic passion, 
 he- felt a strange thrill of surprise and embarrass 
 ment. Those meetings of later years generally 
 brin painful disillusion. How many of us can 
 remember some fair-haired little girl who in our 
 childhood represented to us the very incarnation 
 of feminine grace and beauty, for whom we fetched 
 and carried, for whom we bound nosegays on the 
 heath and stole apples from the orchard and 
 climbed upon the table after desert, if we were 
 left alone in the dining-room, to lay hands on 
 some beautiful sweetmeat wrapped in tinsel and 
 fringes of pink paper have we not met her again 
 in after-life, a grown woman, very, very far from 
 our ideal of feminine grace and beauty? And 
 still in spite of changes in herself and ourselves 
 there has clung to her memory through all those 
 years enough of romance to make our heart beat
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 127 
 
 a little faster at the prospect of suddenly meeting 
 her, enough to make us wonder a little regretfully 
 if she was at all like the little golden-haired child 
 we loved long ago. 
 
 But with John the feeling was stronger than 
 that. It was but two years and a half since he 
 had seen Mrs. Goddard, and, not even knowing 
 her name, had erected for her a pedestal in his 
 boyish heart. There was moreover about her a 
 mystery still unsolved. There was something 
 odd and strange in her one visit to the vicarage, 
 in the fact that the vicar had never referred to 
 that visit and, lastly, it seemed unlike Mr. 
 Ambrose to have said nothing of her settlement 
 in Billingsfield in the course of all the letters he 
 had written to John since the latter had left him. 
 John dwelt upon the name Goddard but it 
 held no association for him. It was not at all 
 like the names he had given her in his imagina 
 tion. He wondered what she would be like and 
 he felt nervously anxious to meet her. Somehow, 
 too, what he heard of the squire did not please 
 him; he felt an immediate antagonism to Mr. 
 Juxon, to his books, to his amateur scholarship,
 
 128 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 even to his appearance as described by Mrs. 
 Ambrose, who said he was such a thorough 
 Englishman and wondered how he kept his hair 
 so smooth. 
 
 It was not long before he had an opportunity 
 of judging for himself of what Mr. Ambrose 
 called the recent addition to Billingsfield society. 
 On the very afternoon of his arrival the vicar 
 proposed to walk up to the Hall and have a look 
 at the library, and John readily assented. It was 
 Christmas Eve and the weather, even in Essex, 
 was sharp and frosty. The muddy road was 
 frozen hard and the afternoon sun, slanting 
 through the oak trees that bordered the road 
 beyond the village, made no perceptible impres 
 sion on the cold. The two men walked briskly 
 in the direction of the park gate. Before they 
 had quite reached it however, the door of the 
 cottage opposite was opened, and Stamboul, the 
 Eussian bloodhound, bounded down the path 
 cleared the wicket gate in his vast stride, and 
 then turning suddenly crouched in the middle of 
 the road to wait for his master. But the dog 
 instantly caught sight of the vicar, with whom he
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 129 
 
 was on very good terms, and trotted slowly up 
 to him, thrusting his great nose into his hand, 
 and then proceeding to make acquaintance with 
 John. He seemed to approve of the stranger, for 
 he gave a short sniff of satisfaction and trotted 
 back to the wicket of the cottage. At this 
 moment Mrs. Goddard and Nellie came out, 
 followed by the squire arrayed in his inevitable 
 green stockings. There was however no rose in 
 his coat. Whether the greenhouses at the Hall 
 had failed to produce any in the bitter weather, 
 or whether Mr. Juxon had transferred the rose 
 from his coat to the possession of Mrs. Goddard, 
 is uncertain. The three came out into the road 
 where the vicar and John stood still to meet 
 them. 
 
 " Mrs. Goddard," said the clergyman, " this is 
 Mr. Short, of whom you have heard John, let 
 me introduce you to Mr. Juxon." 
 
 John felt that he blushed violently as he took 
 Mrs. Goddard's hand. He would not have believed 
 that he could feel so much embarrassed, and he 
 hated himself for betraying it. But nobody 
 noticed his colour. The weather was bright and 
 
 VOL. i. K
 
 130 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 cold, and even Mrs. Goddard's pale and delicate 
 skin had a rosy tinge. 
 
 " We were just going for a walk," she explained. 
 
 " And we were going to see you at the Hall," 
 said the vicar to Mr. Juxon. 
 
 " Let us do both," said the latter. " Let us 
 walk to the Hall and have a cup of tea. We 
 can look at the ice and see whether it will bear 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Everybody agreed to the proposal, and it so fell 
 out that the squire and the vicar went before 
 while John and Mrs. Goddard followed and Nellie 
 walked between them, holding Stamboul by the 
 collar, and talking to him as she went. John 
 looked at his companion, and saw with a strange 
 satisfaction that his first impression, the impression 
 he had cherished so long, had not been a mistaken 
 one. Her deep violet eyes were still sad, beautiful 
 and dreamy. Her small nose was full of expres 
 sion, and was not reddened by the cold as noses 
 are wont to be. Her rich brown hair waved 
 across her forehead as it did on that day when 
 John first saw her ; and now as he spoke with 
 her, her mouth smiled, as he had been sure it
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 131 
 
 would. John felt a curious sense of pride in her, 
 in finding that he had not been deceived, that 
 this ideal of whom he had dreamed was really 
 and truly very good to look at. He knew little 
 of the artist's rules of beauty ; he had often 
 looked with wonder at the faces in the illustra 
 tions to Dr. Smith's classical dictionary, and had 
 tried to understand where the beauty of them lay, 
 and at Cambridge he had seen and studied with 
 interest many photographs and casts from the 
 antiques. But to his mind the antique would 
 not bear comparison for a moment with Mrs. 
 Goddard, who resembled no engraving nor photo 
 graph nor cast he had ever seen. 
 
 And she, too, looked at him, and said to herself 
 that he did not look like what she had expected. 
 He looked like a lean, fresh young Englishman of 
 moderate intelligence and in moderate circum 
 stances. And yet she knew that he was no 
 ordinary young fellow, that he was wonderfully 
 gifted, in fact, and likely to make a mark in the 
 world. She resolved to take a proper interest 
 in him. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, " I have heard so
 
 132 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 much about you, that I feel as though I had met 
 you before, Mr. Short." 
 
 " "We really have met," said John. " Do you 
 remember that hot day when you came to the 
 vicarage and I waked up Muggins for you ? " 
 
 "Yes was that you? You have changed. 
 That is, I suppose I did not see you very well 
 in the hurry." 
 
 " I suppose I have changed in two years and a 
 half. I was only a boy then, you know. But 
 how have you heard so much about me ? " 
 
 " Billingsfield," said Mrs. Goddard with a faint 
 smile, " is not a large place. The Ambroses are 
 very fond of you and always talk of what you are 
 doing." 
 
 " And so you really live here, Mrs. Goddard ? 
 How long is it since you came ? Mr. Ambrose 
 never told me " 
 
 " I have been here more than two years two 
 years last October," she answered quietly. 
 
 " The very year I left only a month after I 
 was gone. How strange ! " 
 
 Mrs. Goddard looked up nervously. She was 
 frightened lest John should have made any de-
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 133 
 
 ductions from the date of her arrival. But John 
 was thinking in a very different train of thought. 
 
 " Why is it strange ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, I hardly know," said John in considerable 
 embarrassment. " I was only thinking about 
 you that is, about it all." 
 
 The answer did not tend to quiet Mrs. Goddard's 
 apprehensions. 
 
 " About me ? " she exclaimed. " Why should 
 you think about me ? " 
 
 " It was very foolish, of course," said John. 
 " Only, when I caught sight of you that day I 
 was very much struck. You know, I was only 
 a boy, then. I hoped you would come back 
 but you did not." He blushed violently, and 
 then glanced at his companion to see whether 
 she had noticed it. 
 
 " No," she said, " I did not come back for some 
 time." 
 
 " And^then I was gone. Mr. Ambrose never 
 told me you had come." 
 
 " Why should he ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I think he might. You 
 see Billingsfield has been a sort of home to me
 
 134 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 and it is a small place ; so I thought he might 
 have told me the news." 
 
 "I suppose he thought it would not interest 
 you," said Mrs. Goddard. " I am sure I do not 
 know why it should. But you must be very 
 fond of the place, are you not ? " 
 
 " Very. As I was saying, it is very like home 
 to me. My father lives in town you know that 
 is not at all like home. One always associates 
 the idea of home with the country, and a vicarage 
 and a Hall, and all that." 
 
 " Does one ? " said Mrs. Goddard, picking her 
 way over the frozen mud of the road. " Take 
 care, Nellie, it is dreadfully slippery ! " 
 
 "How much she has grown," remarked John, 
 looking at the girl's active figure as she walked 
 before them. " She was quite a little girl when 
 I saw her first." 
 
 "Yes, she grows very fast," answered Mrs. 
 Goddard rather regretfully. 
 
 "You say that as though you were sorry." 
 
 " I ? No. I am glad to see her grow. 
 What a funny remark." 
 
 " I thought you spoke sadly," explained John.
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 135 
 
 " Oh, dear no. Only she is coming to the 
 awkward age." 
 
 " She is coming to it very gracefully," said 
 John, who wanted to say something pleasant. 
 
 " That is the most any of us can hope to do," 
 answered Mrs. Goddard with a little smile. " We 
 all have our awkward age, I suppose." 
 
 " I should not think you could remember yours." 
 
 "Why? Do you think it was so very long 
 ago ? " Mrs. Goddard laughed. 
 
 "No I cannot believe you ever had any," 
 said John. 
 
 The boyish compliment pleased Mrs. Goddard. 
 It was long since any one had flattered her, for 
 flattery did not enter into the squire's system for 
 making himself agreeable. 
 
 "Do they teach that sort of thing at Cam 
 bridge ? " she asked demurely. 
 
 " What sort of thing ? " 
 
 " Making little speeches to ladies," said she. 
 
 " No I wish they did," said John, laughing. 
 " I should know much better how to make them. 
 We learn how to write Greek odes to moral 
 abstractions."
 
 136 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " What a dreadful thing to do ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Do you think so ? I do not know. Now, 
 for instance, I have written a great many Greek 
 odes to you 
 
 " To me ? " interrupted his companion in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Do you think it is so very extraordinary ? " 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " Well you see I only saw you once you 
 won't laugh ? " 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Goddard, who was very 
 much amused, and was beginning to think that 
 John Short was the most original young man she 
 had ever met. 
 
 " I only saw you once, when you came to 
 the vicarage, and I had not the least idea what 
 your name was. But I I hoped you would 
 come back ; and so I used to write poems to you. 
 They were very good, too," added John in a 
 meditative tone, " I have never written any nearly 
 so good as they were." 
 
 " Eeally ? " Mrs. Goddard looked at him 
 rather incredulously and then laughed.
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 137 
 
 "You said you would not laugh," objected 
 John. 
 
 " I cannot help it in the least," said she. 
 " It seems so funny." 
 
 "It did not seem funny to me, I can assure 
 you/'' replied John rather warmly. " I thought 
 it very serious." 
 
 " You don't do it now, do you ? " asked 
 Mrs. Goddard, looking up at him quietly. 
 
 "Oh no a man's ideals change so much, you 
 know," answered John, who felt he had been 
 foolishly betrayed into telling his story, and hated 
 to be laughed at. 
 
 " I am very glad of that. How long are you 
 going to stay here, Mr. Short ? " 
 
 " Until New Year's Day, I think," he answered. 
 " Perhaps you will have time to forget about the 
 poetry before I go." 
 
 " I don't know why," said Mrs. Goddard, 
 noticing his hurt tone. " I think it was very 
 pretty I mean the way you did it. You must 
 be a born poet to write verses to a person you 
 did not know and had only seen once ! " 
 
 " It is much easier than writing verses to
 
 138 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 moral abstractions one has never seen at all," 
 explained John, who was easily pacified. " When 
 a man writes a great deal he feels the necessity 
 of attaching all those beautiful moral qualities 
 to some real, living person whom he can 
 see " 
 
 "Even if he only sees her once," remarked 
 Mrs. Goddard demurely. 
 
 "Yes, even if he only sees her once. You 
 have no idea how hard it is to concentrate one's 
 faculties upon a mere idea ; but the moment a 
 man sees a woman whom he can endow with all 
 sorts of beautiful qualities why it's just as easy 
 as hunting." 
 
 " I am glad to have been of so much service to 
 you, even unconsciously but, don't you think 
 perhaps Mrs. Ambrose would have done as 
 well ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Ambrose ? " repeated John. Then he 
 broke into a hearty laugh. " No I have no 
 hesitation in saying that she would not have 
 done as well. I am deeply indebted to Mrs. 
 Ambrose for a thousand kindnesses, for a great 
 deal more than I can tell but, on the whole, I
 
 A^I.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 139 
 
 say, no ; I could not have written odes to Mrs. 
 Ambrose." 
 
 " No, I suppose not. Besides, fancy the 
 vicar's state of mind ! She would have had 
 to call him in to translate your poetry." 
 
 " It is very singular," said John in a tone 
 of reflection. " But, if I had not done all that, 
 we should not be talking as we are now, 
 after ten minutes acquaintance." 
 
 " Probably not," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 "No certainly not. By the bye, there is the 
 Hall. I suppose you have often been there since 
 Mr. Juxon came what kind of man is he ? " 
 
 " He has been a great traveller," answered his 
 companion. "And then well, he is a scholar 
 and has an immense library " 
 
 "And an immense dog yes, but I mean? 
 what kind of man is he himself ? " 
 
 " He is very agreeable," said Mrs. Goddard 
 quietly. "Very well bred, very well educated. 
 "We find him a great addition in Billingsfield." 
 
 " I should think so, if he is all you say," said 
 John discontentedly. His antagonism against 
 Mr. Juxon was rapidly increasing. Mrs. God-
 
 140 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 dard looked at him in some surprise, being very 
 far from understanding his tone. 
 
 " I think you will like him/' she said. " He 
 knows all about you from the Ambroses, and 
 he always speaks of you with the greatest 
 admiration." 
 
 " Eeally ? It is awfully kind of him, I am 
 sure. I am very much obliged," said John 
 rather contemptuously. 
 
 " Why do you speak like that ? " asked Mrs. 
 Goddard gravely. " You cannot possibly have 
 any cause for disliking him. Besides, he is a 
 friend of ours " 
 
 " Oh, of course, then it is different," said 
 John. " If he is a friend of yours " 
 
 "Do you generally take violent dislikes to 
 people at first sight, Mr. Short ? " 
 
 "Oh, dear no. Not at all at least, not 
 dislikes. I suppose Mr. Juxon's face reminds 
 me of somebody I do not like. I will behave 
 like an angel. Here we are." 
 
 The effect of this conversation upon the two 
 persons between whom it took place was exceed 
 ingly different. Mrs. Goddard was amused, with-
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 141 
 
 out being altogether pleased. She had made 
 the acquaintance of a refreshingly young scholar 
 whom she understood to be full of genius. He 
 was enthusiastic, simple, seemingly incapable of 
 concealing anything that passed through his mind, 
 unreasonable and evidently very susceptible. On 
 the whole, she thought she should like him, 
 though his scornful manner in speaking of the 
 squire had annoyed her. The interest she could 
 feel in him, if she felt any at all, would be akin 
 to that of the vicar in the boy. He was only 
 a boy ; brilliantly talented, they said, but still 
 a mere boy. She was fully ten years older than 
 he she might almost be his mother well, not 
 quite that, but very nearly. It was amusing to 
 think of his writing odes to her. She wished 
 she could see translations of them, and she almost 
 made up her mind to ask him to show them to her. 
 John on the other hand experienced a curious 
 sensation. He had never before been in the 
 society of so charming a woman. He looked at 
 her and looked again, and came to the conclusion 
 that she was not only charming but beautiful. 
 He had not the least idea of her age ; it is not
 
 142 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 the manner of his kind to think much about 
 the age of a woman, provided she is not too 
 young. The girl might be ten. Mrs. Goddard 
 might have married at sixteen twenty -six, 
 twenty -seven what was that? John called 
 himself twenty-two. Five years was simply no 
 difference at all ! Besides, who cared for age ? 
 
 He had suddenly found himself almost on a 
 footing of intimacy with this lovely creature. 
 His odes had served him well ; it had pleased her 
 to hear the story. She had laughed a little, of 
 course ; but women, as John knew, always laugh 
 when they are pleased. He would like to show 
 her his odes. As he walked through the park by 
 her side he felt a curious sense of possession in 
 her which gave him a thrill of exquisite delight; 
 and when they entered the Hall he felt as though 
 he were resigning her to the squire, which gave 
 him a corresponding sense of annoyance. When 
 an Englishman experiences these sensations, he is 
 in love. John resolved that whatever happened 
 he would walk back with Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Come in," said the squire cheerily. " We are 
 not so cold as we used to be up here."
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 143 
 
 A great fire of logs was burning upon the 
 hearth in the Hall. Stamboul stalked up to 
 the open chimney, scratched the tiger's skin 
 which served for a rug, and threw himself 
 down as though his day's work were done. 
 Mr. Juxon went up to Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " I think you had better take off your coat," 
 he said. " The house is very warm." 
 
 Mrs. Goddard allowed the squire to help her 
 in removing the heavy black jacket lined and 
 trimmed with fur, which she wore. John eyed 
 the proceeding uneasily and kept on his great 
 coat. 
 
 " Thank you I don't mind the heat," he 
 said shortly when the squire suggested to him 
 that he might be too warm. John was in a fit 
 of contrariety. Mrs. Goddard glanced at him, 
 as he spoke, and he thought he detected a 
 twinkle of amusement in her eyes, which did not 
 tend to smooth his temper. 
 
 "You will have some tea, Mrs. Goddard ?" said 
 Mr. Juxon, leading the way into the library, 
 which he regarded as the most habitable room in 
 the house. Mrs. Goddard walked by his side
 
 144 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 and the vicar followed, while John and Nellie 
 brought up the rear. 
 
 " Is not it a beautiful place ?" said Nellie, who 
 was anxious that the new-comer should ap 
 preciate the magnificence of the HalL 
 
 " Can't see very well," said John, " it is so 
 dark." 
 
 " Oh, but it is beautiful," insisted Miss Nellie. 
 " And they have lots of lamps here in the 
 evening. Perhaps Mr. Juxon will have them 
 lighted before we go. He is always so kind." 
 
 " Is he ?" asked John with a show of interest. 
 
 "Yes he brings mamma a rose every day," 
 said Nellie. 
 
 "Not really?" said John, beginning to feel 
 that he was justified in hating the squire with all 
 his might. 
 
 "Yes and books, too. Lots of them but 
 then, he has so many. See, this is the library. 
 Is not it splendid ! " 
 
 John looked about him and was surprised. 
 The last rays of the setting sun fell across the 
 open lawn and through the deep windows of the 
 great room, illuminating the tall carved bookcases,
 
 vi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 145 
 
 the heavily gilt bindings, the rich, dark Kussia 
 leather and morocco of the folios. The footsteps 
 of the party fell noiselessly upon the thick 
 carpet and almost insensibly the voices of the 
 visitors dropped to a lower key. A fine large 
 wood fire was burning on the hearth, carefully 
 covered with a metal netting lest any spark 
 should fly out and cause damage to the treasures 
 accumulated in the neighbouring shelves. 
 
 "Pray make yourself at home, Mr. Short," 
 said the squire, coming up to John. " You may 
 find something of interest here. There are some 
 old editions of the classics that are thought rare 
 some specimens of Venetian printing, too, 
 that you may like to look at. Mr. Ambrose 
 can tell you more about them than I." 
 
 John's feeling of antagonism, and even his 
 resentment against Mr. Juxon, roused by Nellie's 
 innocent remark about the roses, were not proof 
 against the real scholastic passion aroused by the 
 sight of rare and valuable books. In a few 
 minutes he had divested himself of his great coat 
 and was examining the books with an expression 
 of delight upon his face which was pleasant to 
 
 VOL. i. L
 
 146 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 see. He glanced from time to time at the 
 other persons in the room and looked very 
 often at Mrs. Goddard, but on the whole he was 
 profoundly interested in the contents of the 
 library. Mrs. Goddard was installed in a huge 
 leathern easy-chair by the fire, and the squire 
 was handing her one after another a number of 
 new volumes which lay upon a small table, and 
 which she appeared to examine with interest. 
 Nellie knew where to look for her favourite books 
 of engravings and had curled herself up in a 
 corner absorbed in " Hyde's Eoyal Eesidences." 
 The vicar went to look for something he wanted 
 to consult. 
 
 " What do you think of our new friend ? " 
 asked Mrs. Goddard of the squire. She spoke 
 in a low tone and did not look up from the new 
 book he had just handed her. 
 
 " He appears to have a very peculiar temper," 
 said Mr. Juxon. " But he looks clever." 
 
 "What do you think he was talking about 
 we as came through the park ? " asked Mrs. 
 Goddard. 
 
 " What ? "
 
 VI.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 147 
 
 " He was saying that he saw me once before 
 he went to college, and fancy how deliciously 
 boyish ! he said he had written ever so many 
 Greek odes to my memory since ! " Mrs. Goddard 
 laughed a little and blushed faintly. 
 
 " Let us hope, for the sake of his success, that 
 you may continue to inspire him," said the squire 
 gravely. "I have no doubt the odes were very 
 good." 
 
