s not much comfort anywhere, let him
look where he pleased. When a man has no spot in all his horizon on
which his eye can rest with comfort, there is something more discouraging
in the prospect than a positive calamity. He could not take refuge even
in the imaginations of his love, for it was clear enough that already a
sentiment of surprise had risen in Lucy's mind, and her tranquillity was
shaken. And perhaps he had done rashly to plunge into other people's
troubles--he upon whom a curious committee of aunts were now to sit _en
permanence_. He went in to write his sermon, far from being so assured
of things in general as that discourse was when it was written, though
it was a little relief to his mind to fall back upon an authority
somewhere, and to refer, in terms which were perhaps too absolute to be
altogether free of doubt, to the Church, which had arranged everything
for her children in one department of their concerns at least. If it
were only as easy to know what ought to be done in one's personal
affairs as to decide what was the due state of mind expected by the
Church on the second Sunday after Easter! But being under that guidance,
at least he could not go wrong in his sermon, which was one point of
ease amid the many tribulations of the Curate of St Roque's.

CHAPTER IX.

"If they are going to stay in Carlingford, perhaps we could be of use
to them? Yes, Lucy; and I am sure anything we could do for Mr
Wentworth--" said Miss Wodehouse. "I wonder what house they will get.
I am going to Elsworthy's about some paper, and we can ask him if he
knows where they are going. That poor little Rosa should have some one
to take care of her. I often wonder whether it would be kind to speak
to Mrs Elsworthy about it, Lucy; she is a sensible woman. The little
thing stands at the door in the evening, and talks to people who are
passing, and I am afraid there are some people who are unprincipled,
and tell her she is pretty, and say things to her," said Miss
Wodehouse, shaking her head; "it is a great pity. Even Mr Wentworth is
a great deal more civil to that little thing than he would be if she
had not such a pretty face."

"I said you knew everything that went on in Carlingford," said Lucy,
as they went out together from the green door, not in their grey
cloaks this time; "but I forgot to ask you about one thing that
puzzled us last night--who is the man in the beard who lives at Mrs
Hadwin's? Mr Wentworth will