landed proprietor owed as much to his tenantry as himself to
set a good example in such matters. Ever since our earliest years he
and I had gone morning and afternoon on Sundays to the little church of
Worth, and there sat together in the Maltravers chapel where so many of
our name had sat before us. Here their monuments and achievements stood
about us on every side, and it had always seemed to me that with their
name and property we had inherited also the obligation to continue those
acts of piety, in the practice of which so many of them had lived and
died. It was, therefore, a source of surprise and great grief to me
when on the Sunday after his return my brother omitted all religious
observances, and did not once attend the parish church. He was not
present with us at breakfast, ordering coffee and a roll to be taken to
his private sitting-room. At the hour at which we usually set out for
church I went to his room to tell him that we were all dressed and
waiting for him. I tapped at the door, but on trying to enter found it
locked. In reply to my message he did not open the door, but merely
begged us to go on to church, saying he would possibly follow us later.
We went alone, and I sat anxiously in our seat with my eyes fixed on the
door, hoping against hope that each late comer might be John, but he
never came. Perhaps this will appear to you, Edward, a comparatively
trivial circumstance (though I hope it may not), but I assure you that
it brought tears to my eyes. When I sat in the Maltravers chapel and
thought that for the first time my dear brother had preferred in an open
way his convenience or his whim to his duty, and had of set purpose
neglected to come to the house of God, I felt a bitter grief that seemed
to rise up in my throat and choke me. I could not think of the meaning
of the prayers nor join in the singing: and all the time that Mr.
Butler, our clergyman, was preaching, a verse of a little piece of
poetry which I learnt as a girl was running in my head:--

"How easy are the paths of ill;
How steep and hard the upward ways;
A child can roll the stone down hill
That breaks a giant's arm to raise."

It seemed to me that our loved one had set his foot upon the downward
slope, and that not all the efforts of those who would have given their
lives to save him could now hold him back.

It was even worse on Christmas Day. Ever since we had been confirmed
John and I had always taken the Sa