 " So he said. Fancy ! "
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 MES. GODDARD did not mean to walk home with 
 John ; but on the other hand she did not mean 
 to walk with the squire. She revolved the matter 
 in her mind as she sat in the library talking in 
 an undertone with Mr. Juxon. She liked the 
 great room, the air of luxury, the squire's tea 
 and the squire's conversation. It is worth 
 noticing that his flow of talk was more abundant 
 to-day than it had been for some time ; whether 
 it was John's presence which stimulated Mr. 
 Juxon's imagination, or whether Mrs. Goddard 
 had suddenly grown more interesting since John 
 Short's appearance it is hard to say ; it is certain 
 that Mr. Juxon talked better than usual. 
 
 The afternoon, however, was far spent and the 
 party had only come to make a short visit. Mrs. 
 Goddard rose from her seat.
 
 CHAP, vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 149 
 
 " Nellie, child, we must be going home," she 
 said, calling to the little girl who was still 
 absorbed in the book of engravings which she 
 had taken to the window to catch the last of the 
 waning light. 
 
 John started and came forward with alacrity. 
 The vicar looked up ; Nellie reluctantly brought 
 her book back. 
 
 "It is very early," objected the squire. "Really, 
 the days have no business to be so short." 
 
 " It would not seem like Christmas if they 
 were long," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " It does not seem like Christmas anyhow," 
 remarked John, enigmatically. No one under 
 stood his observation and no one paid any 
 attention to it. Whereupon John's previous 
 feeling of annoyance returned and he went to 
 look for his greatcoat in the dark corner where 
 he had laid it. 
 
 "You must not come all the way back with 
 us," said Mrs. Goddard as they all went out into 
 the hall and began to put on their warm things 
 before the fire. " Really it is late. Mr. Am 
 brose will give me his arm."
 
 150 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 The squire insisted however, and Stamboul, 
 who had had a comfortable nap by the fire, was 
 of the same opinion as his master and plunged 
 wildly at the door. 
 
 " Will you give me your arm, Mr. Ambrose ?" 
 said Mrs. Goddard, looking rather timidly at the 
 vicar as they stood upon the broad steps in the 
 sparkling evening air. She felt that she was 
 disappointing both the squire and John, but she 
 had quite made up her mind. She had her own 
 reasons. The vicar, good man, was unconsciously 
 a little flattered by her choice, as with her hand 
 resting on the sleeve of his greatcoat he led the 
 way down the park. The squire and John were 
 fain to follow together, but Nellie took her 
 mother's hand, and Stamboul walked behind 
 affecting an unusual gravity. 
 
 " You must come again when there is more 
 daylight," said Mr. Juxon to his companion. 
 
 " Thank you," said John. " You are very 
 good." He intended to relapse into silence, but 
 his instinct made him ashamed of seeming rude. 
 "You have a magnificent library," he added 
 presently in a rather cold tone.
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 151 
 
 " You have been used to much better ones in 
 Cambridge," said the squire, modestly. 
 
 "Do you know Cambridge well, Mr. Juxon ?" 
 
 " Very well. I am a Cambridge man, myself." 
 
 " Indeed ? " exclaimed John, immediately dis 
 covering that the squire was not so bad as he 
 had thought. " Indeed ! I had no idea. Mr. 
 Ambrose never told me that." 
 
 " I am not sure that he is aware of it," said 
 Mr. Juxon quietly. "The subject never hap 
 pened to come up." 
 
 "How odd!" remarked John, who could not 
 conceive of associating with a man for any length 
 of time without asking at what University he 
 had been. 
 
 " I don't know," answered Mr. Juxon. " There 
 are lots of other things to talk about." 
 
 " Oh of course," said John, in a tone which 
 did not express conviction. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Ambrose and Mrs. Goddard 
 walked briskly in front; so briskly in fact that 
 Nellie occasionally jumped a step, as children 
 say, in order to keep up with them. 
 
 "What a erlorious Christmas eve !" exclaimed
 
 152 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard, as they turned a bend in the 
 drive and caught sight of the western sky still 
 clear and red. " And there is the new moon ! " 
 The slender crescent was hanging just above the 
 fading glow. 
 
 " Oh mamma, have you wished ?" cried Nellie. 
 " You must, you know, when you see the new 
 moon ! " 
 
 Mrs. Goddard did not answer, but she sighed 
 faintly and drew a little closer to the worthy 
 vicar as she walked. She always wished, whether 
 there was a new moon or not, and she always 
 wished the same wish. Perhaps Mr. Ambrose 
 understood, for he was not without tact. He 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " How do you like our John Short ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 "Very much, I think," answered Mrs. God 
 dard. " He is so fresh and young." 
 
 " He is a fine fellow. I was sure you would 
 like him. Is he at all like what you fancied he 
 would be ?" 
 
 " Well no not exactly. I know you told me 
 how he looked, but I always thought he would
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 153 
 
 be rather Byronic the poetical type, if you 
 know what I mean." 
 
 "He has a great deal of poetry in him," said 
 Mr. Ambrose in a tone of profound admiration. 
 " He writes the best Greek verse I ever saw." 
 
 " Oh yes I daresay," replied Mrs. Goddard 
 smiling in the dusk. " I am sure he must he 
 very clever." 
 
 So they chatted quietly as they walked down 
 the park. But the squire and John did not make 
 progress in their conversation, and by the time 
 they reached the gate they had yielded to an 
 awkward silence. They had both been annoyed 
 because Mrs. Goddard had taken the vicar's arm 
 instead of choosing one of themselves, but the 
 joint sense of disappointment did not constitute 
 a common bond of interest. Either one would 
 have suffered anything rather than mention Mrs. 
 Goddard to the other in the course of the walk. 
 And yet Mr. Juxon might have been John's 
 father. At the gate of the cottage they separ 
 ated. The squire said he would turn back. 
 Mrs. Goddard had reached her destination. John 
 and the vicar would return to the vicarage.
 
 154 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 John tried to linger a moment, to get a word 
 with Mrs. Goddard. He was so persistent that 
 she let him follow her through the wicket gate 
 and then turned quickly. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, rather suddenly, 
 holding out her hand to say good-bye. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," answered John. " That is 
 would you like to see one of those those little 
 odes of mine ? " 
 
 "Yes, certainly, if you like," she answered 
 frankly, and then laughed. " Of course I would. 
 Goodnight." 
 
 He turned and fled. The vicar was waiting 
 for him, and eyed him rather curiously as he 
 came back. Mr. Juxon was standing in the 
 middle of the road, making Stamboul jump over 
 his stick, backwards and forwards. 
 
 " Good-night," he said, pausing in his occupa 
 tion. The vicar and John turned away and 
 walked homewards. Before they turned the 
 corner towards the village John instinctively 
 looked back. Mr. Juxon was still making Stam 
 boul jump the stick before the cottage, but as 
 far as he could see in the dusk, Mrs. Goddard
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 155 
 
 and Nellie had disappeared within. John felt 
 that he was very unhappy. 
 
 "Mr. Ambrose," he began. Then he stopped 
 and hesitated. " Mr. Ambrose," he continued at 
 last, "you never told me half the news of Billings- 
 field in your letters." 
 
 " You mean about Mrs. Goddard ? Well 
 no I did not think it would interest you very 
 much." 
 
 " She is a very interesting person," said John. 
 He could have added that if he had known she 
 was in Billingsfield he would have made a great 
 sacrifice in order to come down for a day to 
 make her acquaintance. But he did not say it. 
 
 " She is a great addition," said the vicar. 
 
 " Oh very great, I should think." 
 
 Christmas eve was passed at the vicarage in 
 preparation for the morrow. Mrs. Ambrose was 
 very active in binding holly wherever it was 
 possible to put it. The mince-pies were tasted 
 and pronounced a success, and old Eeynolds was 
 despatched to the cottage with a small basket 
 containing a certain number of them as a present 
 to Mrs. Goddard. An emissary appeared from
 
 156 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 the Hall with a variety of articles which the 
 squire begged to contribute towards the vicar's 
 Christinas dinner ; among others a haunch of 
 venison which Mrs. Ambrose pronounced to be 
 in the best condition. The vicar retorted by 
 sending to the Hall a magnificent Cottenham 
 cheese which, as a former Fellow of Trinity, he 
 had succeeded in obtaining. Moreover Mr. Am 
 brose himself descended to the cellar and brought 
 up several bottles of Audit ale which he declared 
 must be allowed to stand some time in the pantry 
 in order to bring out the flavour and to be 
 thoroughly settled. John gave his assistance 
 wherever it was needed and enjoyed vastly the 
 old-fashioned preparations for Christmas day. It 
 was long since the season had brought him such 
 rejoicing and he intended to rejoice with a good 
 will towards men and especially towards the 
 Ambroses. After dinner the whole party, con 
 sisting of three highly efficient persons and old 
 Eeynolds, adjourned to the church to complete 
 the decorations for the morrow. 
 
 The church of Billingsfield, known as St. 
 Mary's, was quite large enough to contain twice
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 157 
 
 the entire population of the parish. It was built 
 upon a part of the foundations of an ancient 
 abbey, and the vicar was very proud of the 
 monument of a crusading Earl of Oxford which 
 he had caused to be placed in the chancel, it 
 having been discovered in the old chancel of the 
 abbey in the park, far beyond the present limits 
 of the church. The tower was the highest in 
 the neighbourhood. The whole building was of 
 gray rubble, irregular stones set together with a 
 crumbling cement, and presented an appearance 
 which, if not architecturally imposing, was at 
 least sufficiently venerable. At the present time 
 the aisles were full of heaped -up holly and 
 wreaths ; a few lamps and a considerable number 
 of tallow candles shed a rather feeble light 
 amongst the pillars ; a crowd of school children, 
 not yet washed for the morrow, were busy under 
 the directions of the schoolmistress in decorating 
 the chancel; Mr. Thomas Eeid the conservative 
 sexton was at the top of a tall ladder, presum 
 ably using doubtful language to himself as every 
 third nail he tried to drive into the crevices of 
 the stone " crooked hisself and larfed at him,"
 
 158 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 as he expressed it ; the organ was playing and 
 a dozen small boys with three or four men 
 were industriously practising the anthem " Arise, 
 Shine," producing strains which if not calculated 
 altogether to elevate the heart by their harmony, 
 would certainly have caused the hair of a sensitive 
 musician to rise on end ; three or four of the 
 oldest inhabitants were leaning on their sticks in 
 the neighbourhood of the great stove in the 
 middle aisle, warming themselves and grumbling 
 that " times warn't as they used to be ;" Mr. 
 Abraham Boosey was noisily declaring that he 
 had " cartlods more o' thim greens " to come, and 
 Muggins, who had had some beer, was stumbling 
 cheerfully against the pews in his efforts to bring 
 a huge load of fir branches to the foot of Mr. 
 Thomas Eeid's long ladder. It was a thorough 
 Christmas scene and John Short's heart warmed 
 as he came back suddenly to the things which 
 for three years had been so familiar to him and 
 which he had so much missed in his solitude at 
 Cambridge. Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose set to work 
 and John followed their example. Even the 
 prickly holly leaves were pleasant to touch and
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 159 
 
 there was a homely joy in the fir branches 
 dripping with half melted snow. 
 
 Before they had been at work very long, John 
 was aware of a little figure, muffled in furs and 
 standing beside him. He looked up and saw 
 little Nellie's lovely face and long brown curls. 
 
 " Can't I help you, Mr. Short ?" she asked 
 timidly. " I like to help, and they won't 
 let me." 
 
 "Who are 'they'?" asked John kindly, but 
 looking about for the figure of Nellie's mother. 
 
 " The schoolmistress and Mrs. Ambrose. They 
 said I should dirty my frock." 
 
 " Well," said John, doubtfully, " I don't know. 
 Perhaps you would. But you might hold the 
 string for me that won't hurt your clothes, you 
 know." 
 
 "There are more greens this year," remarked 
 Nellie, sitting down upon the end of the choir 
 bench where John was at work and taking the 
 ball of string in her hand. " Mr. Juxon has sent 
 a lot from the park." 
 
 "He seems to be always sending things," said 
 John, who had no reason whatever for saying so,
 
 160 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 except that the squire had sent a hamper to the 
 vicarage. "Did he stay long before dinner?" 
 he added, in the tone people adopt when they 
 hope to make children talk. 
 
 " Stay long where ?" asked Nellie innocently. 
 
 " Oh, I thought he went into your house after 
 we left you," answered John. 
 
 " Oh no he did not come in," said Nellie. 
 John continued to work in silence. At some 
 distance from where he was, Mrs. Goddard was 
 talking to Mrs. Ambrose. He could see her 
 graceful figure, but he could hardly distinguish 
 her features in the gloom of the dimly-lighted 
 church. He longed to leave Nellie and to go 
 and speak to her, but an undefined feeling of 
 hurt pride prevented him. He would not forgive 
 her for having taken the vicar's arm in coming 
 home through the park ; so he stayed where he 
 was, pricking his fingers with the holly and 
 rather impatiently pulling the string off the ball 
 which Nellie held. If Mrs. Goddard wanted to 
 speak to him, she might come of her own accord, 
 he thought, for he felt that he had behaved 
 foolishly in asking if she wished to see his
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 161 
 
 odes. Somehow, when he thought about it, the 
 odes did not seem so good now as they had 
 seemed that afternoon. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard had not seen him at first, and 
 for some time she remained in consultation 
 with Mrs. Ambrose. At last she turned and 
 looking for Nellie saw that she was seated beside 
 John ; to his great delight she came towards 
 him. She looked more lovely than ever, he 
 thought ; the dark fur about her throat set off 
 her delicate, sad face like a frame. 
 
 " Oh are you here, too, Mr. Short ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " Hard at work, as you see," answered John. 
 " Are you going to help, Mrs. Goddard ? Won't 
 you help me ? " 
 
 " I wanted to," said Nellie, appealing to her 
 mother, " but they would not let me, so I can 
 only hold the string." 
 
 " Well, dear we will see if we can help Mr. 
 Short," said Mrs. Goddard good-naturedly, and 
 she sat down upon the choir bench. 
 
 John never forgot that delightful Christmas 
 Eve. For nearly two hours he never left Mrs. 
 
 VOL. i. M
 
 162 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Goddard's side, asking her advice about every 
 branch and bit of holly and following out to the 
 letter her most minute suggestions. He forgot 
 all about the squire and about the walk back 
 from the park, in the delight of having Mrs. 
 Goddard to himself. He pushed the school 
 children about and spoke roughly to old Eeynolds 
 if her commands were not instantly executed ; 
 he felt in the little crowd of village people that 
 he was her natural protector, and he wished he 
 might never have anything in the world to do 
 save to decorate a church in her company. He 
 grew more and more confidential and when the 
 work was all done he felt that he had thoroughly 
 established himself in her good graces and went 
 home to dream of the happiest day he had ever 
 spent. The organ ceased playing, the little 
 choir dispersed, the school children were sent 
 home, Mr. Abraham Boosey retired to the bar of 
 the Duke's Head, Muggins tenderly embraced 
 every tombstone he met on his way through the 
 churchyard, the " gentlefolk " followed Eeynolds' 
 lantern towards the vicarage, and Mr. Thomas 
 Reid, the conservative and melancholic sexton,
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 163 
 
 put out the lights and locked the church doors, 
 muttering a sour laudation of more primitive 
 times, when " the gentlefolk minded their 
 business." 
 
 For the second time that day, John and Mr. 
 Ambrose walked as far as the cottage, to see 
 Mrs. Goddard to her home. When they parted 
 from her and Nellie, John was careful not to 
 say anything more about the odes, a subject to 
 which Mrs. Goddard had not referred in the 
 course of the evening. John thanked her rather 
 effusively for her help he could never have got 
 through those choir benches without her, he said ; 
 and the vicar added that he was very much 
 obliged, too, and surreptitiously conveyed to Mrs. 
 Goddard's hand a small package intended for 
 Miss Nellie's Christmas stocking, from him and 
 his wife, and which he had forgotten to give 
 earlier. Nellie was destined to have a fuller 
 stocking than usual this year, for the squire had 
 remembered her as well as Mr. Ambrose. 
 
 John went to bed in his old room at the 
 vicarage protesting that he had enjoyed the first 
 day of his holiday immensely. As he blew
 
 164 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 out the light, he thought suddenly how often 
 in that very room he had gone to bed dreaming 
 about the lady in black and composing verses 
 to her, till somehow the Greek terminations 
 would get mixed up with the Latin roots, the 
 quantities all seemed to change places, and he 
 used to fall asleep with a delicious half romantic 
 sense of happiness always unfulfilled yet always 
 present. And now at last it began to be fulfilled 
 in earnest ; he had met the lady in black at 
 last, had spent nearly half a day in her company 
 and was more persuaded than ever that she was 
 really and truly his ideal. He did not go to sleep 
 so soon as in the old days, and he was sorry to 
 go to sleep at all; he wanted to enjoy all his 
 delicious recollections of that afternoon before 
 he slept and, as he recapitulated the events 
 which had befallen him and recalled each ex 
 pression of the face that had charmed him and 
 every intonation of the charmer's voice, he felt 
 that he had never been really happy before, 
 that no amount of success at Cambridge could 
 give him half the delight he had experienced 
 during one hour in the old Billingsfield church,
 
 viz.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 165 
 
 and that altogether life anywhere else was not 
 worth living. To-morrow he would see Mrs. 
 Goddard again, and the next day and the day 
 after that and then " bother the future ! " 
 ejaculated John, and went to sleep. 
 
 He awoke early, roused by the loud clanging 
 of the Christmas bells, and looking out he saw 
 that the day was fine and cold and bright as 
 Christmas day should be, and generally is. The 
 hoar frost was frozen into fantastic shapes upon 
 his little window, the snow was clinging to the 
 yew branches outside and the robins were 
 hopping and chirping over the thin crust of 
 frozen snow that just covered the ground. The 
 road was hard and brown as on the previous 
 day, and the ice in the park would probably 
 bear. Perhaps Mrs. Goddard would skate in 
 the afternoon between the services, but then 
 Juxon would be there. " Never mind Juxon," 
 quoth John to himself, " it is Christmas day ! " 
 
 At the vicarage and elsewhere, all over the 
 land, those things were done which delight 
 the heart of Englishmen at the merry season. 
 Everybody shook hands with everybody else,
 
 166 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 everybody cried " Merry Christmas ! " to his 
 neighbour in the street, with an intonation as 
 though he were saying something startlingly 
 new and brilliant which had never been said 
 before. Every labourer who had a new smock- 
 frock put it on, and those who had none had at 
 least a bit of new red worsted comforter about 
 their throats and began the day by standing at 
 their doors in the cold morning, smoking a 
 " ha'p'orth o' shag " in a new clay pipe, greeting 
 each other across the village street. Muggins, 
 who had spent a portion of the night in ex 
 changing affectionate Christmas wishes with the 
 tombstones in the churchyard, appeared fresh 
 and ruddy at an early hour, clad in the long 
 black coat and tall hat which he was accustomed 
 to wear when he drove Mr. Boosey's fly on great 
 festivals. Most of the cottages in the single 
 street sported a bit of holly in their windows, 
 and altogether the appearance of Billingsfield 
 was singularly festive and mirthful. At precisely 
 ten minutes to eleven the vicar and Mrs. Ambrose, 
 accompanied by John, issued from the vicarage 
 and went across the road by the private path
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 167 
 
 to the church. As they entered the porch Mr. 
 Eeid, who stood solemnly tolling the small bell, 
 popularly nicknamed the " Ting-tang," and of 
 which the single rope passed down close to the 
 south door, vouchsafed John a sour smile of 
 recognition. John felt as though he had come 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard and Nellie appeared a moment 
 afterwards and took their seats in the pew 
 traditionally belonging to the cottage, behind 
 that of the squire who was always early, and the 
 sight of whose smoothly brushed hair and brown 
 beard was a constant source of satisfaction to 
 Mrs. Ambrose. John and Mrs. Ambrose sat 
 on the opposite side of the aisle, but John's 
 eyes strayed very frequently towards Mrs. God- 
 dard ; so frequently indeed that she noticed it 
 and leaned far back in her seat to avoid his 
 glance. Whereupon John blushed and felt that 
 the vicar, who was reading the Second Lesson, 
 had probably noticed his distraction. It was 
 hard to realise that two years and a half had 
 passed since he had sat in that same pew ; 
 perhaps, however, the presence of Mrs. Goddard
 
 168 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 helped him to understand the lapse of time. 
 But for her it would have been very hard; 
 for the vicar's voice sounded precisely as it used 
 to sound ; Mrs. Ambrose had not lost her habit 
 of removing one glove and putting it into her 
 prayer book as a mark while she found the hymn 
 in the accompanying volume ; the bright decora 
 tions looked as they looked years ago above 
 the organ and round the chancel ; from far down 
 the church, just before the sermon, came the 
 old accustomed sound of small boys shuffling 
 their hobnailed shoes upon the stone floor and 
 the audible guttural whisper of the church 
 warden admonishing them to " mind the stick ; " 
 the stained-glass windows admitted the same 
 pleasant light as of yore all was unchanged. 
 But Mrs. Goddard and Nellie occupied the 
 cottage pew, and their presence alone was suffi 
 cient to mark to John the fact that he was now 
 a man. 
 
 The service was sympathetic to John Short. 
 He liked the simplicity of it, even the rough 
 singing of the choir, as compared with the solemn 
 and magnificent musical services of Trinity College
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 169 
 
 Chapel. But it seemed very long before it was 
 all over and he was waiting for Mrs. Goddard 
 outside the church door. 
 
 There were more greetings, more " Merry 
 Christmas " and " Many happy returns." Mrs. 
 Goddard looked more charming than ever and 
 was quite as cordial as on the previous evening. 
 
 " How much better it all looked this morning 
 by daylight," she said. 
 
