t a conviction that he was going to be personal in his
sermon."

The major laughed his hard, unpleasant laugh. "Don't let that idea
disturb your devotions another time. He is not likely to bite or even to
bark very loud: he don't get my muzzle off in a hurry."

Indeed, it was profoundly true that since the disclosure the chaplain's
reticence had become remarkable. When his own wife questioned him on the
subject (very naturally), he checked her with some asperity, and read
her a lecture on feminine curiosity that moved the poor woman, even to
weeping. Mrs. Danvers was greatly surprised and disconcerted by the
decision with which Mr. Fullarton rejected her suggestion, that he
should aid and abet in thwarting Keene's supposed designs. "He had
thought it right," he said, "to make Miss Tresilyan and others aware of
the real state of the case; but he did not conceive that farther
interference lay within the sphere of his duty." It was odd how that
same once arbitrarily elastic sphere had contracted since the prophet
met the lion in the pathway! Dick Tresilyan--the only other person much
interested in the progress of affairs--did not seem to trouble himself
much about them. He was perpetually absent on shooting expeditions; but,
when at home, it was observed that he drank harder than ever, getting
sulky sometimes without apparent reason, and disagreeably quarrelsome.

Royston had only stated the simple fact when he said that Cecil was free
from any stain of actual guilt or dishonor. Whether the credit of having
borne her harmless was most due to her own prudence and remains of
principle, or to her tempter's self-restraint, we will not, if you
please, inquire. It is as well to be charitable now and then. Her escape
was little less than miraculous, considering how often she had trusted
herself unreservedly to the mercy of one who was wont to be as unsparing
in his love as in his anger. Let not this immunity be made an excuse for
credulous confidence, or induce others to emulate her rashness. The
Millenium will not come in our time, I fancy; and, till it arrives,
neither child nor maiden may safely lay their hand on the cockatrice's
den. The ballad tells us that Lady Janet was happy at last; but she paid
dearly through months of sorrow and shame for those three red roses
plucked in the Elfin Bower. The precise cause of Keene's forbearance it
would be very difficult to explain: more than one feeling probably had
to do with it.