subject; and yet there was no softer-hearted woman than Mrs. Wortle
anywhere in the diocese, or one less likely to be severe upon a neighbour.
Not only was she a kindly, gentle woman, but she was one who always had
been willing to take her husband's opinion on all questions of right and
wrong. She, however, was decided that they must go.

On the next morning, after service, which the schoolmaster did not attend,
the Doctor saw Mr. Peacocke, and declared his intention of telling the
story to Mr. Puddicombe. "If you bid me hold my tongue," he said, "I will
do so. But it will be better that I should consult another clergyman. He
is a man who can keep a secret." Then Mr. Peacocke gave him full authority
to tell everything to Mr. Puddicombe. He declared that the Doctor might
tell the story to whom he would. Everybody might know it now. He had, he
said, quite made up his mind about that. What was the good of affecting
secrecy when this man Lefroy was in the country?

In the afternoon, after service, Mr. Puddicombe came up to the house, and
heard it all. He was a dry, thin, apparently unsympathetic man, but just
withal, and by no means given to harshness. He could pardon whenever he
could bring himself to believe that pardon would have good results; but he
would not be driven by impulses and softness of heart to save the faulty
one from the effect of his fault, merely because that effect would be
painful. He was a man of no great mental calibre,--not sharp, and quick,
and capable of repartee as was the Doctor, but rational in all things, and
always guided by his conscience. "He has behaved very badly to you," he
said, when he heard the story.

"I do not think so; I have no such feeling myself."

"He behaved very badly in bringing her here without telling you all the
facts. Considering the position that she was to occupy, he must have
known that he was deceiving you."

"I can forgive all that," said the Doctor, vehemently. "As far as I
myself am concerned, I forgive everything."

"You are not entitled to do so."

"How--not entitled?"

"You must pardon me if I seem to take a liberty in expressing myself too
boldly in this matter. Of course I should not do so unless you asked me."

"I want you to speak freely,--all that you think."

"In considering his conduct, we have to consider it all. First of all
there came a great and terrible misfortune which cannot but excite our
pity. According to his own sto