 " I think it looked very pretty last night," 
 answered John. " There is nothing so delightful 
 as Christmas decorations, is there ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you will come down next year and, 
 help us again ? " suggested Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 "Yes well, I might come at Easter, for 
 that matter," answered the young man, who 
 after finding it impossible to visit Billingsfield 
 during two years and a half, now saw no difficulty 
 whatever in the way of making two visits in 
 the course of six months. " Do you still decorate 
 at Easter ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh yes do you think you can come ? " 
 she said pleasantly. " I thought you were to be 
 very busy just then."
 
 170 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Yes, that is true," answered John. " But 
 of course I could come, you know, if it were 
 necessary." 
 
 "Hardly exactly necessary " Mrs. God- 
 dard laughed. 
 
 " The doctor told me some relaxation was 
 absolutely indispensable for my health," said 
 John rather sententiously. 
 
 " You don't really look very ill are you ? " 
 She seemed incredulous. 
 
 " Oh no, of course not only a little overworked 
 sometimes." 
 
 "In that case I have no doubt it would do 
 you good/' said Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " asked John, 
 hopefully. 
 
 " Oh that is a matter for your doctor to 
 decide. I cannot possibly tell," she answered. 
 
 " I think you would make a very good doctor, 
 Mrs. Goddard," said John venturing on a bolder 
 flight. 
 
 "Eeally I never thought of trying it," she 
 replied with a little laugh. " Good morning Mr. 
 Ambrose. Nellie wants to thank you for your
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 171 
 
 beautiful present. It was really too good of 
 you." 
 
 The vicar came out of the vestry and joined 
 the group in the path. Mrs. Ambrose who 
 had been asking Tom Judd's wife about her 
 baby, also came up, and the squire, who had been 
 presenting Mr. Eeid with ten shillings for his 
 Christmas box and who looked singularly bereaved 
 without the faithful Stamboul at his heels, 
 sauntered up and began congratulating every 
 body. In the distance the last of the congrega 
 tion, chiefly the old women and cripples who 
 could not keep up with the rest, hobbled away 
 through the white gate of the churchyard. 
 
 It had been previously agreed that if the ice 
 would bear there should be skating in the after 
 noon and the squire was anxious to inform the 
 party that the pond was in excellent condi 
 tion. 
 
 " As black as your hat," he said cheerfully. 
 " Stamboul and I have been sliding all over it, 
 so of course it would bear an ox. It did not 
 crack anywhere." 
 
 "Do you skate, Mrs. Goddard ?" asked John.
 
 172 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Not very well not nearly so well as 
 Nellie. But I am very fond of it." 
 
 "Will you let me push you about in a 
 chair, then ? It is capital fun." 
 
 "Very good fun for me, no doubt," answered 
 Mrs. Goddard, laughing. 
 
 " I would rather do it than anything else," 
 said John in a tone of conviction. " It is splendid 
 exercise, pushing people about in chairs." 
 
 " So it is," said the squire, heartily. " We 
 will take turns, Mr. Short." The suggestion 
 did not meet with any enthusiastic response from 
 John, who wished Mr. Juxon were not able to 
 skate. 
 
 Poor John, he had but one idea, which 
 consisted simply in getting Mrs. Goddard to 
 himself as often and as long as possible. 
 Unfortunately this idea did not coincide with 
 Mr. Juxon's views. Mr. Juxon was an older, 
 slower and calmer man than the enthusiastic 
 young scholar, and though very far from obtrud 
 ing his views or making any assertion of his 
 rights, was equally far from forgetting them. 
 He was a man more of actions than words. He
 
 vii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 173 
 
 had been in the habit of monopolising Mrs. 
 Goddard's society for months and he had no 
 intention of relinquishing his claims, even for 
 the charitable purpose of allowing a poor student 
 to enjoy his Christmas holiday and bit of romance 
 undisturbed. If John had presented himself 
 as a boy, it might have been different ; but John 
 emphatically considered himself a man, and the 
 squire was quite willing to treat him as such, 
 since he desired it. That is to say he would 
 not permit him to " cut him out " as he would 
 have expressed it. The result of the position 
 in which John and Mr. Juxon soon found them 
 selves was to be expected.
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 JOHN did not sleep so peacefully nor dream so 
 happily that night as on the night before. The 
 course of true love had not run smooth that 
 afternoon. The squire had insisted upon having 
 his share of the lovely Mrs. Goddard's society and 
 she herself had not seemed greatly disturbed at a 
 temporary separation from John. The latter 
 amused her for a little while ; the former held 
 the position of a friend whose conversation she 
 liked better than that of other people. John 
 was disappointed and thought of going back to 
 Cambridge the next day. So strong, indeed was 
 his sudden desire to leave Billingsfield without 
 finishing his visit, that before going to bed he 
 had packed some of his belongings into his small 
 portmanteau ; the tears almost stood in his eyes 
 as he busied himself about his room and he
 
 CHAP, viii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 175 
 
 muttered certain formulae of self-accusation as he 
 collected his things, saying over and over in his 
 heart " What a fool I am ! Why should she 
 care for me ? What am I that she should care 
 for me ?" etc. etc. Then he opened his window 
 and looked at the bright stars which shone out 
 over the old yew tree ; but it was exceedingly 
 cold, and so he shut it again and went to bed, 
 feeling very uncomfortable and unhappy. 
 
 But when he awoke in the morning he looked 
 at his half -packed portmanteau and laughed, and 
 instead of saying "What a fool I am!" he said 
 "What a fool I was!" which is generally and 
 in most conditions of human affairs a much wiser 
 thing to say. Then he carefully took everything 
 out of the portmanteau again and replaced things 
 as they had lain before in his room, lest per 
 chance Susan, the housemaid, should detect what 
 had passed through his mind on the previous 
 evening and should tell Mrs. Ambrose. And from 
 all this it appears that John was exceedingly 
 young, as indeed he was, in spite of his being 
 nearly one and twenty years of age. But doubt 
 less if men were willing to confess their disap-
 
 176 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 pointments and foolish, impetuous resolutions, 
 many would be found who have done likewise, 
 being in years much older than John Short. 
 Unfortunately for human nature most men would 
 rather confess to positive wrong-doing than to 
 any such youthful follies as these, while they are 
 young ; and when they are old they would rather 
 be thought young and foolish than confess the 
 evil deeds they have actually done. 
 
 John, however, did not moralise upon his 
 situation. The weather was again fine and as he 
 dressed his spirits rose. He became magnanimous 
 and resolved to forget yesterday and make the 
 most of to-day. He would see Mrs. Goddard of 
 course; perhaps he would show her a little 
 coldness at first, giving her to understand that 
 she had not treated him well on the previous 
 afternoon ; then he would interest her by his 
 talk he would repeat to her one of those 
 unlucky odes and translate it for her benefit, 
 making use of the freedom he would thus get in 
 order to make her an unlimited number of 
 graceful compliments. Perhaps, too, he ought to 
 pay more^ attention to Nellie, if he wished to
 
 viii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 177 
 
 conciliate her mother. Women, he reflected, 
 have such strange prejudices ! 
 
 He wondered whether it would be proper for 
 him to call upon Mrs. Goddard. He was not 
 quite sure about it, and he was rather ashamed of 
 having so little knowledge of the world ; but he 
 believed that in Billingsfield he might run the 
 risk. There had been talk of skating again that 
 morning, and so, about ten o'clock, John told Mr. 
 Ambrose he would go for a short walk and then 
 join them all at the pond in the park. The 
 project seemed good, and he put it into execution. 
 As he walked up the frozen road, he industriously 
 repeated in his mind the Greek verses he was 
 going to translate to Mrs. Goddard ; he had no 
 copy of them but his memory was very good. 
 He met half a dozen labourers, strolling about 
 with their pipes until it was time to go and have 
 a pint of beer, as is their manner upon holidays ; 
 they touched their hats to him, remembering his 
 face well, and he smiled happily at the rough 
 fellows, contrasting his situation with theirs, who 
 from the misfortune of social prejudice were not 
 permitted to go and call upon Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 His heart beat rather fast as he went up to the 
 door of the cottage, and for one unpleasant 
 moment he again doubted whether it was proper 
 for him to make such an early visit. But being- 
 bent on romantic adventure he rang boldly and 
 inquired for Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 She was surprised to see John at that hour 
 and alone ; but it did not enter her head to 
 refuse him admittance. Indeed as he stood in 
 the little passage he heard the words which 
 passed between her and Martha. 
 
 "What is it, Martha?" 
 
 "It's a young gentleman mam. I rather 
 think, mam, it's the young gentleman that's 
 stopping at the vicarage." 
 
 " Oh ask him to come in." 
 
 "In 'ere mam?" 
 
 "No into the sitting-room," said Mrs. God 
 dard, who was busy in the dining-room. 
 
 John was accordingly ushered in and told to 
 wait a minute; which he did, surveying with 
 surprise the beautiful pictures, the rich looking 
 furniture and the valuable objects that lay about 
 upon the tables. He experienced a thrill of
 
 vin.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 179 
 
 pleasure, for he felt sure that Mrs. Goddard 
 possessed another qualification which he had 
 unconsciously attributed to her that of being 
 accustomed to a certain kind of luxury, which in 
 John's mind was mysteriously connected with his 
 romance. It is one of the most undefinable of 
 the many indefinite feelings to which young men 
 in love are subject, especially young men who 
 have been, or are, very poor. They like to 
 connect ideas of wealth and comfort, even of a 
 luxurious existence, with the object of their 
 affections. They desire the world of love to be 
 new to them, and in order to be wholly new in 
 their experience, it must be rich. The feeling is 
 not so wholly unworthy as it might seem ; they 
 instinctively place their love upon a pedestal and 
 require its surroundings to be of a better kind 
 than such as they have been accustomed to in 
 their own lives. King Cophetua, being a king, 
 could afford to love the beggar maid, and a very 
 old song sings of a "lady who loved a swine," 
 but the names of the poor young men who have 
 loved above their fortune and station are innu 
 merable as the swallows in spring. John saw
 
 180 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 that Mrs. Goddard was much richer than he had 
 ever been, and without the smallest second 
 thought was pleased. In a few moments she 
 entered the room. John had his speech ready. 
 
 "I thought, if you were going to skate, I 
 would call and ask leave to go with you," he said 
 glibly, as she gave him her hand. 
 
 " Oh thanks. But is not it rather early ? " 
 
 "It is twenty minutes past ten," said John 
 looking at the clock. 
 
 " Well, let us get warm before starting," said 
 Mrs. Goddard, sitting down by the fire. " It is 
 so cold this morning." 
 
 John thought she was lovely to look at as she 
 sat there, warming her hands and shielding her 
 face from the flame with them at the same time. 
 She looked at him and smiled pleasantly, but 
 said nothing. She was still a little surprised to 
 see him and, wondered whether he himself had 
 anything to say. 
 
 " Yes," said John, " it is very cold traditional 
 Christmas weather. Could not be finer, in fact, 
 could it ? " 
 
 " No it could not be finer," echoed Mrs.
 
 viil.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 181 
 
 Goddard, suppressing a smile. Then as though 
 to help him out of his embarrassment by giving 
 an impulse to the conversation, she added, " By 
 the bye, Mr. Short, while we are warming our 
 selves why do not you let me hear one of your 
 odes ? " 
 
 She meant it kindly, thinking it would give 
 him pleasure, as indeed it did. John's heart 
 leaped and he blushed all over his face with 
 delight. Mrs. Goddard was not quite sure 
 whether she had done right, but she attributed 
 his evident satisfaction to his vanity as a scholar. 
 
 " Certainly," he said with alacrity, " if you 
 would like to hear it. Would you care to hear 
 me repeat the Greek first ? " 
 
 " Oh, of all things. I do not think I have 
 ever heard Greek." 
 
 John cleared his throat and began, glancing at 
 his hostess rather nervously from time to time. 
 But his memory never failed him, and he went 
 on to the end without a break or hesitation. 
 
 "How do you think it sounds?" he asked 
 timidly when he had finished. 
 
 " It sounds very funny," said Mrs. Goddard.
 
 182 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " I had no idea Greek sounded like that but it 
 has a pleasant rhythm." 
 
 " That is the thing," said John, enthusiastically. 
 " I see you really appreciate it. Of course nobody 
 knows how the ancients pronounced Greek, and 
 if one pronounced it as the moderns do, it would 
 sound all wrong but the rhythm is the thing, 
 you know. It is impossible to get over that." 
 
 Mrs. Goddard was not positively sure what he 
 meant by "getting over the rhythm;" possibly 
 John himself could not have defined his meaning 
 very clearly. But his cheeks glowed and he was 
 very much pleased. 
 
 " Yes, of course," said Mrs. Goddard confidently. 
 " But what does it all mean, Mr. Short?" 
 
 " Would you really like to know ? " asked John 
 in fresh embarrassment. He suddenly realised 
 how wonderfully delightful it was to be repeating 
 his own poetry to the woman for whom it was 
 written. 
 
 " Indeed yes what is the use of your telling 
 me all sorts of things in Greek, if you do not tell 
 me what they mean ? " 
 
 " Yes you will promise not to be offended ? "
 
 viii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 183 
 
 " Of course," said Mrs. Goddard ; then blushing 
 a little she added, " it is quite I mean quite 
 the sort of thing, is not it ? " 
 
 " Oh quite," said John, blushing too, but 
 looking grave for a moment. Then he repeated 
 the English translation of the verses which, as 
 they were certainly not so good as the original, 
 may be omitted here. They set forth that in 
 the vault of the world's night a new star had 
 appeared which men had not yet named, nor 
 would be likely to name until the power of human 
 speech should be considerably increased, and the 
 verses dwelt upon the theme, turning it and 
 revolving it in several ways, finally declaring 
 that the far-darting sun must look out for his 
 interests unless he meant to be outshone by the 
 new star. Translated into English there was 
 nothing very remarkable about the performance 
 though the original Greek ode was undoubtedly 
 very good of its kind. But Mrs. Goddard was 
 determined to be pleased. 
 
 " I think it is charming," she said, when John 
 had reached the end and paused for her criticism. 
 
 " The Greek is very much better," said John
 
 184 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 doubtfully. "I cannot write English verses 
 they seem to me so much harder." 
 
 "I daresay," said Mrs. Goddard. "But did 
 you really write that when- " she stopped not 
 knowing exactly how to express herself. But 
 John had his answer ready. 
 
 " Oh, I wrote ever so many," he said, " and I 
 have got them all at Cambridge. But that is the 
 only one I quite remember. I wrote them just 
 after the day when I waked up Muggins the 
 only time I had seen you till now. I think I 
 could " 
 
 "How funny it seems," said Mrs. Goddard, 
 " without knowing a person, to write verses to 
 them ! How did you manage to do it ? " 
 
 "I was going to say that I think I am quite sure 
 I could write much better things to you now." 
 
 " Oh, that is impossible quite absurd, Mr. 
 Short," said Mrs. Goddard, laughing more gaily 
 than usuaL 
 
 "'Why?" asked John, somewhat emboldened 
 by his success. " I do not see why, if one has 
 an ideal, you know, one should not understand 
 it much better when one comes near to it."
 
 viii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 185 
 
 "Yes but how can I possibly be your 
 ideal?" She felt herself so much older than 
 John that she thought it was out of the question 
 to be annoyed ; so she treated him in a matter 
 of fact way, and was really amused at his 
 talk. 
 
 " I don't see why not," answered John stoutly. 
 " You might be any man's ideal." 
 
 " Oh, really " ejaculated Mrs. Goddard, some 
 what startled at the force of the sweeping 
 compliment. To be told point-blank, even by 
 an enthusiastic youth of one and twenty, that 
 one is the ideal woman, must be either very 
 pleasant or very startling. 
 
 " Excuse me," she said quickly, before he 
 could answer her, " you know of course I am 
 very ignorant yes I am- but will you please 
 tell me what is an 'ideal'?" 
 
 " Why yes," said John, " it is very easy. 
 Ideal comes from idea. Plato meant, by the 
 idea, the perfect model well, do you see ? " 
 
 " Not exactly," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " It is very simple. When I, when anybody, 
 says you are the ideal woman, it is meant that
 
 186 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 you are the perfect model, the archetype of a 
 woman." 
 
 " Yes but that is absurd," said his companion 
 rather coldly. 
 
 " I am sorry that it should seem absurd," said 
 John in a persuasive tone ; " it seems very natural 
 to me. A man thinks for a long time about 
 everything that most attracts him and then, on 
 a sudden, he sees it all before him, quite real 
 and alive, and then he says he has realised his 
 ideal. But you liked the verses, Mrs. Goddard ? " 
 he added quickly, hoping to bring back the 
 smile that had vanished from her face. He had 
 a strong impression that he had been a little too 
 familiar. Probably Mrs. Goddard thought so 
 too. 
 
 " Oh yes, I think they are very nice," she 
 answered. But the smile did not come back. 
 She was not displeased, but she was not pleased 
 either; she was wondering how far this boy 
 would go if she would let him.' John, however, 
 felt unpleasantly doubtful about what he had 
 done. 
 
 " I hope you are not displeased," he said.
 
 viii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 187 
 
 " Oh, not in the least," said she. " Shall we 
 go to the park and skate ?" 
 
 " I am not sure that I will skate to-day," said 
 John, foolishly. Mrs. Goddard looked at him in . 
 unfeigned surprise. 
 
 " Why not ? I thought it was for that " 
 
 " Oh, of course," said John quickly. " Only 
 it is not very amusing to skate when Mr. Juxon 
 is pushing you about in a chair." 
 
 " Eeally why should not he push me about, 
 if I like it?" 
 
 " If you like it that is different," answered 
 John impatiently. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard began to think that John was 
 very like a spoiled child, and she resented his 
 evident wish to monopolise her society. She 
 left the room to get ready for the walk, vaguely 
 wishing that he had not come. 
 
 " I have made a fool of myself again," said 
 John to himself, when he was left alone ; and 
 he suddenly wished he could get out of the house 
 without seeing her again. But before he had 
 done wishing, she returned. 
 
 " Where is Miss Nellie ? " he asked gloomily,
 
 188 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 as they walked down the path. " I hope she is 
 coming too." 
 
 "She went up to the pond with Mr. Juxon, 
 just before you came." 
 
 " Do you let her go about like that, without 
 you ? " asked John severely. 
 
 "Why not? Eeally, Mr. Short," said Mrs, 
 Goddard, glancing up at his face, " either you 
 dislike Mr. Juxon very much, or else I think 
 you take a good deal upon yourself in remarking 
 in this way " 
 
 She was naturally a little timid, but John's 
 youth and what she considered as his extra 
 ordinary presumption inspired her with courage to 
 protest. The effect upon John was instantaneous. 
 
 " Pray forgive me," he said humbly, " I am 
 very silly. I daresay you are quite right and I 
 do not like Mr. Juxon. Not that I have the 
 smallest reason for not liking him," he continued 
 quickly, " it is a mere personal antipathy, a mere 
 idea, I daresay very foolish of me." 
 
 " It is very foolish to take unreasonable dislikes 
 to people one knows nothing about," she said 
 quietly. " Will you please open the gate ? "
 
 viii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 189 
 
 They were standing before the bars, but John 
 was so much disturbed in mind that he stood 
 still, quite forgetting to raise the long iron latch. 
 
 "Dear me I beg your pardon I cannot 
 imagine what I was thinking of," he said making 
 the most idiotic excuse current in English idiom. 
 
 " Nor I," said Mrs. Goddard, with a little laugh, 
 as he held the gate back for her to pass. It was 
 a plain white gate with stone pillars, and there 
 was no gate -house. People who came to the 
 Hall were expected to open it for themselves. 
 Mrs. Goddard was so much amused at John's 
 absence of mind that her good humour returned, 
 and he felt that since that object was attained he 
 no longer regretted his folly in the least. The 
 cloud that had darkened the horizon of his 
 romance had passed quickly away, and once 
 more he said inwardly that he was enjoying the 
 happiest days of his life. If for a moment the 
 image of Mr. Juxon entered the field of his 
 imaginative vision in the act of pushing Mrs. 
 Goddard's chair upon the ice, he mentally 
 ejaculated " bother the squire!" as he had done 
 upon the previous night, and soon forgot all
 
 190 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 about him. The way through the park was 
 long, the morning was delightful and Mrs. God- 
 dard did not seem to be in a hurry. 
 
 " I wish the winter would last for ever," he 
 said presently. 
 
 "So do I," answered his companion, "it is 
 the pleasantest time of the year. One does not 
 feel that nature is dead because one is sure she 
 will very soon be alive again." 
 
 "That is a charming idea," said John, "one 
 might make a good subject of it." 
 
 " It is a little old, perhaps. I think I have 
 heard it before have not you ? " 
 
 "All good ideas are old. The older the 
 better," said John confidently. Mrs. Goddard 
 could not resist the temptation of teazing him a 
 little. They had grown very intimate in forty- 
 eight hours; it had taken six months for Mr. 
 Juxon to reach the point John had won in two 
 days. 
 
 " Are they ? " she asked quietly. " Is that 
 the reason you selected me for the 'idea' of 
 your ode, which you explained to me ?" 
 
 " You ?" said John in astonishment. Then
 
 vin.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 191 
 
 he laughed. " Why, you are not any older than 
 I am !" 
 
 " Do you think so ? " she inquired with a 
 demure smile. " I am very much older than 
 you think." 
 
 " You must be I mean, you know, you must 
 be older than you look." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mrs. Goddard, still smiling, 
 and just resting the tips of her fingers upon his 
 arm as she stepped across a slippery place in the 
 frozen road. " Yes, I am a great deal older than 
 you." 
 
