ideas, the rector's
authority--yes, even the tenure of his rectorship--being dependent upon
the chance wills and fancies of his people. Here was no dignity, no time
for pleasant classical studies, and no approval of them; on the
contrary, a continuous going out to tea, and a fear of offending, it
might be, a warden's wife, who very likely had been brought up a
Dissenter. The Reverend James Gaston therefore preferred the government
for a master.

Dr. Gaston held the office of post chaplain, having been, on
application, selected by the council of administration. He had no
military rank, but as there happened to be quarters to spare, a cottage
was assigned to him, and as he had had the good fortune to be liked and
respected by all the officers who had succeeded each other on the little
island, his position, unlike that of some of his brethren, was
endurable, and even comfortable. He had been a widower for many years;
he had never cared to marry again, but had long ago recovered his
cheerfulness, and had brought up, intellectually at least, two children
whom he loved as if they had been his own--the boy Erastus Pronando, and
Anne Douglas. The children returned his affection heartily, and made a
great happiness in his lonely life. The girl was his good scholar, the
boy his bad one; yet the teacher was severe with Anne, and indulgent to
the boy. If any one had asked the reason, perhaps he would have said
that girls were docile by nature, whereas boys, having more temptations,
required more lenity; or perhaps that girls who, owing to the
constitution of society, never advanced far in their studies, should
have all the incitement of severity while those studies lasted, whereas
boys, who are to go abroad in the world and learn from life, need no
such severity. But the real truth lay deeper than this, and the chaplain
himself was partly conscious of it; he felt that the foundations must be
laid accurately and deeply in a nature like that possessed by this young
girl.

"Good-morning, uncle," said Anne, entering and putting down her Latin
books (as children they had adopted the fashion of calling their teacher
"uncle"). "Was your coffee good this morning?"

"Ah, well, so-so, child, so-so," replied the chaplain, hardly aroused
yet from his problem.

"Then I must go out and speak to--to--what is this one's name, uncle?"

"Her name is--here, I have it written down--Mrs. Evelina Crangall," said
the chaplain, reading aloud from h