t in her hand. They met
full in the face at this corner, and Miss Dora's words reached Lucy's
ears, and went through and through her with a little nervous thrill.
She had not time to think whether it was pain or only surprise that
moved her, and was not even self-possessed enough to observe the
tremulous pressure of the Curate's hand, as he shook hands with her,
and introduced his aunt. "I have just been to see the poor woman at
No. 10," said Lucy. "She is very ill to-day. If you had time, it would
be kind of you to see her. I think she has something on her mind."

"I will go there before I go to Wharfside," said Mr Wentworth. "Are
you coming down to the service this afternoon? I am afraid it will be
a long service, for there are all these little Burrowses, you know--"

"Yes, I am godmother," said Lucy, and smiled and gave him her hand
again as she passed him while aunt Dora looked on with curious eyes.
The poor Curate heaved a mighty sigh as he looked after the grey
cloak. Not his the privilege now, to walk with her to the green door,
to take her basket from the soft hand of the merciful Sister. On the
contrary, he had to turn his back upon Lucy, and walk on with aunt
Dora to the inn--at this moment a symbolical action which seemed to
embody his fate.

"Where is Wharfside? and who are the little Burrowses? and what does
the young lady mean by being godmother?" said aunt Dora. "She looks
very sweet and nice; but what is the meaning of that grey cloak? Oh,
Frank, I hope you don't approve of nunneries, and that sort of thing.
It is such foolishness. My dear, the Christian life is very hard, as
your aunt Leonora always says. She says she can't bear to see people
playing at Christianity--"

"People should not speak of things they don't understand," said the
Perpetual Curate. "Your Exeter-Hall men, aunt Dora, are like the old
ascetics--they try to make a merit of Christianity by calling it hard
and terrible; but there are some sweet souls in the world, to whom it
comes natural as sunshine in May." And the young Anglican, with a glance
behind him from the corner of his eye, followed the fair figure, which
he believed he was never, with a clear conscience, to accompany any
more. "Now, here is your inn," he said, after a little pause. "Wharfside
is a district, where I am going presently to conduct service, and the
little Burrowses are a set of little heathens, to whom I am to
administer holy baptism this Easter Sunday. Good