r secret, of course; and if
you find I can't cure your complaint, why, you can but go away and try
elsewhere.'"

"And so the doctor's model sermon ends in proposing private
confession!"

"Of course. The thing itself which will do them good, without the red
rag of an official name, which sends them cackling off like frightened
turkeys.--Such private confession as is going on between you and me
now. Here am I confessing to you all my unorthodoxy."

"And I my ignorance," said Frank; "for I really believe you know more
about the matter than I do."

"Not at all. I may be all wrong. But the fault of your cloth seems to
me to be that they apply their medicines without deigning, most of
them, to take the least diagnosis of the case. How could I cure a man
without first examining what was the matter with him?"

"So say the old casuists, of whom I have read enough--some would say
too much; but they do not satisfy me. They deal with actions, and
motives, and so forth; but they do not go down to the one root of
wrong which is the same in every man."

"You are getting beyond me: but why do you not apply a little of the
worldly wisdom which these same casuists taught you?"

"To tell you the truth, I have tried in past years, and found that the
medicine would not act."

"Humph! Well, that would depend, again, on the previous diagnosis of
human nature being correct; and those old monks, I should say, would
know about as much of human nature as so many daws in a steeple.
Still, you wouldn't say that what was the matter with old Heale was
the matter also with Vavasour?"

"I believe from my heart that it is."

"Humph! Then you know the symptoms of his complaint?"

"I know that he never comes to church."

"Nothing more? I am really speaking in confidence. You surely have
heard of disagreements between him and Mrs. Vavasour?"

"Never, I assure you; you shock me."

"I am exceedingly sorry, then, that I said a word about it: but the
whole parish talks of it," answered Tom, who was surprised at this
fresh proof of the little confidence which Aberalva put in their
parson.

"Ah!" said Frank sadly, "I am the last person in the parish to hear
any news: but this is very distressing."

"Very, to me. My honour, to tell you the truth, as a medical man,
is concerned in the matter; for she is growing quite ill from
unhappiness, and I cannot cure her; so I come to you, as soul-doctor,
to do what I, the body-doctor, cannot."

Frank