omenico of St
Mark's sighing on the edge of the fiery ordeal into which the Church
herself would not let him plunge. If it was so, he no longer knew what
to do. He would have wrapped the vestment of the new priesthood about
him, though it was a garment of fire; but to stand aside in irksome
leisure was a harder trial, at which he trembled. This was the new
complication in which Gerald asked his brother's sympathy and counsel.
It was a long letter, curiously introspective, and full of self-argument;
and it was hard work, with a mind so occupied as was that of the
Perpetual Curate, to give it due attention. He put it away when he had
done with his cold breakfast, and deferred the consideration of the
subject, with a kind of vague hope that the family firmament might
possibly brighten in that quarter at least; but the far-off and
indistinct interest with which he viewed, across his own gloomy
surroundings, this matter which had engrossed him so completely a few
days before, was wonderful to see.

And then he paused to think what he was to do. To go out and face the
slander which must already have crept forth on its way--to see
Elsworthy and ascertain whether he had come to his senses, and try if
anything could be done for Rosa's discovery--to exert himself somehow,
in short, and get rid of the feverish activity which he felt consuming
him,--that was what he longed to do. But, on the other hand, it was
Saturday, and Mr Wentworth was conscious that it would be more
dignified, and in better taste altogether, if he went on writing his
sermon and took no notice of this occurrence, with which, in reality,
he had nothing to do. It was difficult, but no doubt it was the best;
and he tried it accordingly--putting down a great many sentences which
had to be scratched out again, and spoiling altogether the appearance
of the sermon-paper. When a message came from Mr Wodehouse's about
eleven o'clock, bringing the news that he was much worse and not
expected to live, and begging Mr Wentworth's immediate presence, the
Curate was as nearly glad as it was possible for a man to be under the
circumstances. He had "a feeling heart," as even Elsworthy allowed,
but in such a moment of excitement any kind of great and terrible
event seemed to come natural. He hastened out into the fresh morning
sunshine, which still seemed thrilling with life and joy, and went up
Grange Lane with a certain sense of curiosity, wondering whether
everybody was alr