into a fitting
mood for the task? Of him who would decline, without argument, the
clergyman would opine that he was simply a reprobate. Of him who
would propose to accompany an hypothetical acceptance with certain
stipulations, he would say to himself that he was a stiff-necked
wrestler against grace, whose condition was worse than that of the
reprobate. Men and women, conscious that they will be thus judged,
submit to the hypocrisy, and go down upon their knees unprepared,
making no effort, doing nothing while they are there, allowing their
consciences to be eased if they can only feel themselves numbed into
some ceremonial awe by the occasion. So it was with Clara, when Mr.
Possitt, with easy piety, went through the formula of his devotion,
hardly ever having realised to himself the fact that, of all works in
which man can engage himself, that of prayer is the most difficult.

"It is a sad loss to me," said Mr. Possitt, as he sat for half an
hour with Clara, after she had thus submitted herself. Mr. Possitt
was a weakly, pale-faced little man, who worked so hard in the parish
that on every day, Sundays included, he went to bed as tired in all
his bones as a day labourer from the fields;--"a very great loss.
There are not many now who understand what a clergyman has to go
through, as our dear friend did." If he was mindful of his two
glasses of port wine on Sundays, who could blame him?

"She was a very kind woman, Mr. Possitt."

"Yes, indeed;--and so thoughtful! That she will have an exceeding
great reward, who can doubt? Since I knew her she always lived as a
saint upon earth. I suppose there's nothing known as to who will live
in this house, Miss Amedroz?"

"Nothing;--I should think."

"Captain Aylmer won't keep it in his own hands?"

"I cannot tell in the least; but as he is obliged to live in London
because of Parliament, and goes to Yorkshire always in the autumn, he
can hardly want it."

"I suppose not. But it will be a sad loss,--a sad loss to have this
house empty. Ah!--I shall never forget her kindness to me. Do you
know, Miss Amedroz,"--and as he told his little secret he became
beautifully confidential;--"do you know, she always used to send me
ten guineas at Christmas to help me along. She understood, as well as
any one, how hard it is for a gentleman to live on seventy pounds a
year. You will not wonder that I should feel that I've had a loss."
It is hard for a gentleman to live upon seventy pou