at all. Mr
Wentworth's little sermon to them was a great improvement upon his
sermon at St Roque's. He told them about the empty grave of Christ, and
how He called the weeping woman by her name, and showed her the earnest
of the end of all sorrows. There were some people who cried, thinking of
the dead who were still waiting for Easter, which was more than anybody
did when Mr Wentworth discoursed upon the beautiful institutions of the
Church's year; and a great many of the congregation stayed to see Tom
Burrows's six children come up for baptism, preceded by the new baby,
whose infant claims to Christianity the Curate had so strongly insisted
upon, to the wakening of a fatherly conscience in the honest bargeman.
Lucy Wodehouse, without her grey cloak, stood at the font, holding that
last tiny applicant for saving grace, while all the other little
heathens were signed with the sacred cross. And strangely enough, when
the young priest and the young woman stood so near each other, solemnly
pledging, one after another, each little sun-browned, round-eyed pagan
to be Christ's faithful servant and soldier, the cloud passed away
from the firmament of both. Neither of them, perhaps, was of a very
enlightened character of soul. They believed they were doing a great
work for Tom Burrows's six children, calling God to His promise on their
behalf, and setting the little feet straight for the gates of the
eternal city; and in their young love and faith their hearts rose.
Perhaps it was foolish of Mr Wentworth to suffer himself to walk home
again thereafter, as of old, with the Miss Wodehouses--but it was so
usual, and, after all, they were going the same way. But it was a very
silent walk, to the wonder of the elder sister, who could not understand
what it meant. "The Wharfside service always does me good," said Mr
Wentworth, with a sigh. "And me, too," said Lucy; and then they talked a
little about the poor woman in No. 10. But that Easter Sunday was not
like other Sundays, though Miss Wodehouse could not tell why.

CHAPTER V.

Next day the Miss Wentworths made a solemn call at the Rectory, having
known an aunt of Mrs Morgan at some period of their history, and being
much disposed, besides, with natural curiosity, to ascertain all about
their nephew's circumstances. Their entrance interrupted a consultation
between the Rector and his wife. Mr Morgan was slightly heated, and had
evidently been talking about something that e