 John would have liked very much to ask her 
 age, but even to his youthful and unsophisticated 
 mind such a question seemed almost too personal. 
 He did not really believe that she was more 
 than five years older than he, and that seemed 
 to be no difference at all. 
 
 " I don't know," he said. " I am nearly one 
 and twenty." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Mrs. Goddard, who had 
 heard every detail concerning John from Mr. 
 Ambrose, again and again. " Just think," she 
 added with a laugh, " only one and twenty j
 
 192 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Why when I was one and twenty I was " she 
 stopped short. 
 
 " What were you doing then ? " asked John, 
 trying not to seem too curious. 
 
 " I was living in London," she said quietly. 
 She half enjoyed his disappointment. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I daresay. But what well, 
 I suppose I ought not to ask any questions." 
 
 " Certainly not," said she. " It is very rude 
 to ask a lady questions about her age." 
 
 " I do not mean to be rude again," said John, 
 pretending to laugh. " Have you always been 
 fond of skating ? " he asked, fixing his eye upon 
 a distant tree, and trying to look unconscious. 
 
 "No I only learned since I came here. 
 Besides, I skate very badly." 
 
 " Did Mr. Juxon teach you ? " asked John, 
 still gazing into the distance. From not looking 
 at the path he slipped on a frozen puddle and 
 nearly fell. Whereat, as usual, when he did 
 anything awkward, he blushed to the brim of his 
 hat. 
 
 "Take care," said Mrs. Goddard, calmly. 
 " You will fall if you don't look where you are
 
 viir.] A TALE OP A LONELY PAKISH. 193 
 
 going. No ; Mr. Juxon was not here last year. 
 He only came here in the summer." 
 
 " It seems to me that he has always been 
 here," said John, trying to recover his equanimity. 
 "Then I suppose Mr. Ambrose taught you to skate?" 
 
 " Exactly Mr. Ambrose taught me. He 
 skates very well." 
 
 " So will you, with a little more practice,' 
 answered her companion in a rather patronising 
 tone. He intended perhaps to convey the idea 
 that Mrs. Goddard would improve in the exercise 
 if she would actually skate, and with him, instead 
 of submitting to be pushed about in a chair by 
 Mr. Juxon. 
 
 "Oh, I daresay," said Mrs. Goddard indifferently. 
 "We shall soon be there, now. I can hear them 
 on the ice." 
 
 " Too soon," said John with regret. 
 
 " I thought you liked skating so much." 
 
 " I like walking with you much better," he 
 replied, and he glanced at her face to see if his 
 speech produced any sign of sympathy. 
 
 " You have walked with me ; now you can 
 skate with Nellie," suggested Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 VOL. i.
 
 194 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 "You talk as though I were a child," said 
 John, suddenly losing his temper in a very 
 unaccountable way. 
 
 " Because I said you might skate with Nellie ? 
 Eeally, I don't see why. Mr. Juxon is not a 
 child, and he has been skating with her all the 
 morning." 
 
 " That is different," retorted John growing very 
 red. 
 
 "Yes Nellie is much nearer to your age 
 than to Mr. Juxon's," answered Mrs. Goddard, 
 with a calmness which made John desperate. 
 
 "Beally, Mrs. Goddard," he said stiffly, "I 
 cannot see what that has to do with it." 
 
 " ' The atrocious crime of being a young man, 
 which the lady so much older than myself has 
 charged ' How does the quotation end, Mr 
 Short?" 
 
 " ' Has, with such spirit and decency, charged 
 upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor 
 deny,' " said John savagely. " Quite so, Mrs. 
 Goddard. I shall not attempt to palliate it, nor 
 will I venture to deny it." 
 
 "Then why in the world are you so angry
 
 viii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 195 
 
 with me?" she asked, suddenly turning her violet 
 eyes upon him. " I was only laughing, you know." 
 
 " Only laughing ! " repeated John. "It is more 
 pleasant to laugh than to be laughed at." 
 
 " Yes would not you allow me the pleasure 
 then, just for once ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you desire it. You are so 
 extremely merry " 
 
 " Come, Mr. Short, we must not seem to have 
 been quarrelling when we reach the pond. It 
 would be too ridiculous." 
 
 " Everything seems to strike you in a humorous 
 light to-day," answered John, beginning to be 
 pacified by her tone. 
 
 " Do you know, you are much more interesting 
 when you are angry," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " And you only made me angry in order to see 
 whether I was interesting ? " 
 
 " Perhaps but then, I could not help it in 
 the least." 
 
 " I trust you are thoroughly satisfied upon the 
 point, Mrs. Goddard ? If there is anything more 
 that I can do to facilitate your researches in 
 psychology "
 
 196 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 "You would help me? Even to the extent 
 of being angry again ? " She smiled so pleasantly 
 and frankly that John's wrath vanished. 
 
 " It is impossible to be angry with you. I am 
 very sorry if I seemed to be," he answered. " A 
 man who has the good fortune to be thrown into 
 your society is a fool to waste his time in being 
 disagreeable." 
 
 " I agree with the conclusion, at all events 
 that is, it is much better to be agreeable. Is it 
 not ? Let us be friends." 
 
 " Oh, by all means," said John. 
 
 They walked on for some minutes in silence. 
 John reflected that he had witnessed a phase of 
 Mrs. Goddard's character of which he had been 
 very far from suspecting the existence. He had 
 not hitherto imagined her to be a woman of 
 quick temper or sharp speech. His idea of her 
 was formed chiefly upon her appearance. Her 
 sad face, with its pathetic expression, suggested 
 a melancholy humour delighting in subdued and 
 tranquil thoughts, inclined naturally to the 
 romantic view, or to what in the eyes of youths 
 of twenty appears to be the romantic view of
 
 vin.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 197 
 
 life. He had suddenly found her answering him 
 with a sharpness which, while it roused his wits, 
 startled his sensibilities. . But he was nattered 
 as well. His instinct and his observation of 
 Mrs. Goddard when in the society of others led 
 him to believe that with Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose, 
 or even with Mr. Juxon, she was not in the 
 habit of talking as she talked with him. He 
 was therefore inwardly pleased, so soon as his 
 passing annoyance had subsided, to feel that she 
 made a difference between him and others. 
 
 It was quite true that she made a distinction, 
 though she did so almost unconsciously. It was 
 perfectly natural, too. She was young in heart 
 in spite of her thirty years and her troubles, 
 she had an elastic temperament; to a physi 
 ognomist her face would have shown a delicate 
 sensitiveness to impressions rather than any 
 inborn tendency to sadness. In spite of every 
 thing she was still young, and for two years and 
 a half she had been in the society of persons much 
 older than herself, persons she respected and re 
 garded as friends, but persons in whom her 
 youth found no sympathy. It was natural,
 
 198 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. vin. 
 
 therefore, that when time to some extent had 
 healed the wound she had suffered and she 
 suddenly found herself in the society of a young 
 and enthusiastic man, something of the enforced 
 soberness of her manner should unbend, showing 
 her character in a new light. She herself 
 enjoyed the change, hardly knowing why ; she 
 enjoyed a little passage of arms with John, and 
 it amused her more than she could have expected 
 to be young again, to annoy him, to break the 
 peace and heal it again in five minutes. But 
 what happened entirely failed to amuse the 
 squire, who did not regard such diversions as 
 harmless ; and moreover she was far from ex 
 pecting the effect which her treatment of John 
 Short produced upon his scholarly but enthusiastic 
 temper.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE squire had remarked that John Short seemed 
 to have a peculiar temper, and Mrs. Goddard had 
 observed the same thing. What has gone before 
 sufficiently explains the change in John's manner, 
 and the difference in his behaviour was plainly 
 apparent even to Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose. The 
 vicar indeed was wise enough to see that John 
 was very much attracted by Mrs. Goddard, but 
 he was also wise enough to say nothing about 
 it. His wife, however, who had witnessed no love- 
 making for nearly thirty years, except the court 
 ship of the young physician who had married 
 her daughter, attributed John's demeanour to no 
 such disturbing cause. He was overworked, she 
 said ; he was therefore irritable ; he had of course 
 never taken that excellent homoeopathic remedy, 
 highly diluted aconite, since he had left the
 
 200 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 vicarage; the consequence was that he was 
 subject to nervous headache she only hoped 
 he would not be taken ill on the eve of the 
 examination for honours. She hoped, too, that 
 he would prolong his holiday to the very last 
 moment, for the country air and the rest he 
 enjoyed were sure to do him so much good. 
 With regard to the extension of John's visit, the 
 vicar thought differently, although he held his 
 peace. There were many reasons why John 
 should not become attached to Mrs. Goddard 
 both for her sake and his own, and if he staid 
 long, the vicar felt quite sure that he would 
 fall in love with her. She was dangerously 
 pretty, she was much older than John which in 
 the case of very young men constitutes an 
 additional probability she evidently took an 
 innocent pleasure in his society, and altogether 
 such a complication as was likely to ensue was 
 highly undesirable. Therefore, when Mrs. Ambrose 
 pressed John to stay longer than he had intended, 
 the vicar not only gave him no encouragement, 
 but spoke gravely of the near approach of the 
 contest for honours, of the necessity of con-
 
 ix.] A. TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 201 
 
 centrating every force for the coming struggle, 
 and expressed at the same time the firm con 
 viction that, if John did his best, he ought to be 
 the senior classic in the year. 
 
 Even Mrs. Goddard urged him to go. Of 
 course he asked her advice. He would not have 
 lost that opportunity of making her speak of 
 himself, nor of gauging the exact extent of the 
 interest he hoped she felt in him. 
 
 It was two or three days after the long con 
 versation he had enjoyed with her. In that 
 time they had met often and John's admiration 
 for her, strengthened by his own romantic desire 
 to be really in love, had begun to assume pro 
 portions which startled Mrs. Goddard and annoyed 
 Mr. Juxon. The latter felt that the boy was in 
 his way; whenever he wanted to see Mrs. 
 Goddard, John was at her side, talking eagerly 
 and contesting his position against the squire with 
 a fierceness which in an older and wiser man 
 would have been in the worst possible taste. 
 Even as it was, Mr. Juxon looked considerably 
 annoyed as he stood by, smoothing his smooth 
 hair from time to time with his large white hand
 
 202 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH, [CHAP. 
 
 and feeling that even at his age, and with his 
 experience, a man might sometimes cut a poor 
 figure. 
 
 On the particular occasion when the relations 
 between John and the squire became an object 
 of comment to Mrs. Ambrose, the whole party 
 were assembled at Mrs. Goddard's cottage. She 
 had invited everybody to tea, a meal which 
 in her little household represented a compromise 
 between her appetite and Nellie's. She had 
 felt that in the small festivities of the Billings- 
 field Christmas season she was called upon to do 
 her share with the rest and, being a simple 
 woman, she took her part simply, and did not 
 dignify the entertainment of her four friends by 
 calling it a dinner. The occasion was none 
 the less hospitable, for she gave both time and 
 thought to her preparations. Especially she had 
 considered the question of precedence ; it was 
 doubtful, she thought, whether the squire or the 
 vicar should sit upon her right hand. The 
 squire, as being lord of the manor, represented 
 the powers temporal, the vicar on the other 
 hand represented the church, which on ordinary
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 203 
 
 occasions takes precedence of the lay faculty. 
 She had at last privately consulted Mr. Juxon, in 
 whom she had the greatest confidence, asking 
 him frankly which she should do, and Mr. Juxon 
 had unhesitatingly yielded the post of honour to 
 the vicar, adding to enforce his opinion the very 
 plausible argument that if he, the squire, took 
 Mrs. Goddard in to tea, the vicar would have 
 to give his arm either to little Nellie or to his 
 own wife. Mrs. Goddard was convinced and the 
 affair was a complete success. 
 
 John felt that he could not complain of his 
 position, but as he was separated from the object 
 of his admiration during the whole meal, he 
 resolved to indemnify himself for his sufferings 
 by monopolising her conversation during the rest 
 of the evening. The squire on the other hand, 
 who had been obliged to talk to Mrs. Ambrose 
 during most of the time while they were at 
 table, and who, moreover, was beginning to feel 
 that he had seen almost enough of John Short, 
 determined to give the young man a lesson in 
 the art of interesting women in general and 
 Mrs. Goddard in particular. She, indeed, would
 
 204 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 not have been a woman at all had she not 
 understood the two men and their intentions. 
 After tea the party congregated round the fire in 
 the little drawing-room, standing in a circle, of 
 which their hostess formed the centre. Mr. 
 Juxon and John, anticipating that Mrs. Goddard 
 must ultimately sit upon one side or other of 
 the fireplace had at first chosen opposite sides, 
 each hoping that she would take the chair nearest 
 to himself. But Mrs. Goddard remained standing 
 an unreasonably long time, for the very reason 
 that she did not choose to sit beside either of 
 them. Seeing this the squire, who had perhaps 
 a greater experience than his adversary in this 
 kind of strategic warfare, left his place and put 
 himself on he same side as John. He argued 
 that Mrs. Goddard would probably then choose 
 the opposite side whereas John who was younger 
 would think she would come towards the two 
 where they stood ; John would consequently lose 
 time, Mr. Juxon would cross again and instal 
 himself by her side while his enemy was 
 hesitating. 
 
 While these moves and counter-moves were
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 205 
 
 proceeding, the conversation was general. The 
 vicar was for the hundredth time admiring the 
 Andrea del Sarto over the chimney-piece and his 
 wife was explaining her general objections to 
 the representation of sacred subjects upon canvas, 
 while Mrs. Goddard answered each in turn and 
 endeavoured to disagree with neither. What the 
 squire had foreseen when he made his last move, 
 however, actually took place at last. Mrs. 
 Goddard established herself upon the side opposite 
 the two men. Mr. Juxon crossed rapidly to where 
 she was seated, and Mrs. Ambrose, who had turned 
 with the intention of speaking to the squire, 
 found herself confronted by John. He saw 
 that he had been worsted by his foe and im 
 mediately lost his temper; but being brought 
 face to face with Mrs. Ambrose was obliged to 
 control it as he might. That excellent lady 
 beamed upon him with a maternal smile of the 
 kind which is peculiarly irritating to young men. 
 He struggled to get away however, glancing 
 over Mrs. Ambrose's shoulder at the squire and 
 longing to be " at him " as he would have 
 expressed it. But the squire was not to be got
 
 206 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 at so easily, for the vicar's wife was of a fine 
 presence and covered much ground. John in 
 voluntarily thought of the dyke before Troy, of 
 Hector and his heroes attempting to storm it 
 and of the Ajaces and Sarpedon defending it 
 and glaring down from above. He could ap 
 preciate Hector's feelings Mrs. Ambrose was 
 very like the dyke. 
 
 The squire smiled serenely and smoothed his 
 hair as he talked to Mrs. Goddard and she her 
 self looked by no means discontented, thereby 
 adding, as it were, an insult to the injury done 
 to John. 
 
 "I shall always envy you the cottage," the 
 squire was saying. "I have not a single room 
 in the Hall that is half so cheery in the 
 evening." 
 
 " I shall never forget my terror when we first 
 met," answered Mrs. Goddard, "do you re 
 member? You frightened me by saying you 
 would like to live here. I thought you 
 meant it." 
 
 "You must have thought I was .the most 
 unmannerly of barbarians."
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 207 
 
 " Instead of being the best of landlords," added 
 Mrs. Goddard with a grateful smile. 
 
 " I hardly know whether I am that," said 
 Mr. Juxon, settling himself in his chair. " But 
 I believe I am by nature an exceedingly com 
 fortable man, and I never fail to consult the 
 interests of my comfort." 
 
 " And of mine. Think of all you have done 
 to improve this place. I can never thank you 
 enough. I suppose one always feels particularly 
 grateful at Christmas time does not one ? " 
 
 " One has more to be grateful for, it seems to 
 me in our climate, too. People in southern 
 countries never really know what comfort means, 
 because nature never makes them thoroughly 
 uncomfortable. Only a man who is freezing 
 can appreciate a good fire." 
 
 " I suppose you have been a good deal in 
 such places," suggested Mrs. Goddard, vaguely. 
 
 "Oh yes everywhere," answered the squire 
 with equal indefiniteness. " By the bye, talking 
 of travelling, when is our young friend going 
 away ? " There was not a shade of ill-humour 
 in the question.
 
 208 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " The day after 'New Year's I believe." 
 
 " He lias had a very pleasant visit." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Goddard, " I hope it will 
 do him a great deal of good." 
 
 " Why ? Was he ill ? Ah I remember, they 
 said he had worked too hard. It is a great 
 mistake to work too hard, especially when one is 
 very young." 
 
 " He is very young, is not he ? " remarked 
 Mrs. Goddard with a faint smile, remembering 
 the many conversations she had had with him. 
 
 "Very. Did it ever strike you that well, 
 that he was losing his head a little ? " 
 
 "No," answered his companion innocently. 
 "What about?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing. Only he has rather a peculiar 
 temper. He is perpetually getting very angry 
 with no ostensible reason and then he glares 
 at one like an angry cat." 
 
 "Take care/' said Mrs. Goddard, "he might 
 hear you." 
 
 " Do him good," said the squire cheerfully. 
 
 " Oh, no ! It would hurt his feelings dread 
 fully. How can you be so unkind ? "
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 209 
 
 " He is a very good boy, you know. Eeally, I 
 believe he is. Only he is inclined to be rather 
 too unreasonable ; I should think he might be 
 satisfied." 
 
 "Satisfied with what?" inquired Mrs. God- 
 dard, who did not wish to understand. 
 
 " With the way you have treated him," re 
 turned the squire bluntly. " You have been 
 wonderfully good to him." 
 
 " Have I ? " The faint colour rose to her 
 cheek. " I don't know poor fellow ! I daresay 
 his life at Cambridge is very dull." 
 
 " Yes. Entirely devoid of that species of 
 amusement which he has enjoyed so abundantly 
 in Billingsfield. It is not every undergraduate 
 who has a chance to talk to you for a week at 
 a time.' 
 
 Mr. Juxon made the remark very calmly, 
 without seeming to be in the least annoyed. 
 He was much too wise a man to appear to be 
 displeased at Mrs. Goddard's treatment of John 
 Moreover, he felt that on the present occasion, 
 at least, John had been summarily worsted ; 
 it was his turn to be magnanimous. 
 
 VOL. i. p
 
 210 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " If you are going to make compliments, I 
 will go away," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 "II I never made a compliment in my life," 
 replied the squire complacently. " Do you think 
 it is a compliment to tell you that Mr. Short 
 probably enjoys your conversation much more 
 than the study of Greek roots ? " 
 
 Well not exactly " 
 
 "Besides, in general," continued the squire, 
 "compliments are mere waste of breath. If a 
 woman has any vanity she knows her own good 
 points much better than any man who attempts 
 to explain them to her; and if she has no 
 vanity, no amount of explanation of her merits 
 will make her see them in a proper light." 
 
 "That is very true," answered Mrs. Goddard 
 thoughtfully. " It never struck me before. I 
 wonder whether that is the reason women always 
 like men who never make any compliments 
 at aU ?" 
 
 The squire's face assumed an amusing expres 
 sion of inquiry and surprise. 
 
 " Is that personal ?" he asked. 
 
 " Oh of course not," answered Mrs. Goddard
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 211 
 
 in some confusion. She blushed and turning 
 towards the fire took up the poker and pretended 
 to stir the coals. Women always delight in 
 knocking a good fire to pieces, out of pure 
 absence of mind. John Short saw the move 
 ment and, escaping suddenly from the maternal 
 conversation of Mrs. Ambrose, threw himself 
 upon his knee on the hearth-rug and tried to 
 take the poker from his hostess's hand. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Goddard, don't ! Let me do it 
 please!" he exclaimed. 
 
 " But I can do it very well myself," said 
 she, protesting and not relaxing her hold upon 
 the poker. But John was obstinate in his 
 determination to save her trouble, and rudely 
 tried to get the instrument away. 
 
 " Please don't you hurt me," said Mrs. God 
 dard petulantly. 
 
 " Oh I beg your pardon I wanted to help 
 you," said John leaving his hold. " I did not 
 really hurt you did I ? " he asked, almost 
 tenderly. 
 
 " Dreadfully," replied Mrs. Goddard, half angry 
 and half amused at his impatience and subse-
 
 212 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 quent contrition. The squire sat complacently 
 in his chair, watching the little scene. John 
 hated him more than ever, and grew very red. 
 Mrs. Goddard saw the boy's embarrassment and 
 presently relented. 
 
 " I daresay you will do it better than I," she 
 said, handing him the poker, which John seized 
 with alacrity. " That big coal there," she 
 added, pointing to a smouldering block in the 
 corner of the grate. 
 
 " I did not mean to be rude," said John. " I 
 only wanted to help you." He knelt by her 
 side poking the fire industriously. " I only 
 wanted to get a chance to talk to you," he 
 added, in a low voice, barely audible to Mrs. 
 Goddard as she leaned forward. 
 
 "I am afraid you cannot do that just now," 
 she said, not unkindly, but with the least shade 
 of severity in her tone. "You will get dreadfully 
 hot if you stay there, so near the fire." 
 
 " I don't mind the heat in the least," said 
 John heroically. Nevertheless as she did not 
 give him any further encouragement he was 
 presently obliged to retire, greatly discomfited.
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 213 
 
 He could not spend the evening on his knees 
 with the poker in his hand. 
 
 " Bad failure," remarked the squire in an 
 undertone as soon as John had rejoined Mrs. 
 Ambrose, who had not quite finished her lecture 
 on homoeopathy. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard leaned back in her chair and 
 looked at Mr. Juxon rather coolly. She did not 
 want him to laugh at John, though she was not 
 willing to encourage John herself. 
 
