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visibly saddened. Inwardly she found herself asking--"If father had lived?--if father were here now?"
Her reverie was broken by her mother's voice--softened--breathing a kind of compunction.
"I daresay he's a good sort of man."
"I think he is," said Mary, simply.
They talked no more on the subject, and presently Catharine Elsmere rose, and went into the house.
Mary sat on by the water-side thinking. Meynell's aspect, Meynell's words, were in her mind--little traits too and incidents of his parochial life that she had come across in the village. A man might preach and preach, and be a villain! But for a man--a hasty, preoccupied, student man--so to live, through twenty years, among these vigorous, quick-tempered, sharp-brained miners, as to hold the place among them Richard Meynell held, was not to be done by any mere pretender, any spiritual charlatan. How well his voice pleased her!--his tenderness to children--his impatience--his laugh.
The thoughts, too, he had expressed to her on their walk ran kindling through her mind. There were in her many half-recognized thirsts and desires of the spirit that seemed to have become suddenly strong and urgent under the spur of his companionship.
She sat dreaming; then her mother called her to the evening meal, and she went in. They passed the evening together, in the free and tender intimacy which was their habitual relation. But in the mind of each there were hidden movements of depression or misgiving not known to the other.
Meanwhile the Rector had walked home with his ward. A stormy business! For much as he disliked scolding any young creature, least of all, Hester, the situation simply could not be met without a scolding--by Hester's guardian. Disobedience to her mother's wishes; disloyalty toward those who loved her, including himself; deceit, open and unabashed, if the paradox may be allowed--all these had to be brought home to her. He talked, now tenderly, now severely, dreading to hurt her, yet hopin