en vigour of youth and health to back him. As for Mr Wentworth,
he went on without speaking, with a bitterness in his heart not to be
expressed. His own personal stronghold of happiness and consolation
had shattered in pieces in that evening's interview; and as he went to
his own house he asked himself what he should find in it? This
wretched man, with whose sins he had been hitherto but partially
acquainted; and Jack, with whom the other had heaven knew what
horrible connection. Should he find a den of thieves where he had left
only high thoughts and lofty intentions? It was thus, after his three
days' absence, that he returned home.

CHAPTER XXII.

When Mr Wentworth entered Mrs Hadwin's garden in the dark, his first
glance up at the house showed him that a certain change had passed on
it also. The decorous little house had been turned inside out. The
windows of his own sitting-room were open, the blind drawn up to the
top, and in addition to his usual lamp some candles were flaring
wildly in the draught. He could see into the room as he paused at the
garden-door, and was able to distinguish that the table was still
covered as for dinner, and to catch the purple gleam of the light in
the claret-jug which occupied the place of honour; but nobody was
visible in the room. That wildly-illuminated and open apartment stood
in strange contrast with the rest of the house, where everything was
dark, save in Mrs Hadwin's own chamber. The Curate proceeded on his
way, after that moment's pause, with hasty and impatient steps. On the
way up he encountered Sarah the housemaid, who stopped in the middle
of the stairs to make a frightened little curtsy, and utter an alarmed
"La!" of recognition and surprise. But Sarah turned round as soon as
she had recovered herself, to say that her missis wanted very bad to
see Mr Wentworth as soon as he came home; but she was gone up to bed
now, and didn't he think it would be a pity to wake her up? The Curate
gave her only a little nod of general acquiescence, as he hurried on;
but felt, notwithstanding, that this prompt request, ready prepared
for his arrival, was a tacit protest against his guests, and
expression of disapproval. Mrs Hadwin was only his landlady, an old
woman, and not a particularly wise one, but her disapproval vexed the
Perpetual Curate. It was a kind of sign of the times--those times in
which it appeared that everybody was ready to turn upon him and
embarrass his pat