than Miss
Thorne's behaviour to this child--one of the sick lambs of her fold."

"We are sorry, of course, for Ophelia Potts," said Rebecca; "but she is
a dreadful child."

"A fact, I grant," said the vicar; "and one that makes Miss Thorne's
conduct shine out the more."

"Henry!" exclaimed his sisters in a breath.

"We are not doing wrong in staying here, Rebecca," said Beatrice
haughtily. "I do not believe in witchcraft or such follies, but it is
as though this woman had bewitched our brother, and as if he were
shaping himself in accordance with her plans."

"I do not understand you, Beatrice," said the vicar sternly.

"I will be plainer, then, Henry. It seems to me that you are offering
yourself a willing victim to the wiles of an artful woman; and the next
thing will be, I suppose, that you intend bringing her here as mistress
of the Vicarage."

"I quite agree with Beatrice," cried Rebecca. "It is time we left you,
Henry, to the devices and desires of your own heart."

The vicar was stern of aspect now, as he paced the library, and hot
words of anger were upon his lips, but he stayed them there, and looked
from face to face as if seeking sympathy where there was none.

He knew that his sisters were right, and that in following out the
dictates of his own heart he would gladly ask Hazel Thorne to be his
wife; but he was weak, and the more so that she had given him no hope.
His was not the nature that would have made him a martyr to his faith;
neither could he be one for his unrequited love. He loved Hazel Thorne;
but she did not care for him--he could see it plainly enough; and even
had she loved him in return, he was not one who could have braved public
opinion for her sake. For the trouble connected with that money was
always in his mind. Then there was the society to which he belonged.
What would they say if he, the Reverend Henry Lambent, Master of Arts,
and on visiting terms with the highest county families, were to enter
into a matrimonial alliance with the daughter of a bankrupt
stockbroker--one who was only the new mistress!

Then there were his sisters. If he married Hazel, always supposing she
would accept him, he should have to break with them; and this he was too
weak to do. In imagination he had been the stern ruler of Plumton All
Saints' Vicarage for many years, and head of the parish. But it was a
mistake: the real captain had been Beatrice, his younger sister; and
Rebecca, though t