in hand is
worth two in the bush. And so he'll write a kind affectionate letter to
his only child, and say that he forgives her husband for her sake.
That's how the matter will end, depend upon it."

"Oh, George, George! if I could only think so."

"Can you doubt it? Use your reason, my dear, and ask yourself what he
would gain by holding out. You say he's so fond of you."

"Oh, I know he is."

"Well, my darling, he wouldn't show it much if he was angry very long.
You don't know what a change it will make when the thing's once done.
When I am his son-in-law he'll be as anxious to find out that I'm a
saint as he is now to make me out a sinner. Say yes, my girl."

"I am afraid, George."

"Of nothing. Come, you are going to say yes, now."

"But when, George? Not yet?"

"To-morrow night."

"Impossible! Sunday evening?"

"The better the day the better the deed. Come, no refusal now, it is
too late, my darling. At ten o'clock I shall be here, under your
window. One kiss more, my own, and good night."

Chapter XI

IN WHICH THE VICAR PREACHES A FAREWELL SERMON.

WHO has not seen the misery and despair often caused in a family by the
senseless selfishness of one of its members? Who has not felt enraged
at such times, to think that a man or woman should presume on the
affection and kindheartedness of their relatives, and yet act as if
they were wholly without those affections themselves? And, lastly, who
of us all is guiltless of doing this? Let him that is without sin among
us cast the first stone.

The Spring sun rose on the Sabbath morning, as if no trouble were in
store for any mortal that day. The Vicar rose with the sun, for he had
certain arrears of the day's sermons to get through, and he was in the
habit of saying that his best and clearest passages were written with
his window open, in the brisk morning air.

But although the air was brisk and pleasant this morning, and all
nature was in full glory, the inspiration did not come to the Vicar
quite so readily as usual. In fact, he could not write at all, and at
one time was thinking of pleading ill health, and not preaching, but
afterwards changed his mind, and patched the sermons up somehow, making
both morning and afternoon five minutes shorter than usual.

He felt queer and dull in the head this morning. And, after breakfast,
he walked to church with his sister and daughter, not speaking a word.
Miss Thornton was rather alarmed, he looked