 " You should not be unkind," she said. " He 
 is such a nice boy why should you wish him 
 to be uncomfortable." 
 
 " Oh, I don't in the least. I could not help 
 being amused a little. I am sure I don't want 
 to be unkind." 
 
 Indeed the squire had not shown himself to 
 be so, on the whole, and he did not refer to the 
 matter again during the evening. He kept his 
 place for some time by Mrs. Goddard's side and 
 then, judging that he had sufficiently asserted 
 his superiority, rose and talked to Mrs. Ambrose. 
 But John, being now in a thoroughly bad humour, 
 could not take his vacant seat with a o-ood
 
 214 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 grace. He stood aloof and took up a book 
 that lay upon the table and avoided looking at 
 Mrs. Goddard. By and by, when the party broke 
 up, he said good-night in such a particularly cold 
 and formal tone of voice that she stared at him 
 in surprise. But he took no notice of her look 
 and went away after the Ambroses, in that state 
 of mind which boys call a huff. 
 
 But on the following day John repented of 
 his behaviour. All day long he wandered about 
 the garden of the vicarage, excusing himself from 
 joining the daily skating which formed the staple 
 of amusement during the Christmas week, by 
 saying that he had an idea for a copy of verses 
 and must needs work it out. But he inwardly 
 hoped that Mrs. Goddard would come to the 
 vicarage late in the afternoon, without the in 
 evitable Mr. Juxon, and that he might then 
 get a chance of talking to her. He was not 
 quite sure what he should say. He would find 
 words on the spur of the moment ; it would at 
 all events be much easier than to meet her on 
 the ice at the Hall with all the rest of them 
 and to see Mr. Juxon pushing her about in that
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 215 
 
 detestable chair, with the unruffled air of superi 
 ority which John so hated to see upon his face. 
 The vicar suspected more than ever that there 
 was something wrong ; he had seen some of the 
 by-play on the previous evening, and had noticed 
 John's ill -concealed disappointment at being 
 unable to dislodge the sturdy squire from his 
 seat. But Mrs. Ambrose seemed to be very 
 obtuse, and the vicar would have been the last 
 to have spoken of his suspicions, even to the 
 wife of his bosom. It was his duty to induce 
 John to go back to his work at the end of the 
 week; it was not his duty to put imputations 
 upon him which Mrs. Ambrose would naturally 
 exaggerate and which would drive her excellent 
 heart into a terrible state of nervous anxiety. 
 
 But Mrs. Godclard did not come back to the 
 vicarage on that day, and John went to dinner 
 with a sad heart. It did not seem like a day 
 at all if he had not seen her and talked with her. 
 He had now no doubt whatever that he was 
 seriously in love, and he set himself to consider 
 his position. The more he considered it, the 
 more irreconcilable it seemed to be with the
 
 216 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 passion which beset him. A child could see 
 that for several years, at least, he would not be 
 in a position to marry. With Mr. Juxon at 
 hand from year's end to year's end, the owner of 
 the Hall, of the Billingsfield property and ac 
 cording to all appearances of other resources 
 besides, with such a man constantly devoted to 
 her, could Mrs. Goddard be expected to wait for 
 poor John three years, even two years, from the 
 time of the examination for the classical Tripos ? 
 Nothing was more improbable, he was forced 
 to admit. And yet, the idea of life if he did 
 not marry Mrs. Goddard was dismal beyond all 
 expression ; he would probably not survive it. 
 He did not know what he should do. He 
 shrank from the thought of declaring his love 
 to her at once. He remembered with pain that 
 she had a terrible way of laughing at him when 
 he grew confidential or too complimentary, and 
 he dreaded lest at the supreme moment of his 
 life he should appear ridiculous in her eyes he, 
 a mere undergraduate. If he came out at the 
 head of the Tripos it would be different; and 
 yet that seemed so long to wait, especially while
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 217 
 
 Mr. Juxon lived at the Hall and Mrs. Goddard 
 lived at the park gates. Suddenly a thought 
 struck him which filled him with delight ; it 
 was just possible that Mr. Juxon had no inten 
 tion of marrying Mrs. Goddard. If he had any 
 such views he would probably have declared 
 them before now, for he had met her every day 
 during more than half a year. John longed to 
 ask some one the question. Perhaps Mr. Am 
 brose, who might be supposed to know everything 
 connected with Mrs. Goddard, could tell him. 
 He felt very nervous at the idea of speaking to 
 the vicar on the subject, and yet it seemed to 
 him that no one else could set his mind at 
 rest. If he were quite certain that Mr. Juxon 
 had no intention of offering himself to the 
 charming tenant of the cottage, he might return 
 to his work with some sense of security in the 
 future. Otherwise he saw only the desperate 
 alternative of throwing himself at her feet and 
 declaring that he loved her, or of going back 
 to Cambridge with the dreadful anticipation of 
 hearing any day that she had married the 
 squire. To be laughed at would be bad, but to
 
 218 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 feel that he had lost her irrevocably, without 
 a struggle, would be awful. No one but the 
 vicar could and would tell him the truth ; it 
 would be bitter to ask such a question, but it 
 must be done. Having at last come to this 
 formidable resolution, towards the conclusion of 
 dinner, his spirits rose a little. He took another 
 glass of the vicar's mild ale and felt that he 
 could face his fate. 
 
 " May I speak to you a moment in the study, 
 Mr. Ambrose ?" he said as they rose from table. 
 
 " Certainly," replied the vicar; and having con 
 ducted his wife to the drawing-room, he returned 
 to find John. There was a low, smouldering fire 
 in the study grate, and John had lit a solitary 
 candle. The room looked very dark and dismal 
 and John was seated in one of the black leather 
 chairs, waiting. 
 
 " Anything about those verses you were speak 
 ing of to-day?" asked the vicar cheerfully, in 
 anticipation of a pleasant classical chat. 
 
 " No," said John, gloomily. " The fact is " 
 he cleared his throat, "the fact is, I want to 
 ask you rather a delicate question, sir."
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 219 
 
 The vicar's heavy eyebrows contracted ; the 
 lines of his face all turned downwards, and his 
 long, clean- shaved upper lip closed sharply upon 
 its fellow, like a steel trap. He turned his gray 
 eyes upon John's averted face with a searching 
 look. 
 
 " Have you got into any trouble at Trinity, 
 John ? " he asked severely. 
 
 " Oh no no indeed," said John. Nothing 
 was further from his thoughts than his college 
 at that moment. " I want to ask you a question, 
 which no one else can answer. Is do you 
 think that that Mr. Juxon has any idea of 
 marrying Mrs. Goddard ? " 
 
 The vicar started in astonishment and laid 
 both hands upon the arms of his chair. 
 
 " What in the world put that into your 
 head?" he asked very slowly, emphasising every 
 word of his question. John was prepared to 
 see his old tutor astonished but was rather 
 taken aback at the vicar's tone. 
 
 " Do you think it is likely, sir ? " he insisted. 
 
 " Certainly not," answered the vicar, still 
 eyeing him suspiciously. " Certainly not. I
 
 220 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 have positive reasons to prove the contrary. 
 But, my dear John, why, in the name of all 
 that is sensible, do you ask me such a question ? 
 
 You don't seriously think of proposing " 
 
 " I don't see why I should not," said John 
 doggedly, seeing that he was found out. 
 
 " You don't see why you should not ? Why 
 the thing is perfectly absurd, not to say utterly 
 impossible ! John, you are certainly mad." 
 
 " I don't see why," repeated John. " I am a 
 grown man. I have good prospects " 
 
 "Good prospects!" ejaculated the vicar in 
 horror. " Good prospects ! Why, you are only 
 an undergraduate at Cambridge." 
 
 " I may be senior classic in a few months," 
 objected John. " That is not such a bad pros 
 pect, it seems to me." 
 
 " It means that you may get a fellowship, 
 probably will in the course of a few years. 
 But you lose it if you marry. Besides do 
 you know that Mrs. Goddard is ten years older 
 than you, and more ? " 
 
 " Impossible," said John in a tone of conviction. 
 
 " I know that she is. She will be two and
 
 IX.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 221 
 
 thirty on her next birthday, and you are not 
 yet one and twenty." 
 
 " I shall be next month," argued John, who 
 was somewhat taken aback, however, by the 
 alarming news of Mrs. Goddard's age. " Besides, 
 I can go into the church, before I get a 
 fellowship " 
 
 "No, you can't," said the vicar energetically. 
 " You won't be able to manage it. If you do, 
 you will have to put up with a poor living." 
 
 " That would not matter. Mrs. Goddard has 
 something " 
 
 " An honourable prospect !" exclaimed Mr. 
 Ambrose, growing more and more excited. " To 
 marry a woman ten years older than yourself 
 because she has a little money of her own ! 
 You ! I would not have thought it of you, John 
 indeed I would not ! " 
 
 Indeed no one was more surprised than John 
 Short himself, when he found himself arguing 
 the possibilities of his marriage with his old 
 tutor. But he was an obstinate young fellow 
 enough and was not inclined to give up the 
 fight easily.
 
 222 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Keally," he objected, " I cannot see any 
 thing so very terrible in the idea. I shall 
 certainly make my way in the world. You 
 know that it is not for the sake of her money. 
 Many men have married women ten years older 
 than themselves, and not half so beautiful and 
 charming, I am sure." 
 
 " I don't believe it," said the vicar, " and if 
 they have, why it has been very different, that 
 is all. Besides, you have not known Mrs. 
 Goddard a week positively not more than 
 five days why, it is madness ! Do you mean 
 to tell me that at the end of five days you 
 believe you are seriously attached to a lady 
 you never saw in your life before ?" 
 
 "I saw her once," said John. "That day 
 when I waked Muggins " 
 
 " Once ! Nearly three years ago ! I have no 
 patience with you John ! That a young fellow 
 of your capabilities should give way to such a 
 boyish fancy ! It is absolutely amazing ! I 
 thought you were growing to like her society very 
 much, but I did not believe it would come to 
 this !"
 
 ix.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 223 
 
 "It is nothing to be ashamed of," said John 
 stoutly. 
 
 " It is something to be afraid of," answered 
 the vicar. 
 
 " Oh, do not be alarmed," retorted John. " I 
 will do nothing rash. You have set my mind 
 at rest in assuring me that she will not marry 
 Mr. Juxon. I shall not think of offering myself 
 to Mrs. Goddard until after the Tripos." 
 
 " Offering myself " how deliciously important 
 the expression sounded to John's own ears ! It 
 conveyed such a delightful sense of the possibilities 
 of life when at last he should feel that he was in 
 a position to offer himself to any woman, especially 
 to Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " I have a great mind not to ask you to come 
 down, even if you do turn out senior classic," said 
 the vicar, still fuming with excitement. " But 
 if you put off your rash action until then, you 
 will probably have changed your mind." 
 
 " I will never change my mind," said John 
 confidently. It was evident, nevertheless, that 
 if the romance of his life were left to the tender 
 mercies of the Eeverend Augustin Ambrose, it
 
 224 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. ix. 
 
 was likely to come to an abrupt termination. 
 When the two returned to the society of Mrs. 
 Ambrose, the vicar was still very much agitated 
 and John was plunged in a gloomy melan 
 choly.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE vicar's suspicions were more than realised 
 and he passed an uncomfortable day after his 
 interview with John, in debating what he ought 
 to do, whether he ought to do anything at all, 
 or whether he should merely hasten his old pupil's 
 departure and leave matters to take care of 
 themselves. He was a very conscientious man, 
 and he felt that he was responsible for John's 
 conduct towards Mrs. Goddard, seeing that she 
 had put herself under his protection, and that 
 John was almost like one of his family. His 
 first impulse was to ask counsel of his wife, but 
 he rejected the plan, reflecting with great justice 
 that she was very fond of John and had at first 
 not been sure of liking Mrs. Goddard ; she would 
 be capable of thinking that the latter had " led 
 Short on," as she would probably say. The vicar 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 did not believe this, and was therefore loath that 
 any one else should. He felt that circumstances 
 had made, him Mrs. Goddard's protector, and he 
 was moreover personally attached to her; he 
 would not therefore do or say anything whereby 
 she was likely to appear to any one else in an 
 unfavourable light. It was incredible that she 
 should have given John any real encouragement. 
 Mr. Ambrose wondered whether he ought to warn 
 her of his pupil's madness. But when he thought 
 about that, it seemed unnecessary. It was unlikely 
 that John would betray himself during his present 
 visit, since the vicar had solemnly assured him 
 that there was no possibility of a marriage so far 
 as Mr. Juxon was concerned. It was undoubtedly 
 a very uncomfortable situation but there was 
 evidently nothing to be done ; Mr. Ambrose felt 
 that to speak to Mrs. Goddard would be to pre 
 cipitate matters in a way which could not but 
 cause much humiliation to John Short and much 
 annoyance to herself. He accordingly held his 
 peace, but his upper lip set itself stiffly and his 
 eyes had a combative expression which told his 
 wife that there was something the matter.
 
 X.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 227 
 
 After breakfast John went out, on pretence of 
 walking in the garden, and Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose 
 were left alone. The latter, as usual after the 
 morning meal, busied herself about the room, 
 searching out those secret corners which she 
 suspected Susan of having forgotten to dust. The 
 vicar stood looking out of the window. The 
 weather was gray and it seemed likely that there 
 would be a thaw which would spoil the skating. 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Ambrose, " that John is 
 far from well." 
 
 "What makes you say that?" inquired the 
 vicar, who was thinking of him at that very 
 moment. 
 
 " Anybody might see it. He has no appetite 
 he ate nothing at breakfast this morning. He 
 looks pale. My dear, that boy will certainly 
 break down." 
 
 " I don't believe it," answered Mr. Ambrose 
 still looking out of the window. His hands were 
 in his pockets, thrusting the skirts of his clerical 
 coat to right and left ; he slowly raised himself 
 upon his toes and let himself down again, repeat 
 ing the operation as though it helped him to think.
 
 228 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 "That is the way you spoil all your coats, 
 Augustin," said his wife looking at him from 
 behind. " I assure you, my dear, that boy is 
 not well. Poor fellow, all alone at college with 
 nobody to look after him " 
 
 "We have all had to go through that. I do 
 not think it hurts him a bit," said the vicar, 
 slowly removing his hands from his pockets in 
 deference to his wife's suggestion. 
 
 " Then what is it, I would like to know ? 
 There is certainly something the matter. Now 
 I ask you whether he looks like himself?" 
 
 " Perhaps he does look a little tired." 
 
 " Tired ! There is something on his mind, 
 Augustin. I am positively certain there is 
 something on his mind. Why won't you tell 
 me ?" 
 
 " My dear " began the vicar, and then stopped 
 short. He was a very truthful man, and as he 
 knew very well what was the matter with John 
 he was embarrassed to find an answer. " My 
 dear," he repeated, " I do not think he is ill." 
 
 "Then I am right," retorted Mrs. Ambrose, 
 triumphantly. " It is just as I thought, there
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 229 
 
 is something on his mind. Don't deny it, 
 Augustin ; there is something on his mind." 
 
 Mr. Ambrose was silent; he glared fiercely 
 at the window panes. 
 
 "Why don't you tell me ?" insisted his better 
 half. " I am quite sure you know all about it. 
 Augustin, do you know, or do you not ?" 
 
 Thus directly questioned the vicar turned 
 sharply round, sweeping the window with his coat 
 tails. 
 
 " My dear," he said, shortly, "I do know. Can 
 you not imagine that it may be a matter which 
 John does not care to have mentioned ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ambrose grew red with annoyance. She 
 had set her heart on finding out what had dis 
 turbed John, and the vicar had apparently made 
 up his mind that she should not succeed. Such 
 occurrences were very rare between that happy 
 couple. 
 
 " I cannot believe he has done anything wrong," 
 said Mrs. Ambrose. " Anything which need be 
 concealed from me the interest I have always 
 taken 
 
 " He has not done anything wrong," said the
 
 230 A TALE OF A LONELY PAK1SH. [CHAP. 
 
 vicar impatiently. " I do wish you would drop 
 the subject " 
 
 " Then why should it be concealed from me ? " 
 objected his wife with admirable logic. " If it is 
 anything good he need not hide his light under 
 a bushel, I should think." 
 
 " There are plenty of things which are neither 
 bad nor good," argued the vicar, who felt that if 
 he could draw Mrs. Ambrose into a Socratic 
 discussion he was safe. 
 
 "That is a distinct prevarication, Augustin," 
 said she severely. " I am surprised at you." 
 
 " Not at all," retorted the vicar. " What has 
 occurred to John is not owing to any fault of his." 
 In his own mind the good man excused himself 
 by saying that John could not have helped falling 
 in love with Mrs. Goddard. But his wife turned 
 quickly upon him. 
 
 " That does not prevent what has occurred to 
 him, as you call it, from being good, or more 
 likely bad, to judge from his looks." 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Ambrose, driven to bay, 
 " I entirely decline to discuss the point." 
 
 " I thought you trusted me, Augustin."
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 231 
 
 " So I do certainly and I always consult 
 you about my own affairs." 
 
 " I think I have as much right to know about 
 John as you have," retorted his wife, who seemed 
 deeply hurt. 
 
 " That is a point then which you ought to 
 settle with John," said the vicar. " I cannot 
 betray his confidence, even to you." 
 
 " Oh then he has been making confidences 
 to you ? " 
 
 " How in the world should I know about his 
 affairs unless he told me?" 
 
 " One may see a great many things without 
 being told about them, you know," answered Mrs. 
 Ambrose, assuming a prim expression as she 
 examined a small spot in the tablecloth. The 
 vicar was walking up and down the room. Her 
 speech, which was made quite at random, startled 
 him. She, too, might easily have observed John's 
 manner when he was with Mrs. Goddard ; she 
 might have guessed the secret, and have put 
 her own interpretation on John's sudden melan 
 choly. 
 
 "What may one see ?" asked the vicar quickly.
 
 232 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " I did not say one could see anything," 
 answered his wife. " But from your manner I 
 infer that there really is something to see. Wait 
 a minute what can it be ? " 
 
 "Nothing my dear, nothing," said the vicar 
 desperately. 
 
 " Oh, Augustin, I know you so well," said the 
 implacable Mrs. Ambrose. " I am quite sure now, 
 that it is something I have seen. Deny it, my 
 dear." 
 
 The vicar was silent and bit his long upper 
 lip as he marched up and down the room. 
 
 " Of course you cannot deny it," she continued. 
 " It is perfectly clear. The very first day he 
 arrived when you came down from the Hall, in 
 the evening Augustin, I have got it ! It is 
 Mrs. Goddard now don't tell me it is not. I 
 am quite sure it is Mrs. Goddard. How stupid 
 of me ! Is not it Mrs. Goddard ? " 
 
 " If you are so positive," said the vicar, resort 
 ing to a form of defence generally learned in the 
 nursery, " why do you ask me ? " 
 
 " I insist upon knowing, Augustin, is it, or is 
 it not, Mrs. Goddard ? "
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 233 
 
 " My dear, I positively refuse to answer any 
 more questions," said the vicar with tardy firmness. 
 
 " Oh, it is no matter," retorted Mrs. Ambrose 
 in complete triumph, "if it were not Mrs. Goddard 
 of course you would say so at once." 
 
 A form of argument so unanswerable, that the 
 vicar hastily left the -room feeling that he had 
 basely betrayed John's confidence, and muttering 
 something about intolerable curiosity. Mrs. Am 
 brose had vanquished her husband, as she usually 
 did on those rare occasions when anything 
 approaching to a dispute arose between them. 
 Having come to the conclusion that " it " was 
 Mrs. Goddard, the remainder of the secret needed 
 no discovery. It was plain that John must 
 be in love with the tenant of the cottage, and it 
 seemed likely that it would devolve upon Mrs. 
 Ambrose to clear up the matter. She was very 
 fond of John and her first impression was that 
 Mrs. Goddard, whom she now again suspected of 
 having foreign blood, had " led him on " an 
 impression which the vicar had anticipated when 
 he rashly resolved not to tell his wife John's 
 secret. She knew very well that the vicar must
 
 234 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 have told John his mind in regard to such an 
 attachment, and she easily concluded that he must 
 have done so on the previous evening when John 
 called him into the study. But she had just 
 won a victory over her husband, and she conse 
 quently felt that he was weak, probably too weak 
 to save the situation, and it was borne in upon 
 her that she ought to do something immediately. 
 Unhappily she did not see quite clearly what was 
 to be done. She might go straight to Mrs. 
 Goddard and accuse her of having engaged John's 
 affections ; but the more she thought of that, the 
 more diffident she grew in regard to the result of 
 such an interview. Curiosity had led her to a 
 certain point, but caution prevented her from 
 going any further. Mrs. Ambrose was very 
 cautious. The habit of living in a small place, 
 feeling that all her actions were watched by the 
 villagers and duly commented upon by them, had 
 made her even more careful than she was by 
 nature. It would be very unwise to bring about 
 a scene with Mrs. Goddard unless she were very 
 sure of the result. Mrs. Goddard was hardly a 
 friend. In Mrs. Ambrose's opinion an acquaintance
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 235 
 
 of two years and a half standing involving almost 
 daily meetings and the constant exchange of 
 civilities did not constitute friendship. Never 
 theless the vicar's wife would have been ashamed 
 to own that after such long continued intercourse 
 she was wholly ignorant of Mrs. Goddard's real 
 character ; especially as the latter had requested 
 the vicar to tell Mrs. Ambrose her story when 
 she first appeared at Billingsfield. Moreover, 
 .as her excitement at the victory she had gained 
 over her husband began to subside, she found 
 herself reviewing mentally the events of the 
 last few days. She remembered distinctly that 
 John had perpetually pursued Mrs. Gocldard, 
 and that although the latter seemed to find 
 him agreeable enough, she had never to Mrs. 
 Ambrose's knowledge given him any of those 
 open encouragements in the way of smiles 
 and signals, which in the good lady's mind 
 were classified under the term " flirting." Mrs. 
 Ambrose's ideas of flirtation may have been 
 antiquated ; thirty years of Billingsfield in the 
 society of the Eeverend Augustin had not con 
 tributed to their extension ; but, on the whole,
 
 236 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAJ>. 
 
 they were just. Mrs. Goddard had not flirted 
 with John. It is worthy of notice that in pro 
 portion as the difficulties she would enter upon by 
 demanding an explanation from Mrs. Goddard 
 seemed to grow in magnitude, she gradually 
 arrived at the conclusion that it was John's 
 fault. 
 
