achel and Grace.

The card was written, not engraved, the name "Rd. R. H. C. L.
Mauleverer;" and a discussion ensued whether the first letters stood
for Richard or for Reverend, and if he could be unconscionable enough
to have five initials. The sisters had some business to transact at
Villars's, the Avonmouth deposit of literature and stationery, which was
in the hands of a somewhat aspiring genius, who edited the weekly
paper, and respected Miss Rachel Curtis in proportion to the number of
periodicals she took in, and the abstruseness of the publications she
inquired after. The paper in its Saturday's dampness lay fresh on
the counter, and glancing at the new arrivals, Grace had the desired
opportunity of pointing to Mr. Mauleverer's name, and asking when he had
come. About a week since, said the obliging Mr. Villars, he appeared to
be a gentleman of highly literary and artistic tastes, a philanthropist;
indeed, Mr. Villars understood him to be a clerical gentlemen who had
opinions--

"Oh, Rachel, I am very sorry," said Grace.

"Sorry, what for?"

"Why, you and mamma seemed quite inclined to like him."

"Well, and what have we heard?"

"Not much that is rational, certainly," said Grace, smiling; "but we
know what was meant."

"Granting that we do, what is proved against him? No, I will not
say proved, but alleged. He is one of the many who have thought for
themselves upon the perplexing problems of faith and practice, and has
been sincere, uncompromising, self-sacrificing, in avowing that his mind
is still in that state of solution in which all earnest and original
minds must be ere the crystallizing process sets in. Observe, Grace, I
am not saying for an instant that he is in the right. All I do say is,
that when depth of thought and candour have brought misfortune upon
a man, it is ungenerous, therefore, to treat him as if he had the
leprosy."

"Indeed, Rachel, I think you have made more out of his opinions than I
did."

"I was only arguing on your construction of his opinions."

"Take care--!" For they were at this moment reaching a gate of
Myrtlewood, and the sound of hoofs came close behind them. They were
those of the very handsome chestnut, ridden by Alexander Keith, who
jumped off his horse with more alacrity than usual as they were opening
the gate for him, and holding out his hand, eagerly said--

"Then I conclude there is nothing the matter?"

"Nothing at all," said Grace. "What did you hear