of the Curate's thoughts.

Besides, it was terrible to feel that he could not abstract himself from
personal concerns even in the most sacred duties. He was conscious that
the two elder sisters went away, and that only poor aunt Dora, her
weak-minded ringlets limp with tears, came tremulous to the altar rails.
When the service was over, and the young priest was disrobing himself,
she came to him and gave a spasmodic, sympathetic, half-reproachful
pressure to his hand. "Oh, Frank, my dear, I did it for the best," said
Miss Dora, with a doleful countenance; and the Perpetual Curate knew
that his doom was sealed. He put the best face he could upon the matter,
having sufficient doubts of his own wisdom to subdue the high temper of
the Wentworths for that moment at least.

"What was it you did for the best?" said the Curate of St Roque's. "I
suppose, after all, it was no such great matter _hearing_ me as you
thought; but I told you I was not an ambitious preacher. This is a day
for worship, not for talk."

"Ah! yes," said Miss Dora; "but oh, Frank, my dear, it is hard upon me,
after all my expectations. It would have been so nice to have had you at
Skelmersdale. I hoped you would marry Julia Trench, and we should all
have been so happy; and perhaps if I had not begged Leonora to come just
now, thinking it would be so nice to take you just in your usual
way--but she must have known sooner or later," said poor aunt Dora,
looking wistfully in his face. "Oh, Frank, I hope you don't think I'm to
blame."

"I never should have married Julia Trench," said the Curate, gloomily.
He did not enter into the question of Miss Dora's guilt or innocence--he
gave a glance at the lilies on the altar, and a sigh. The chances were
he would never marry anybody, but loyalty to Lucy demanded instant
repudiation of any other possible bride. "Where are you going, aunt
Dora; back to the Blue Boar? or will you come with me?" he said, as they
stood together at the door of St Roque's. Mr Wentworth felt as if he had
caught the beginning threads of a good many different lines of thought,
which he would be glad to be alone to work out.

"You'll come back with me to the inn to lunch?" said Miss Dora. "Oh,
Frank, my dear, remember your Christian feelings, and don't make a
breach in the family. It will be bad enough to face your poor dear
father, after he knows what Leonora means to do; and I do so want to
talk to you," said the poor woman, eagerly clingi