 Half an hour ago, in the flush of triumph she 
 had indignantly denied that anything could be 
 John's fault. She now resolved to behave to 
 him with great austerity. Such an occurrence 
 as his falling in love could not be passed over 
 with indifference. It seemed best that he should 
 leave Billingsfield very soon. 
 
 John thought so too. Existence would not 
 be pleasant now that the vicar knew his secret, 
 and he cursed the folly and curiosity which had 
 led him to betray himself in order to find out 
 whether Mr. Juxon thought of marrying Mrs. 
 Goddard. He had now resolved to return to 
 Cambridge at once and to work his hardest until 
 the Tripos was over. He would then come back 
 to Billingsfield and, with his honours fresh upon 
 him and the prospect of immediate success before
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 237 
 
 him, he would throw himself at Mrs. Goddard's 
 feet. But of course he must have one farewell 
 interview. Oh, those farewell interviews ! Those 
 leave-takings, wherein often so much is taken 
 without leave ! 
 
 Accordingly at luncheon he solemnly an 
 nounced his intention of leaving the vicarage on 
 the morrow. Mrs. Ambrose received the news 
 with an equanimity which made John suspicious, 
 for she had heretofore constantly pressed him to 
 extend his holiday, expressing the greatest solici 
 tude for his health. She now sat stony as a statue 
 and said very coldly that she was sorry he had 
 to go so soon, but that, of course, it could not be 
 helped. The vicar was moved by his wife's 
 apparent indifference. John, he said, might at 
 least have stayed till the end of the promised 
 week ; but at this suggestion Mrs. Ambrose 
 darted at her husband a look so full of fierce 
 meaning, that the vicar relapsed into silence, 
 returning to the consideration of bread and 
 cheese and a salad of mustard and cress. John 
 saw the look and was puzzled ; he did not believe 
 the vicar capable of going straight to Mrs.
 
 238 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 Ambrose with the story of the last night's 
 interview. But he was already so much dis 
 turbed that he did not attempt to explain to 
 himself what was happening. 
 
 But when lunch was over, and he realised 
 that he had declared his intention of leaving 
 Billingsfield on the next day, he saw that if he 
 meant to see Mrs. Goddard before he left he 
 must go to her at once. He therefore waited 
 until he heard Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose talking 
 together in the sitting-room and then slipped 
 quietly out by the garden to the road. 
 
 He had no idea what he should say when he 
 met Mrs. Goddard. He meant, of course to let 
 her understand, or at least suppose, that he was 
 leaving suddenly on her account, but he did not 
 know in the least how to accomplish it. He 
 trusted that the words necessary to him would 
 come into his head spontaneously. His heart 
 beat fast and he was conscious that he blushed 
 as he rang the bell of the cottage. Almost before 
 he knew where he was, he found himself ushered 
 into the little drawing-room and in the presence 
 of the woman he now felt sure that he loved.
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 239 
 
 But to his great annoyance she was not alone ; 
 Nellie was with her. Mrs. Goddard sat near 
 the fire, reading a review ; Nellie was curled 
 up in a corner of the deep sofa with a book, 
 her thick brown curls falling all over her face 
 and hands as she read. Mrs. Goddard extended 
 her hand, without rising. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Short ?" she said. The 
 young man stood hat in hand in the middle of 
 the room, feeling very nervous. It was strange 
 that he should experience any embarrassment 
 now, considering how many hours he had spent 
 in her company during the last few days. He 
 blushed and stammered. 
 
 " How do you do ? I, in fact I have come to 
 say good-bye," he blurted out. 
 
 " So soon ? " said Mrs. Goddard calmly. " Pray 
 sit down." 
 
 " Are you really going away, Mr. Short ? " 
 asked Nellie. "We are so sorry to lose you." 
 The child had caught the phrase from a book she 
 had been reading, and thought it very appropriate. 
 Her mother smiled. 
 
 " Yes as Nellie says we are sorry to lose
 
 240 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 you," she said. "I thought you were to stay 
 until Monday ? " 
 
 "So I was but very urgent business not 
 exactly business of course, but work calls me 
 away sooner." Having delivered himself of this 
 masterpiece of explanation John looked nervously 
 at Nellie and then at his hat and then, with an 
 imploring glance, at Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " But we shall hear of you, Mr. Short after 
 the examinations, shall we not ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said John eagerly. " I will come 
 down as soon as the lists are out." 
 
 " You have my best wishes, you know," said 
 Mrs. Goddard kindly. " I feel quite sure that 
 you will really be senior classic." 
 
 "Mamma is always saying that it is quite 
 true," explained Nellie. 
 
 John blushed again and looked gratefully at 
 Mrs. Goddard. He wished Nellie would go away, 
 but there was not the least chance of that. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Goddard, " I often say it. 
 We all take a great interest in your success 
 here." 
 
 " You are very kind," murmured John. " Of
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 241 
 
 course I shall come down at once and tell you all 
 about it, if I succeed. I do not really expect to 
 be first, of course. I shall be satisfied if I get a 
 place in the first ten. But I mean to do my best." 
 
 " No one can do more," said Mrs. Goddard, 
 leaning back in her chair and looking into the 
 fire. Her face was quiet, but not sad as it 
 sometimes was. There was a long silence which 
 John did not know how to break. Nellie sat 
 upon a carved chair by the side of the fireplace 
 dangling her legs and looking at her toes, turning 
 them alternately in and out. She wished John 
 would go for she wanted to get back to her book, 
 but had been told it was not good manners to 
 read when there were visitors. John looked at 
 Mrs. Goddard's face and was about to speak, 
 and then changed his mind and grew red and 
 said nothing. Had she noticed his shyness she 
 would have made an effort at conversation, but 
 she was absent-minded to-day and was thinking 
 of something else. Suddenly she started and 
 laughed a little. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she said. " What were 
 you saying, Mr. Short ? " Had John been saying 
 
 VOL. i. it
 
 242 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 anything he would have repeated it, but being 
 thus interrogated he grew doubly embarrassed. 
 
 " I I have not much to say except good 
 bye," he answered. 
 
 " Oh, don't go yet," said Mrs. Goddard. " You 
 are not going this afternoon ? It is always so 
 unpleasant to say good-bye, is not it ? " 
 
 " Dreadfully," answered John. " I would 
 rather say anything else in the world. No ; I 
 am going early to-morrow morning. There is no 
 help for it," he added desperately. " I must go, 
 you know." 
 
 " The next time you come, you will be able to 
 stay much longer," said Mrs. Goddard in an 
 encouraging way. "You will have no more 
 terms, then." 
 
 " No indeed nothing but to take my degree." 
 
 " And what will you do then ? You said the 
 other day that you thought seriously of going 
 into the church." 
 
 " Oh mamma," interrupted Nellie suddenly 
 looking up, " fancy Mr. Short in a black gown, 
 preaching like Mr. Ambrose ! How perfectly 
 ridiculous he would look ! "
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 243 
 
 " Nellie Nellie ! " exclaimed Mrs. Goddard, 
 " do not talk nonsense. It is very rude to say 
 Mr. Short would look ridiculous." 
 
 " I didn't mean to be rude, mamma," returned 
 Nellie, blushing scarlet and pouting her lips, 
 " only it would be very funny, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 " I daresay it would," said John, relieved by 
 the interruption. " I wish you would advise me 
 what to do, Mrs. Goddard," he added in a con 
 fidential tone. 
 
 " I ? " she exclaimed, and then laughed. " How 
 should I be able to advise you ? " 
 
 "I am sure you could," said John, insisting. 
 " You have such wonderfully good judgment " 
 
 " Have I ? I did not know it. But, tell me, 
 if you come out very high are you not sure of 
 getting a fellowship ? " 
 
 " It is likely," answered John indifferently. 
 " But I should have to give it up if I 
 married " 
 
 " Surely, Mr. Short," cried Mrs. Goddard, 
 with a laugh that cut him to the quick, "you 
 do not think of marrying for many years to 
 come ? '
 
 244 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Oh I don't know," he said, blushing violently, 
 " why should not I ? " 
 
 " In the first place, a man should never marry 
 until he is at least five and twenty years old," 
 said Mrs. Goddard, calmly. 
 
 "Well I may be as old as that before I get 
 the fellowship." 
 
 " Yes, I daresay. But even then, why should 
 you want to resign a handsome independence 
 as soon as you have got it ? Is there any 
 thing else so good within your reach ? " 
 
 "There is the church, of course," said John. 
 " But Miss Nellie seems to think that ridicu 
 lous " 
 
 " Never mind Nellie," answered Mrs. Goddard. 
 " Seriously, Mr. Short, do you approve of entering 
 the church merely as a profession, a means 
 of earning money ? " 
 
 "Well no I did not put it in that way. 
 But many people do." 
 
 " That does not prove that it is either wise 
 or decent," said Mrs. Goddard. "If you felt 
 impelled to take orders from other motives, it 
 would be different. As I understand you, you
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 245 
 
 are choosing a profession for the sake of becoming 
 independent." 
 
 " Certainly," said John. 
 
 "Well, then, there is nothing better for you 
 to do than to get a fellowship and hold it as long 
 as you can, and during that time you can make 
 up your mind." She spoke with conviction, and 
 the plan seemed good. " But I cannot imagine," 
 she continued, "why you should ask my advice." 
 
 " And not to marry ? " inquired John nervously. 
 
 " There is plenty of time to think of that when 
 you are thirty even five and thirty is not too 
 late." 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed John, " I think that 
 is much too old ? " 
 
 "Do you call me old ? " asked Mrs. Goddard 
 serenely. " I was thirty- one on my last birth- 
 day." 
 
 For the twentieth time, John felt himself 
 growing uncomfortably hot. Not only had he 
 said an unconscionably stupid thing, but Mrs. 
 Goddard, after advising him not to marry for ten 
 years, had almost hinted that she might mean 
 while be married herself. What else could she
 
 246 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 mean by the remark ? But John was hardly 
 a responsible being on that day. His views of 
 life and his understanding were equally disturbed. 
 
 "No indeed," he protested on hearing her 
 confession of age. "No indeed why, you are 
 the youngest person I ever saw, of course. But 
 with men it is quite different." 
 
 " Is it ? I always thought women were 
 supposed to grow old faster than men. That is 
 the reason why women always marry men so 
 much older than themselves." 
 
 " Oh in that case I have nothing more to 
 say," replied John in very indistinct tones. 
 The perspiration was standing upon his forehead ; 
 the room swam with him and he felt a terrible, 
 prickly sensation all over his body. 
 
 " Mamma, shan't I open the door ? Mr. Short 
 is so very hot," said Nellie looking at him in 
 some astonishment. At that moment John felt 
 as though he could have eaten little Nellie, long 
 legs, ringlets and all, with infinite satisfaction. 
 He rose suddenly to his feet. 
 
 "The fact is it is late I must really be 
 saying good-bye," he stammered.
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 247 
 
 " Must you ? " said Mrs. Goddard, suspecting 
 that something was the matter. "Well, I am 
 very sorry to say good-bye. But you will be 
 coming back soon, will you not ? " 
 
 "Yes I don't know perhaps I shall not 
 come back at all. Good-bye Mrs. Goddard 
 good-bye, Miss Nellie." 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Short," said Mrs. Goddard, 
 looking at him with some anxiety. " You are 
 not ill ? What is the matter ? " 
 
 " Oh dear no, nothing," answered John with 
 an unnatural laugh. "No thank you good 
 bye." 
 
 He managed to get out of the door and rushed 
 down to the road. The cold air steadied his 
 nerves. He felt better. With a sudden revulsion 
 of feeling, he began to utter inward imprecations 
 against his folly, against the house he had just 
 left, against everybody and everything in general, 
 not forgetting poor little Nellie. 
 
 " If ever I cross that threshold again ' he 
 muttered with tragic emphasis. His face was 
 still red, and he swung his stick ferociously as he 
 strode towards the vicarage. Several little boys
 
 248 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 in ragged smock-frocks saw him and thought he 
 had had some beer, even as their own fathers, 
 and made vulgar gestures when his back was 
 turned. 
 
 So poor John packed his portmanteau and left 
 the vicarage early on the following morning. He 
 sent an excuse to Mr. Juxon explaining that the 
 urgency of his work called him back sooner than 
 he had expected, and when the train moved 
 fairly off towards Cambridge he felt that in being 
 spared the ordeal of shaking hands with his rival 
 he had at least escaped some of the bitterness of 
 his fate ; as he rolled along he thought very 
 sadly of all that had happened in that short time 
 which was to have been so gay and which had 
 come to such a miserable end. 
 
 Eeflecting calmly upon his last interview with 
 Mrs. Goddard, he was surprised to find that his 
 memory failed him. He could not recall anything 
 which could satisfactorily account for the terrible 
 disappointment and distress he had felt. She 
 had only said that she was thirty-one years old, 
 precisely as the vicar had stated on the previous 
 evening, and she had advised him not to marry
 
 x.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 249 
 
 for some years to come. But she had laughed, 
 and his feelings had been deeply wounded he 
 could not tell precisely at what point in the 
 conversation, but he was quite certain that she 
 had laughed, and oh ! that terrible Nellie ! It 
 was very bitter, and John felt that the best part 
 of his life was lived out. He went back to his 
 books with a dark and melancholy tenacity of 
 purpose, flavoured by a hope that he might come 
 to some sudden and awful end in the course of 
 the next fortnight, thereby causing untold grief 
 and consternation to the hard-hearted woman he 
 had loved. But before the fortnight had expired 
 he found to his surprise that he was intensely 
 interested in his work, and once or twice he 
 caught himself wondering how Mrs. Goddard 
 would look when he went back to Billingsfield 
 and told her he had come out at the head of the 
 classical Tripos though, of course, he had no 
 intention of going there, nor of ever seeing her
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 MR. JUXON was relieved to hear that John Short 
 had suddenly gone back to Cambridge. He had 
 indeed meant to like him from the first and had 
 behaved towards him with kindness and hospital 
 ity ; but while ready to admire his good qualities 
 and to take a proper amount of interest in his 
 approaching contest for honours, he had found 
 him a troublesome person to deal with and, in 
 his own words, a nuisance. Matters had come 
 to a climax after the tea at the cottage, when the 
 squire had so completely vanquished him, but 
 since that evening the two had not met. 
 
 The opposition which John brought to bear 
 against Mr. Juxon was not, however, without its 
 effect. The squire was in that state of mind in 
 which a little additional pressure sufficed to sway 
 his resolutions. It has been seen that he had
 
 CHAP, xi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 251 
 
 for some time regarded Mrs. Goddard's society as 
 an indispensable element in his daily life ; he 
 had been so much astonished at discovering this 
 that he had absented himself for several days and 
 had finally returned ready to submit to his fate, 
 in so far as his fate required that he should see 
 Mrs. Goddard every day. Shortly afterwards 
 John had appeared and by his persistent attempts 
 to monopolise Mrs. Goddard's conversation had 
 again caused an interruption in the squire's 
 habits, which the latter had resented with 
 characteristic firmness. The very fact of having 
 resisted John had strengthened and given a new 
 tone to Mr. Juxon's feelings towards his tenant. 
 He began to watch the hands of the clock with 
 more impatience than formerly when, after break 
 fast, he sat reading the papers before the library 
 fire, waiting for the hour when he was accustomed 
 to go down to the cottage. His interest in the 
 papers decreased as his interest in the time of 
 day grew stronger, and for the first time in his 
 life he found to his great surprise that after 
 reading the news of the day with the greatest 
 care, he was often quite unable to remember a
 
 252 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 word of what he had read. Then, at first, he 
 would be angry with himself and would impose 
 upon himself the task of reading the paper again 
 before going to the cottage. But very soon he 
 found that he had to read it twice almost every 
 day, and this seemed such an unreasonable waste 
 of time that he gave it up, and fell into very 
 unsystematic habits. 
 
 For some days, as though by mutual consent, 
 neither Mrs. Goddard nor the squire spoke of 
 John Short. The squire was glad he was gone 
 and hoped that he would not come back, but 
 was. too kind-hearted to say so; Mrs. Goddard 
 instinctively understood Mr. Juxon's state of 
 mind and did not disturb his equanimity by 
 broaching an unpleasant subject. Several days 
 passed by after John had gone and he would 
 certainly not have been flattered had he known 
 that during that time two, out of the four persons 
 he had met so often in his short holiday, had 
 never so much as mentioned him. 
 
 One afternoon in January the squire found 
 himself alone with Mrs. Goddard. It was a 
 great exception, and she herself doubted whether
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 253 
 
 she were wise to receive him when she had not 
 Nellie with her. Nellie had gone to the vicarage 
 to help Mrs. Ambrose with some work she had 
 in hand for her poor people, but Mrs. Goddard 
 had a slight headache and had stayed at home in 
 consequence. The weather was very bad ; heavy 
 clouds were driving overhead and the north-east 
 wind howled and screamed through the leafless 
 oaks of the park, driving a fine sleet against the 
 cottage windows and making the dead creepers 
 rattle against the wall. It was a bitter January 
 day, and Mrs. Goddard felt how pleasant a thing- 
 it was to stay at home with a book beside her 
 blazing fire. She was all alone, and Nellie would 
 not be back before four o'clock. Suddenly a 
 well-known step echoed upon the slate flags 
 without and there was a ring at the bell. Mrs. 
 Goddard had hardly time to think what she 
 should do, as she laid her book upon her knee 
 and looked nervously over her shoulder towards 
 the door. It was awkward, she thought, but it 
 could not be helped. In such weather it seemed 
 absurd to send the squire away because her little 
 girl was not with her. He had come all the way
 
 254 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 down from the Hall to spend this dreary afternoon 
 at the cottage she could not send him away. 
 There were sounds in the passage as of some one 
 depositing a waterproof coat and an umbrella, the 
 door opened and Mr. Juxon appeared upon the 
 threshold. 
 
 " Come in," said Mrs. Goddard, banishing her 
 scruples as soon as she saw him. " I am all 
 alone," she added rather apologetically. The 
 squire, who was a simple man in many ways, 
 understood the remark and felt slightly em 
 barrassed. 
 
 " Is Miss Nellie out ? " he asked, coming 
 forward and taking Mrs. Goddard's hand. He 
 had not yet reached the point of calling the child 
 plain " Nellie ; " he would have thought it an 
 undue familiarity. 
 
 " She is gone to the vicarage," answered Mrs. 
 Goddard. " What a dreadful day ! You must 
 be nearly frozen. Will you have a cup of tea ? " 
 
 " No thanks no, you are very kind. I have 
 had a good walk ; I am not cold never am. As 
 you say, in such weather I could not resist the 
 temptation to come in. This is a capital day to
 
 xi.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 255 
 
 test that India-rubber tubing we have put round 
 your windows. Excuse me I will just look 
 and see if the air comes through." 
 
 Mr. Juxon carefully examined the windows of 
 the sitting-room and then returned to his seat. 
 
 " It is quite air-tight, I think," he said with 
 some satisfaction, as he smoothed his hair with 
 his hand. 
 
 " Oh, quite," said Mrs. Goddard. " It was so 
 very good of you." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," returned the squire cheerily. 
 " A landlord's chief pre-occupation ought to be 
 the comfort of his tenants and his next thought 
 should be to keep his houses in repair. I never 
 owned any houses before, so I have determined 
 to start with good principles." 
 
 " I am sure you succeed. You walked down ? " 
 
 " Always walk, in any weather. It is much 
 less trouble and much cheaper. Besides, I like it." 
 
 " The best of all reasons. Then you will not 
 have any tea ? I almost wish you would, because 
 I want some myself." 
 
 " Oh of course in that case I shall be 
 delighted. Shall I ring ? "
 
 256 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 He rang and Martha brought the tea. Some 
 time was consumed in the preparations which 
 Mr. Juxon watched with interest as though he 
 had never seen tea made before. Everything 
 that Mrs. Goddard did interested him. 
 
 " I do not know why it is," she said at last, 
 " but weather like this is delightful when one is 
 safe at home. I suppose it is the contrast " 
 
 " Yes indeed. It is like the watch below in 
 dirty weather." 
 
 " Excuse me I don't quite understand " 
 
 " At sea," explained the squire. " There is no 
 luxury like being below when the decks are wet 
 and there is heavy weather about." 
 
 "I should think so," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 " Have you been at sea much, Mr. Juxon ? " 
 
 " Thirty years," returned the squire laconically. 
 Mrs. Goddard looked at him in astonishment. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you have been a 
 sailor all your life ? " 
 
 " Does that surprise you ? I have been a 
 sailor since I was twelve years old. But I got 
 very tired of it. It is a hard life." 
 
