e two
sturdy maids, and sent an express for Dr. Mulhaus, and another for the
professional surgeon. Then she took from her pocket the letter which
she had found in the poor Vicar's hand, and, going to the window, read
as follows:

"When you get this, father, I shall be many miles away. I have started
to London with George Hawker, and God only knows whether you will see
me again. Try to forgive me, father, and if not, forget that you ever
had a daughter who was only born to give you trouble.--Your erring but
affectionate Mary."

It will be seen by the reader that this unlucky letter, written in
agitation and hurry, contained no allusion whatever to marriage, but
rather left one to infer that she was gone with Hawker as his mistress.
So the Vicar read it again and again, each time more mistily, till
sense and feeling departed, and he lay before his hearth a hopeless
paralytic.

At that moment Mary, beside George, was rolling through the fresh
morning air, up the beautiful Exe valley. Her fears were gone with
daylight and sunshine, and as he put his arm about her waist, she said,

"I am glad we came outside."

"Are you quite happy now?" he asked.

"Quite happy!"----

Chapter XII

IN WHICH A VERY MUSCULAR CHRISTIAN INDEED, COMES ON THE STAGE.

For the first four weeks that the Vicar lay paralyzed, the neighbouring
clergymen had done his duty; but now arose a new difficulty at
Drumston. Who was to do the duty while the poor Vicar lay there on his
back speechless?

"How," asked Miss Thornton of Tom Troubridge, "are we to make head
against the dissenters now? Let the duty lapse but one single week, my
dear friend, and you will see the chapels overflowing once more. My
brother has always had a hard fight to keep them to church, for they
have a natural tendency to dissent here. And a great number don't care
what the denominations are, so long as there is noise enough."

"If that is the case," answered Tom, "old Mark Hook's place of worship
should pay best. I'd back them against Bedlam any day."

"They certainly make the loudest noise at a Revival," said Miss
Thornton. "But what are we to do?"

"That I am sure I don't know, my dearest auntie," said Troubridge, "but
I am here, and my horse too, ready to go any amount of errands."

"I see no way," said Miss Thornton, "but to write to the Bishop."

"And I see no way else," said Tom, "unless you like to dress me up as a
parson, and see if I would do."

Mi