es, and lay the
difficulties and dangers of his position before the clear and lucid eyes
of the best man he ever knew.

It shook him a little out of his position, however, to find himself
admitted with a kind of scared expectation by Mrs Gerald Wentworth's
maid, who made no exclamation of wonder at the sight of him, but
opened the door in a troubled, stealthy way, strangely unlike the
usual customs of the place. "Is my brother at home?" said the Curate,
going in with a step that rang on the hall, and a voice that sounded
into the house. He would have proceeded straight, as usual, to
Gerald's study after this question, which was one of form merely, but
for the disturbed looks of the woman, who put up her hand imploringly.
"Oh hush! Mr Frank; hush! My mistress wants to see you first. She
said I was to show you into her sitting-room," said the maid, half
in a whisper, and led him hastily down a side-passage to a little
out-of-the-way room, which he knew was where Louisa was wont to retire
when she had her headaches, as was well known to all the house of
Wentworth. The Curate went in with some impatience and some alarm to
this retired apartment. His eyes, dazzled by the sunshine, could not
penetrate at first the shadowy greenness of the room, which, what with
the trees without and the Venetian blind within, was lost in a kind of
twilight, grateful enough after a while, but bewildering at the first
moment. Out of this darkness somebody rose as he entered, and walked
into his arms with trembling eagerness. "Oh Frank, I am so thankful
you are come! now perhaps something may be done; for _you_ always
understood," said his little sister-in-law, reaching up to kiss him.
She was a tiny little woman, with soft eyes and a tender little
blooming face, which he had never before seen obscured by any cloud,
or indeed moved by any particular sentiment. Now the firmament was all
overcast, and Louisa, it was evident, had been sitting in the shade of
her drawn blinds, having a quiet cry, and going into all her grievances.
To see such a serene creature all clouded over and full of tears, gave
the Curate a distinct shock of alarm and anxiety. He led her back to her
sofa, seeing clearer and clearer, as he watched her face, the plaintive
lines of complaint, the heavy burden of trouble which she was about to
cast on his shoulders. He grew more and more afraid as he looked at her.
"Is Gerald ill?" he said, with a thrill of terror; but even this c