 " Were you in the navy, Mr. Juxon ? " asked
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 257 
 
 Mrs. Goddard eagerly, feeling that she was at 
 last upon the track of some information in regard 
 to his past life. 
 
 "Yes I was in the navy," answered the 
 squire, slowly. " And then I was at college, and 
 then in the navy again. At last I entered the 
 merchant service and commanded my own ships 
 for nearly twenty years." 
 
 " How very extraordinary ! Why then, you 
 must have been everywhere." 
 
 " Very nearly. But I would much rather be 
 in Billingsfield." 
 
 "You never told me," said Mrs. Goddard 
 almost reproachfully. " What a change it must 
 have been for you, from the sea to the life of a 
 country gentleman ! " 
 
 " It is what I always wanted." 
 
 " But you do not seem at all like the sea 
 captains one hears about " 
 
 "Well, perhaps not," replied the squire thought 
 fully. " There are a great many different classes 
 of sea captains. I always had a taste for books. 
 A man can read a great deal on a long voyage. 
 I have sometimes been at sea for more than two 
 
 VOL. i. s
 
 258 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 years at a time. Besides, I had a fairly good 
 education and well, I suppose it was because I 
 was a gentleman to begin with and was more 
 than ten years in the Eoyal Navy. All that 
 makes a great difference. Have you ever made 
 a long voyage, Mrs. Goddard ? " 
 
 " I have crossed the channel," said she. " But 
 I wish you would tell me something more about 
 your life." 
 
 " Oh no it is very dull, all that. You always 
 make me talk about myself," said the squire in a 
 tone of protestation. 
 
 " It is very interesting." 
 
 " But could not we vary the conversation by 
 talking about you a little," suggested Mr. Juxon. 
 
 " Oh no ! Please " exclaimed Mrs. Goddard 
 rather nervously. She grew pale and busied 
 herself again with the tea. "Do tell me more 
 about your voyages. I suppose that was the way 
 you collected so many beautiful things, was it 
 not ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," answered the squire, 
 looking at her curiously. " In fact of course it 
 was. I was a great deal in China and South
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 259 
 
 America and India, and in all sorts of places 
 where one picks up things." 
 
 "And in Turkey, too, where you got Stam- 
 boul?" 
 
 " Yes. He was so wet that I left him outside 
 to-day. Did not want to spoil your carpet." 
 
 The squire had a way of 'turning the subject 
 when he seemed upon the point of talking about 
 himself which was very annoying to Mrs. God- 
 dard. But she had not entirely recovered her 
 equanimity and for the moment had lost control 
 of the squire. Besides she had a headache 
 that day. 
 
 " Stamboul does not get the benefit of the 
 contrast we were talking about at first," she 
 remarked, in order to say something. 
 
 " I could not possibly bring him in," returned 
 the squire looking at her again. " Excuse me, 
 Mrs. Goddard I don't mean to be inquisitive 
 you know, but I always want to be of any use." 
 
 She looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 " I mean, to be frank, I am afraid that some 
 thing is giving you trouble. I have noticed 
 it for some time. You know, if I can be of any
 
 260 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 use, if I can help you in any way you have only 
 to say the word." 
 
 Again she looked at him. She did not know 
 why it was so, but the genuinely friendly tone 
 in which he made the offer touched her. She 
 was surprised, however; she could not under 
 stand why he should think she was in trouble, 
 and indeed she was in no greater distress than 
 she had suffered during the greater part of the 
 last three years. 
 
 "You are very kind, Mr. Juxon. But there 
 is nothing the matter I have a headache." 
 
 " Oh," said the squire, " I beg your pardon." 
 He looked away and seemed embarrassed. 
 
 " You have done too much already," said Mrs. 
 Goddard, fearing that she had not sufficiently 
 acknowledged his offer of assistance. 
 
 " I cannot do too much. That is impossible," 
 he said in a tone of conviction. " I have very 
 few friends, Mrs. Goddard, and I like to think 
 that you are one of the best of them." 
 
 " I am sure I dont know what to say, Mr. 
 Juxon," she answered, somewhat startled by the 
 directness of his speech. I am sure you have
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 261 
 
 always "been most kind, and I hope you do not 
 think me ungrateful." 
 
 "I? You? No dear me, please never 
 mention it ! The fact is, Mrs. Goddard " he 
 stopped and smoothed her hair. " What par 
 ticularly disagreeable weather," he remarked 
 irrelevantly, looking out of the window at the 
 driving sleet. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard looked down and slowly stirred 
 her tea. She was pale and her hand trembled a 
 little, but no one could have guessed that she 
 was suffering any strong emotion. Mr. Juxon 
 looked towards the window, and the gray light 
 of the winter's afternoon fell coldly upon his 
 square sunburned face and carefully trimmed 
 beard. He was silent for a moment, and then, 
 still looking away from his companion, he con 
 tinued in a less hesitating tone. 
 
 " The fact is, I have been thinking a great 
 deal of late," he said, " and it has struck me that 
 your friendship has grown to be the most im 
 portant thing in my life." He paused again and 
 turned his hat round upon his knee. Still Mrs. 
 Goddard said nothing, and as he did not look at
 
 262 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 her he did not perceive that she was unnaturally 
 agitated. 
 
 " I have told you what my life has been," he 
 continued presently. I have been a sailor. I 
 made a little money. I finally inherited my 
 uncle's estate here. I will tell you anything 
 else you would like to ask I don't think I ever 
 did anything to conceal. I am forty-two years 
 old. I have about five thousand a year and I 
 am naturally economical. I would like to make 
 you a proposal a very respectful proposal, Mrs. 
 Goddard " 
 
 Mrs. Goddard uttered a faint exclamation of 
 surprise and fell back in her chair, staring with 
 wide eyes at the squire, her cheeks very pale 
 and her lips white. He was too much absorbed 
 in what he was saying to notice the short 
 smothered ejaculation, and he was too much 
 embarrassed to look at her. 
 
 " Mrs. Goddard," he said, his voice trembling 
 slightly, " will you marry me ? " 
 
 He was not prepared for the result of his 
 speech. He had pondered it for some time and 
 had come to the conclusion that it was best
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 263 
 
 to say as little as possible and to say it plainly. 
 It was an honourable proposal of marriage from 
 a man in middle life to a lady he had known 
 and respected for many months ; there was very 
 little romance about it ; he did not intend that 
 there should be any. As soon as he had spoken 
 he turned his head and looked to her for his 
 answer. Mrs. Goddard had clasped her small 
 white hands over her face and had turned her 
 head away from him against the cushion of the 
 high backed chair. The squire felt very uncom 
 fortable in the dead silence, broken only by the 
 sleet driving against the window panes with a 
 hissing, rattling sound, and by the singing of the 
 tea-kettle. For some seconds, which to Juxon 
 seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Goddard did not 
 move. At last she suddenly dropped her hands 
 and looked into the squire's eyes. He was 
 startled by the ashen hue of her face. 
 
 " It is impossible," she said, shortly, in broken 
 tones. But the squire was prepared for some 
 difficulties. 
 
 " I do not see the impossibility," he said 
 quite calmly. " Of course, I would not press
 
 264 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 you for an answer, my dear Mrs. Goddard. I 
 am afraid I have been very abrupt, but I will 
 go away, I will leave you to consider " 
 
 " Oh no, no ! " cried the poor lady in great 
 distress. " It is quite impossible I assure you 
 it is quite, quite impossible ! " 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Juxon, who saw that 
 she was deeply moved, but was loath to abandon 
 the field without a further struggle. " I am 
 not a very young man, it is true but I am not 
 a very old one either. You, my dear Mrs. 
 
 Goddard, have been a widow for some years 
 
 
 " I ? " cried Mrs. Goddard with a wild hysteri 
 cal laugh. " I ! Oh God of mercy ! I wish 
 I were." Again she buried her face in the 
 cushion. Her bosom heaved violently. 
 
 The squire started as though he had been 
 struck, and the blood rushed to his brown face 
 so that the great veins on his temples stood out 
 like cords. 
 
 "Did I did I understand you to say that 
 your husband is living ? " he asked in a strong, 
 loud voice, ringing with emotion.
 
 xr.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 265 
 
 Mrs. Goddard moved a little and seemed to 
 make a great effort to speak. 
 
 " Yes," she said very faintly. The squire rose 
 to his feet and paced the room in terrible agitation. 
 
 " But where ? " he asked, stopping suddenly 
 in his walk. " Mrs. Goddard, I think I have a 
 right to ask where he is why you have never 
 spoken of him ? " 
 
 By a supreme effort the unfortunate lady 
 raised herself from her seat supporting herself 
 upon one hand, and faced the squire with wildly 
 staring eyes. 
 
 " You have a right to know," she said. " He 
 is in Portland sentenced to twelve years hard 
 labour for forgery." 
 
 She said it all, to the end, and then fell back 
 into her chair. But she did not hide her face 
 this time. The fair pathetic features were quite 
 motionless and white, without any expression, 
 and her hands lay with the palms turned upwards 
 on her knees. 
 
 Charles James Juxon was a man. of few words, 
 not given to using strong language on any occa 
 sion. But he was completely overcome by the
 
 266 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 horror of the thing. He turned icy cold as 
 he stood still, rooted to the spot, and he uttered 
 aloud one strong and solemn ejaculation, more 
 an invocation than an oath, as though he called 
 on heaven to witness the misery he looked upon. 
 He gazed at the colourless, inanimate face of the 
 poor lady and walked slowly to the window. 
 There he stood for fully five minutes, motionless, 
 staring out at the driving sleet. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard had fainted away, but it did 
 not occur to the squire to attempt to recall her 
 to her senses. It seemed merciful that she 
 should have lost consciousness even for a moment. 
 Indeed she needed no help, for in a few minutes 
 she slowly opened her eyes and closed them, 
 then opened them again and saw Mr. Juxon's 
 figure darkening the window against the gray 
 light. 
 
 "Mr. Juxon," she said faintly, "come here, 
 please." 
 
 The squire started and turned. Then he came 
 and sat down beside her. His face was very 
 stern and grave, and he said nothing. 
 
 " Mr. Juxon," said Mrs. Goddard, speaking in
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 267 
 
 a low voice, but with far more calm than he 
 could have expected, "you have a right to know 
 my story. You have been very kind to me, 
 you have made an honourable offer to me, you 
 have said you were my friend. I ought to have 
 told you before. If I had had any idea of 
 what was passing in your mind, I would have 
 told you, cost what it might." 
 
 Mr. Juxon gravely bowed his head. She was 
 quite right, he thought. He had a right to 
 know all. With all his kind-heartedness he was 
 a stern man by nature. 
 
 "Yes," continued Mrs. Goddard, "you have 
 every right to know. My husband," her voice 
 trembled, "was the head of an important firm 
 in London. I was the only child of his partner. 
 Not long after my father's death I married Mr. 
 Goddard. He was an extravagant man of brilliant 
 tastes. I had a small fortune of my own which 
 my father had settled upon me, independent 
 of his share in the firm. My guardians, of whom 
 my husband was one, advised me to leave my 
 father's fortune in the concern. When I came 
 of age, a year after my marriage, I agreed to do
 
 268 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 it. My husband I never knew it till long 
 afterwards was very rash. He speculated on 
 the Exchange and tampered with the deposits 
 placed in his hands. "We lived in great luxury. 
 I knew nothing of his affairs. Three years ago, 
 after we had been married nearly ten years, the 
 firm failed. It was a fraudulent bankruptcy. 
 My husband fled but was captured and brought 
 back. It appeared that at the last moment, in 
 the hope of retrieving his position and saving the 
 firm, he had forged the name of one of his own 
 clients for a large amount. We had a country 
 place at Putney which he had given to me. I 
 sold it, with all my jewels and most of my posses 
 sions. I would have given up everything I 
 possessed, but I thought of Nellie poor little 
 Nellie. The lawyers assured me that I ought to 
 keep my own little fortune. I kept about five 
 hundred a year. It is more than I need, but it 
 seemed very little then. The lawyer who con 
 ducted the defence, such as it was, advised me 
 to go abroad, but I would not. Then he spoke 
 of Mr. Ambrose, who had educated his son, and 
 gave me a note to him. I came here and I told
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 269 
 
 Mr. Ambrose my whole story. I only wanted 
 to be alone I thought I did right " 
 
 Her courage had sustained her so far, but it 
 had been a great effort. Her voice trembled and 
 broke and at last the tears began to glisten in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Does Nellie know ? " asked the squire, who 
 had sat very gravely by her side, but who was 
 in reality deeply moved. 
 
 "No she thinks he that he is dead," 
 faltered Mrs. Goddard. Then she fairly burst 
 into tears and sobbed passionately, covering her 
 face and rocking herself from side to side. 
 
 " My dear friend," said Mr. Juxon very kindly 
 and laying one hand upon her arm, "pray try 
 and calm yourself. Forgive me I beg you 
 to forgive me for having caused you so much 
 pain " 
 
 " Do you still call me a friend ? " sobbed the 
 poor lady. 
 
 " Indeed I do," quoth the squire stoutly. And 
 he meant it. Mrs. Goddard dropped her hands 
 and stared into the fire through her falling tears. 
 " I think you behaved very honourably very
 
 270 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 generously," continued Mr. Juxon, who did not 
 know precisely how to console her, and indeed 
 stood much in need of consolation himself. 
 " Perhaps I had better leave you you are very 
 much agitated you must need rest would 
 you not rather that I should go ? " 
 
 "Yes it is better," said she, still staring at 
 the fire. "You know all about me now," she 
 added in a tone of pathetic regret. The squire 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 " I hope," he said with some hesitation, " that 
 this this very unfortunate day will not prevent 
 our being friends better friends than before ? " 
 
 Mrs. Goddard looked up gratefully through 
 her tears. 
 
 " How good you are ! " she said softly. 
 
 " Not at all I am not at all good I only 
 want to be your friend. Good-bye G God 
 bless you ! " He seized her hand and squeezed 
 it and then hurried out of the room. A moment 
 later he was crossing the road with Stamboul, 
 who was very tired of waiting, bounding before 
 him. 
 
 The squire was not a romantic character.
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 271 
 
 He was a strong plain man, who had seen the 
 world and was used to most forms of danger 
 and to a good many forms of suffering. He 
 was kind-hearted and generous, capable of feeling 
 sincere sympathy for others, and under certain 
 circumstances of being deeply wounded himself. 
 He had indeed a far more refined nature than 
 he himself suspected and on this memorable day 
 he had experienced more emotions than he 
 remembered to have felt in the course of many 
 years. 
 
 After long debate and after much searching- 
 inquiry into his own motives he had determined 
 to offer himself to Mrs. Goddard, and he had 
 accordingly done so in his own straightforward 
 manner. It had seemed a very important action 
 in his life, a very solemn step, but he was not 
 prepared for the acute sense of disappointment 
 which he felt when Mrs. Goddard first said it 
 was impossible for her to accept him, still less 
 had he anticipated the extraordinary story which 
 she had told him, in explanation of her refusal. 
 His ideas were completely upset. That Mrs. 
 Goddard was not a widow after all, was almost
 
 272 A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. [CHAP. 
 
 as astounding as that she should prove to be the 
 wife of a felon. But Mr. Juxon was no less 
 persuaded that she herself was a perfectly good 
 and noble woman, than he had been before. 
 He felt that he would like to cut the throat of 
 the villain himself; but he resolved that he 
 would more than ever try to be a good friend to 
 Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 He walked slowly through the storm towards 
 his house, his broad figure facing the wind and 
 sleet with as much ease as a steamer forging 
 against a head sea. He was perfectly indifferent 
 to the weather ; but Stamboul slunk along at his 
 heels, shielding himself from the driving wet 
 snow behind his master's sturdy legs. The 
 squire was very much disturbed. The sight of 
 his own solemn butler affected him strangely. 
 He stared about the library in a vacant way, 
 as though he had never seen the place before. 
 The realisation of his own calm and luxurious 
 life seemed unnatural, and his thoughts went 
 back to the poor weeping woman he had just 
 left. She, too, had enjoyed all this, and more 
 also. She had probably been richer than he.
 
 XL] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 273 
 
 And now she was living on five hundred a year 
 in one of his own cottages, hiding her shame in 
 desolate Billingsfield, the shame of her husband, 
 the forger. 
 
 It was such a hopeless position, the squire 
 thought. No one could help her, no one could 
 do anything for her. For many weeks, revolving 
 the situation in his mind, he had amused himself 
 by thinking how she would look when she should 
 be mistress of the Hall, and wondering whether 
 little Nellie would call him " father," or merely 
 " Mr. Juxon." And now, she turned out to be 
 the wife of a forger, sentenced to hard labour in 
 a convict prison, for twelve years. For twelve 
 years nearly three must have elapsed already. 
 In nine years more Goddard would be out again. 
 Would he claim his wife ? Of course he would 
 come back to her for support. And poor little 
 Nellie thought he was dead ! It would be a 
 terrible day when she had to be told. If he 
 only would die in prison ! but men sentenced 
 to hard labour rarely die. They are well cared 
 for. It is a healthy life. He would certainly 
 live through it and come back to claim his wife. 
 VOL. i. T
 
 274 A TALE OF A LONELY PAE1SH. [CHAP. xi. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Goddard ! her troubles were not ended 
 yet, though the State had provided her with a 
 respite of twelve years. 
 
 The squire sat long in his easy-chair in the 
 great library, and forgot to dress for dinner he 
 always dressed, even though he was quite alone. 
 But the solemn face of his butler betrayed 
 neither emotion nor surprise when the master 
 of the Hall walked into the dining-room in 
 his knickerbockers.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHEN Nellie came home from the vicarage she 
 found her mother looking very ill. There were 
 dark rings under her eyes, and her features were 
 drawn and tear-stained, while the beautiful waves 
 of her brown hair had lost their habitual neatness 
 and symmetry. The child noticed these things, 
 with a child's quickness, but explained them 
 on the ground that her mother's headache was 
 probably much worse. Mrs. Goddard accepted 
 the explanation and on the following day Nellie 
 had forgotten all about it; but her mother re 
 membered it long, and it was many days before 
 she recovered entirely from the shock of her 
 interview with the squire. The latter did not 
 come to see her as usual, but on the morning 
 after his visit he sent her down a package of 
 books and some orchids from his hothouses.
 
 276 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 He thought it best to leave her to herself for a 
 little while ; the very sight of him, he argued, 
 would be painful to her, and any meeting with 
 her would be painful to himself. He did not go 
 out of the house, but spent the whole day in 
 his library among his books, not indeed reading, 
 but pretending to himself that he was very busy. 
 Being a strong and sensible man he did not 
 waste time in bemoaning his sorrows, but he 
 thought about them long and earnestly. The 
 more he thought, the more it appeared to him 
 that Mrs. Goddard was the person who deserved 
 pity rather than he himself. His mind dwelt 
 on the terrors of her position in case her husband 
 should return and claim his wife and daughter 
 when the twelve years were over, and he thought 
 with- horror of Nellie's humiliation, if at the age 
 of twenty she should discover that her father 
 during all these years had not been honourably 
 dead and buried, but had been suffering the 
 punishment of a felon in Portland. That the 
 only attempt he had ever made to enter the 
 matrimonial state should have been so singularly 
 unfortunate was indeed a matter which caused
 
 xii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAKISH. 277 
 
 him sincere sorrow; he had thought too often 
 of being married to Mary Goddard to be able 
 to give up the idea without a sigh. But it is 
 due to him to say that in the midst of his own 
 disappointment he thought much more of her 
 sorrows than of his own, a state of mind most 
 probably due to his temperament. 
 
 He saw also how impossible it was to console 
 Mrs. Goddard or even to alleviate the distress 
 of mind which she must constantly feel. Her 
 destiny was accomplished in part, and the re 
 mainder seemed absolutely inevitable. No one 
 could prevent her husband from leaving his 
 prison when his crime was expiated ; and no one 
 could then prevent him from joining his wife 
 and ending his life under her roof. At least so 
 it seemed. Endless complications would follow. 
 Mrs. Goddard would certainly have to leave 
 Billingsfield no one could expect the Ambroses 
 or the squire himself to associate with a convict 
 forger. Mr. Juxon vaguely wondered whether 
 he should live another nine years to see the end 
 of all this, and he inwardly determined to go to 
 sea again rather than to witness such misery.
 
 278 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 He could not see, no one could see how things 
 could possibly turn out in any other way. It 
 would have been some comfort to have gone to 
 the vicar, and to have discussed with him the 
 possibilities of Mrs. Goddard's future. The vicar 
 was a man after his own heart, honest, reliable, 
 charitable and brave; but Mr. Juxon thought 
 that it would not be quite loyal towards Mrs. 
 Goddard if he let any one else know that he 
 was acquainted with her story. 
 
 For two days he stayed at home and then he 
 went to see her. To his surprise she received 
 him very quietly, much as she usually did, 
 without betraying any emotion; whereupon he 
 wished that he had not allowed two days to 
 pass without making his usual visit. Mrs. 
 Goddard almost wished so too. She had been 
 so much accustomed to regard the squire as a 
 friend, and she had so long been used to the 
 thought that Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose knew of her 
 past trouble, that the fact of the squire becoming 
 acquainted with her history seemed to her less 
 important, now that it was accomplished, than 
 it seemed to the squire himself. She had long
 
 xii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 279 
 
 thought of telling him all; she had seriously 
 contemplated doing so when he first came to 
 Billingsfield, and now at last the thing was 
 done. She was glad of it. She was no longer 
 in a false position ; he could never again think 
 of marrying her ; they could henceforth meet as 
 friends, since he was so magnanimous as to allow 
 their friendship to exist. Her pride had suffered 
 so terribly in the beginning that it was past 
 suffering now. She felt that she was in the 
 position of a suppliant asking only for a quiet 
 resting-place for herself and her daughter, and 
 she was grateful to the people who gave her what 
 she asked, feeling that she had fallen among good 
 Samaritans, whereas in merry England it would 
 have been easy for her to have fallen among 
 priests and Pharisees. 
 
 So it came about that in a few days her 
 relations with Mr. Juxon were re-established 
 upon a new basis, but more firmly and satis 
 factorily than before, seeing that now there was 
 no possibility of mistake. And for a long time 
 it seemed as though matters would go on as 
 before. Neither Mrs. Goddard nor the squire
 
 280 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAV. 
 
 ever referred to the interview on that memorable 
 stormy afternoon, and so far as the squire could 
 judge his life and hers might go on with perfect 
 tranquillity until it should please the powers 
 that be and the governor of Portland to set 
 Mr. Walter Goddard at liberty. Heaven only 
 knew what would happen then, but it was pro 
 vided that there should be plenty of time to 
 prepare for anything which might ensue. The 
 point upon which Mrs. Goddard had not spoken 
 plainly was that which concerned her probable 
 treatment of her husband after his liberation. 
 She had passed that question over in silence. 
 She had probably never dared to decide. Most 
 probably she would at the last minute seek some 
 safer retreat than Billingsfield and make up her 
 mind to hide for the rest of her life. But Mr. 
 Juxon had heard of women who had carried 
 charity as far as to receive back their husbands 
 under even worse circumstances; women were 
 soft-hearted creatures, reflected the squire, and 
 capable of anything. 
 
 Few people in such a situation could have 
 acted consistently as though nothing had hap-
 
 xir.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 281 
 
 pened. But Mr. Juxon's extremely reticent 
 nature found it easy to bury other people's 
 important secrets at least as deeply as he buried 
 the harmless details of his own honest life. 
 Not a hair of his smooth head was ruffled, not 
 a line of his square manly face was disturbed. 
 He looked and acted precisely as he had looked 
 and acted before. His butler remarked that 
 he ate a little less heartily of late, and that on 
 one evening, as has been recorded, the squire 
 forgot to dress for dinner. But the butler in 
 his day had seen greater eccentricities than 
 these ; he had the greatest admiration for Mr. 
 Juxon and was not inclined to cavil at small 
 things. A real gentleman, of the good sort, 
 who dressed for dinner when he was alone, who 
 never took too much wine, who never bullied 
 the servants nor quarrelled unjustly with the 
 bills, was, as the butler expressed it, "not to 
 be sneezed at, on no account." The place was 
 a little dull, but the functionary was well stricken 
 in years and did not like hard work. Mr. Juxon 
 seemed to be conscious that as he never had 
 visitors at the Hall and as there were conse-
 
 282 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 quently no " tips/' his staff was entitled to an 
 occasional fee, which he presented always with 
 great regularity, and which had the desired 
 effect. He was a generous man as well as 
 a just. 
 
 The traffic in roses and orchids and new books 
 continued as usual between the Hall and the 
 cottage, and for many weeks nothing extraordinary 
 occurred. Mrs. Ambrose and Mrs. Goddard met 
 frequently, and the only difference to be observed 
 in the manner of the former was that she men 
 tioned John Short very often, and every time 
 she mentioned him she fixed her gray eyes 
 sternly upon Mrs. Goddard, who however did 
 not notice the scrutiny, or, if she did, was not 
 in the least disturbed by it. For a long time 
 Mrs. Ambrose entertained a feeble intention of 
 addressing Mrs. Goddard directly upon the subject 
 of John's affections, but the longer she put off 
 doing so, the harder it seemed to do it. Mrs. 
 Ambrose had great faith in the sternness of her 
 eye under certain circumstances, and seeing that 
 Mrs. Goddard never winced, she gradually fell 
 into the belief that John had been the more
 
 xii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 283 
 
 to blame, if there was any blame in the matter. 
 She had indeed succeeded in the first instance, 
 by methods of her own which have been hereto 
 fore detailed, in extracting a sort of reluctant 
 admission from her husband ; but since that day 
 he had proved obdurate to all entreaty. Once 
 only he had said with considerable impatience 
 that John was a very silly boy, and was much 
 better engaged with his books at college than 
 in running after Mrs. Goddard, That was all, 
 and gradually as the regular and methodical 
 life at the vicarage effaced the memory of the 
 doings at Christmas time, the good Mrs. Ambrose 
 forgot that anything unpleasant had ever occurred. 
 There was no disturbance of the existing relations 
 and everything went on as before for many weeks. 
 The February thaw set in early and the March 
 winds began to blow before February was fairly 
 out. Nat Barker the octogenarian cripple, who 
 had the reputation of being a weather prophet, 
 was understood to have said that the spring was 
 " loike to be forrard t'year," and the minds of the 
 younger inhabitants were considerably relieved. 
 Not that Nat Barker's prophecies were usually
 
 284 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 fulfilled; no one ever remembered them at the 
 time when they might have been verified. But 
 they were always made at the season when people 
 had nothing to do but to talk about them. 
 Mr. Thomas Eeid, the conservative sexton, turned 
 up his nose at them, and said he " wished Nat 
 Barker had to dig a parish depth grave in three 
 hours without a drop of nothin' to wet his pipe 
 with, and if he didden fine that groun' oncommon 
 owdacious Thomas Eeid he didden know. They 
 didden know nothin', sir, them parish cripples." 
 Wherewith the worthy sexton took his way with 
 a battered tin can to get his " fours " at the 
 Feathers. He did not patronise the Duke's 
 Head. It was too new-fangled for him, and he 
 suspected his arch enemy, Mr. Abraham Boosey, 
 of putting a rat or two into the old beer to 
 make it "draw," which accounted for its being 
 so " hard." But Mr. Abraham Boosey was the 
 undertaker, and he, Thomas Eeid, was the sexton, 
 and it did not do to express these views too 
 loudly, lest perchance Mr. Boosey should, just 
 in his play, construct a coffin or two just too 
 big for the regulation grave, and thereby leave
 
 xn.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 285 
 
 Mr. Eeid in the lurch. For the undertaker 
 and the gravedigger are as necessary to each 
 other, as Mr. Eeid maintained, as a pair of 
 blackbirds in a hedge. 
 
 But the spring was " forrard t'year " and the 
 weather was consequently even more detestable 
 than usual at that season. The roads were heavy. 
 The rain seemed never weary of pouring down 
 and the wind never tired of blowing. The wet 
 and leafless creepers beat against the walls of the 
 cottage, and the chimneys smoked both there and 
 at the vicarage. The rooms were pervaded with 
 a disagreeable smell of damp coal smoke, and the 
 fires struggled desperately to burn against the 
 overwhelming odds of rain and wind which came 
 down the chimneys. Mrs. Goddard never remem 
 bered to have been so uncomfortable during the 
 two previous winters she had spent in Billingsfield, 
 and even Nellie grew impatient and petulant. 
 The only bright spot in those long days seemed 
 to be made by the regular visits of Mr. Juxon, by 
 the equally regular bi-weekly appearance of the 
 Ambroses when they came to tea, and by the 
 little dinners at the vicarage. The weather had
 
 286 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 grown so wet and the roads so bad that on these 
 latter occasions the vicar sent his dogcart with 
 Eeynolds and the old mare, Strawberry, to fetch 
 his two guests. Even Mr. Juxon, who always 
 walked when he could, had got into the habit 
 of driving down to the cottage in a strange-looking 
 gig which he had imported from America, and 
 which, among all the many possessions of the 
 squire, alone attracted the unfavourable comment 
 of his butler. He would have preferred to see 
 a good English dogcart, high in the seat and 
 wheels, at the door of the Hall, instead of that 
 outlandish vehicle; but Joseph Euggles, the 
 groom, explained to him that it was easier to 
 clean than a dogcart, and that when it rained 
 he sat inside with the squire. 
 
 On a certain evening in February, towards the 
 end of the month, Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose and 
 Mr. Juxon came to have tea with Mrs. Goddard. 
 Mr. Juxon had at first not been regularly invited 
 to these entertainments. They were perhaps 
 not thought worthy of his grandeur ; at all events 
 both the vicar's wife and Mrs. Goddard had asked 
 him very rarely. But as time went on and Mr.
 
 xii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. 287 
 
 Juxon's character developed under the eyes of the 
 little Billingsfield society, it had become apparent 
 to every one that he was a very simple man, 
 making no pretensions whatever to any superiority 
 on account of his station. They grew more and 
 more fond of Mm, and ended by asking him to 
 their small sociable evenings. On these occasions 
 it generally occurred that the squire and the 
 vicar fell into conversation about classical and 
 literary subjects while the two ladies talked of 
 the little incidents of Billingsfield life, of Tom 
 Judd's wife and baby, of Joe Staines, the choir 
 boy, who was losing his voice, and of similar 
 topics of interest in the very small world in 
 which they lived. 
 
 The present evening had not been at all a 
 remarkable one so far as the talk was concerned. 
 The drenching rain, the tendency of the fire to 
 smoke, the general wetness and condensed deprav 
 ity of the atmosphere had affected the spirits of 
 the little party. They were not gay, and they 
 broke up early. It was not nine o'clock when 
 all had gone, and Mrs. Goddard and little Eleanor 
 were left alone by the side of their drawing-room
 
 288 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 fire. The child sat upon a footstool and leaned 
 her head against her mother's knee. Mrs. Goddard 
 herself was thoughtful and sad, without precisely 
 knowing why. She generally looked forward with 
 pleasure to meeting the Ambroses, but this even 
 ing she had been rather disappointed. The 
 conversation had dragged, and the excellent Mrs. 
 Ambrose had been more than usually prosy. 
 Nellie had complained of a headache and leaned 
 wearily against her mother's knee. 
 
 " Tell me a story, mamma won't you ? Like 
 the ones you used to tell me when I was quite a 
 little girl." 
 
 " Dear child," said her mother, who was not 
 thinking of story-telling, " I am afraid I have 
 forgotten all the ones I ever knew. Besides, 
 darling, it is time for you to go to bed." 
 
 " I don't want to go to bed, mamma. It is 
 such a horrid night. The wind keeps me awake." 
 
 " You will not sleep at all if I tell you a story," 
 objected Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Mr. Juxon tells me such nice stories," said 
 Nellie, reproachfully. 
 
 " What are they about, dear ? "
 
 xii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 289 
 
 " Oh, his stories are beautiful. They are always 
 about ships and the blue sea and wonderful desert 
 islands where he has been. What a wonderful 
 man he is, mamma, is not he ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, he talks very interestingly." Mrs. 
 Goddard stroked Nellie's brown curls and looked 
 into the fire. 
 
 " He told me that once, ever so many years 
 ago he must be very old, mamma " Nellie 
 paused and looked up inquiringly. 
 
 "Well, darling not so very, very old. I 
 think he is over forty." 
 
 " Over forty four times eleven he is not 
 four times as old as I am. Almost, though. All 
 his stories are ever so many years ago. He said 
 he was sailing away ever so far, in a perfectly 
 new ship, and the name of the ship was let me 
 see, what was the name ? I think it was " 
 
 Mrs. Goddard started suddenly and laid her 
 hand on the child's shoulder. 
 
 "Did you hear anything, Nellie?" she asked 
 quickly. Nellie looked up in some surprise. 
 
 " No, mamma. When ? Just now ? It must 
 have been the wind. It is such a horrid night. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 The name of the ship was the ' Zephyr ' I 
 remember, now." She looked up again to see if 
 her mother was listening to the story. Mrs. 
 Goddard looked pale and glanced uneasily towards 
 the closed window. She had probably been 
 mistaken. 
 
 "And where did the ship sail to, Nellie dear?" 
 she asked, smoothing the child's curls again and 
 forcing herself to smile. 
 
 " Oh the ship was a perfectly new ship and 
 it was the most beautiful weather in the world. 
 They were sailing away ever so far, towards the 
 straits of Magellan. I was so glad because I 
 knew where the straits of Magellan were and 
 Mr. Juxon was immensely astonished. But I 
 had been learning about the Terra del Fuego 
 and the people who were frozen there, in my 
 geography that very morning was not it lucky ? 
 So I knew all about it mamma, how nervous you 
 are ! It is nothing but the wind. I wish you 
 would listen to my story " 
 
 " I am listening, darling," said Mrs. Goddard, 
 making a strong effort to overcome her agitation 
 and drawing the child closer to her. " Go on,
 
 xn.l A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 291 
 
 sweetheart you were in the straits of Mag 
 ellan, you said, sailing away " 
 
 " Mr. Juxon was, mamma," said Nellie correcting 
 her mother with the asperity of a child who does 
 not receive all the attention it expects. 
 
 " Of course, clear, Mr. Juxon, and the ship was 
 the ' Zephyr.' " 
 
 " Yes the ' Zephyr,' " repeated Nellie, who 
 was easily pacified. " It was at Christmas time 
 he said but that is summer in the southern 
 hemisphere," she added, proud of her knowledge. 
 " So it was very fine weather. And Mr. Juxon 
 was walking up and down the deck in the 
 afternoon, smoking a cigar " 
 
 "He never smokes, dear," interrupted Mrs. 
 Goddard, glad to show Nellie that she was 
 listening. 
 
 " Well, but he did then, because he said so," 
 returned Nellie unmoved. " And as he walked 
 and looked out sailors always look out, you 
 know he saw the most wonderful thing, close to 
 the ship the most wonderful thing he ever saw," 
 added Nellie with some redundance of expres 
 sion.
 
 292 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 " Was it a whale, child ? " asked her mother, 
 staring into the fire and trying to pay attention. 
 
 "A whale, mamma!" repeated Nellie contemp 
 tuously. " As if there were anything remarkable 
 about a whale ! Mr. Juxon has seen billions of 
 whales, I am sure." 
 
 " Well, what was it, dear ? " 
 
 "It was the most awfully tremendous thing 
 with green and blue scales, a thousand times as 
 big as the ship oh mamma ! What was that ? " 
 
 Nellie started up from her stool and knelt 
 beside her mother, looking towards the window. 
 Mrs. Goddard was deathly pale and grasped the 
 arm of her chair. 
 
 " Somebody knocked at the window, mamma," 
 said Nellie breathlessly. "And then somebody 
 said ' Mary ' quite loud. Oh mamma, what can 
 it be?" 
 
 " Mary ? " repeated Mrs. Goddard as though 
 she were in a dream. 
 
 " Yes quite loud. Oh mamma ! it must be 
 Mary's young man he does sometimes come in 
 the evening." 
 
 " Mary's young man, child ? " Mrs. Goddard's
 
 xii.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 293 
 
 heart leaped. Her cook's name was Mary, as well 
 as lier own. Nellie naturally never associated 
 the name with her mother, as she never heard 
 anybody call her by it. 
 
 " Yes mamma. Don't you know ? The 
 postman the man with the piebald horse." 
 The explanation was necessary, as Mrs. Goddard 
 rarely received any letters and probably did not 
 know the postman by sight. 
 
 " At this time of night ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Goddard. " It is too bad. Mary is gone to bed." 
 
 " Perhaps he thinks you are gone to the vicarage 
 and that Mary is sitting up for you in the draw 
 ing-room," suggested Nellie with much good sense. 
 " Well, he can't come in, can he, mamma ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said her mother. " But I 
 think you had much better go to bed, my dear. 
 It is half -past nine." She spoke indistinctly, 
 almost thickly, and seemed to be making a 
 violent effort to control herself. But Nellie had 
 settled down upon her stool again, and did not 
 notice her mother. 
 
 " Oh not yet," said she. " I have not nearly 
 finished about the sea-serpent. Mr. Juxon said it
 
 294 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 was not like anything in the world. Do listen, 
 mamma ! It is the most wonderful story you 
 ever heard. It was all covered with blue and 
 green scales, and it rolled, and rolled, and rolled, 
 and rolled, till at last it rolled up against the 
 side of the ship with such a tremendous bump 
 that Mr. Juxon fell right down on his back." 
 
 "Yes dear," said Mrs. Goddard mechanically, 
 as the child paused. 
 
 " You don't seem to mind at all ! " cried Nellie, 
 who felt that her efforts to amuse her mother 
 were not properly appreciated. "He fell right 
 down on his back and hurt himself awfully." 
 
 "That was very sad," said Mrs. Goddard. 
 " Did he catch the sea-serpent afterwards ? " 
 
 " Catch the sea-serpent ! Why mamma, don't 
 you know that nobody has ever caught the sea- 
 serpent ? Why, hardly anybody has ever seen 
 him, even ! " 
 
 " Yes dear, but I thought Mr. Juxon " 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Juxon is the most wonderful 
 man but he could not catch the sea-serpent. 
 Just fancy ! When he got up from his fall, he 
 looked and he saw him quite half a mile away.
 
 xii.] A TALE OF A LOXELY PABISII. 295 
 
 He must have gone awfully fast, should not you 
 think so ? Because, you know, it was only a 
 minute." 
 
 "Yes, my child; and it is a beautiful story, 
 and you told it so nicely. It is very interesting 
 and you must tell me another to-morrow. But 
 now, dear, you must really go to bed, because I 
 am going to bed, too. That man startled me so," 
 she said, passing her small white hand over her 
 pale forehead and then staring into the fire. 
 
 " Well, I don't wonder," answered Nellie in a 
 patronising tone. " Such a dreadful night too ! 
 Of course, it would startle anybody. But he 
 won't try again, and you can scold Mary to-morrow 
 and then she can scold her young man." 
 
 The child spoke so naturally that all doubts 
 vanished from Mrs. Goddard's mind. She refleted 
 that children are much more apt to see things as 
 they are, than grown people whose nerves are out 
 of order. Nellie's conclusions were perfectly 
 logical, and it seemed folly to doubt them. She 
 determined that Mary should certainly be scolded 
 on the morrow and she unconsciously resolved in 
 her mind the words she should use ; for she was
 
 296 A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. [CHAP. 
 
 rather a timid woman and stood a little in awe 
 of her stalwart Berkshire cook, with her mighty 
 arms and her red face, and her uncommonly plain 
 language. 
 
 " Yes dear," she said more quietly than she had 
 been able to speak for some time, " I have no 
 doubt you are quite right. I thought I heard his 
 footsteps just now, going down the path. So he 
 will not trouble us any more to-night. And now 
 darling, kneel down and say your prayers, and 
 then we will go to bed." 
 
 So Nellie, reassured by the news that her 
 mother was going to bed, too, knelt down as she 
 had done every night during the eleven years 
 of her life, and clasped her hands together, beneath 
 her mother's. Then she cleared her throat, then 
 she glanced at the clock, then she looked for one 
 moment into the sweet serious violet eyes that 
 looked down on her so lovingly, and then at 
 last she bent her lovely little head and began 
 to say her prayers, there, by the fire, at her 
 mother's knees, while angry storm howled fiercely 
 without and shook the closed panes and shutters 
 and occasional drops of rain, falling down the
 
 XII.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 297 
 
 short chimney, sputtered in the smouldering coal 
 fire. 
 
 " Our Father which art in Heaven, Hallowed 
 be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come " 
 
 Nellie gave a loud scream and springing up 
 from her knees flung her arms around her mother's 
 neck, in uttermost, wildest terror. 
 
 "Mamma, mamma!" she cried looking, and 
 yet hardly daring to look, back towards the closed 
 window. " It called ' MARY GODDARD ' ! It is 
 you, mamma ! Oh ! " 
 
 There was no mistaking it this time. While 
 Nellie was saying her prayer there had come three 
 sharp and distinct raps upon the wooden shutter, 
 and a voice, not loud but clear, penetrating into 
 the room in spite of wind and storm and rain. 
 
 " Mary Goddard ! Mary Goddard ! " it said. 
 
 Mrs. Goddard started to her feet, lifting Nellie 
 bodily from the ground in her agony of terror; 
 staring round the room wildly as though in search 
 of some possible escape. 
 
 " I must come in ! I will come in ! " said the 
 voice again. 
 
 " Oh don't let him in ! Mamma ! Don't let
 
 298 A TALE OF A LONELY PAEISH. [CHAP. 
 
 him in ! " moaned the terrified child upon her 
 breast, clinging to her and weighing her down, 
 and grasping her neck and arm with convulsive 
 strength. 
 
 But in moments of great agitation timid people, 
 or people who are thought timid, not uncommonly 
 do brave things. Mrs. Goddard unclasped Nellie's 
 hold and forced the terror-struck child into a 
 deep chair. 
 
 " Stay there, darling," she said with unnatural 
 calmness. "Do not be afraid. I will go and 
 open the door." 
 
 Nellie was now too much frightened to resist. 
 Mrs. Goddard went out into the little passage 
 which was dimly lighted by a hanging lamp, and 
 closed the door of the drawing-room behind her. 
 She could hear Nellie's occasional convulsive sobs 
 distinctly. For one moment she paused, her 
 right hand on the lock of the front door, her left 
 hand pressed to her side, leaning against the wall 
 of the passage. Then she turned the key and the 
 handle and drew the door in towards her. A 
 violent gust of wind, full of cold and drenching 
 rain, whirled into the passage and almost blinded
 
 XIT.] A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. 299 
 
 her. The lamp flickered in the lantern overhead. 
 But she looked boldly out, facing the wind and 
 weather. 
 
 " Come in ! " she called in a low voice. 
 
 Immediately there was a sound as of footsteps 
 coming from the direction of the drawing-room 
 window, across the wet slate flags which sur 
 rounded the cottage, and a moment afterwards, 
 peering through the darkness, Mrs. Goddard saw 
 a man with a ghastly face standing before her 
 in the rain. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
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