Chapter II

WE found Mrs. Manning perplexed, and well she might be. Mary's story seemed likely to repeat itself, and she was, for the moment, feeling dissatisfied with everything and every person.

Her son-in-law had obtained promotion, and now, with an improved income and a greater responsibility, was the rector of a town parish. "Just the man to work it well," was the verdict when he entered upon his new sphere of labour at St. James's, Rathbury. And the wife who had been "as good as a curate," and better than most, according to the verdict of the village folk, now owned that her husband would need other help, if the poor were to be visited, and a much-neglected district satisfactorily worked.

When Mr. Peyton talked of his coming curate, Mrs. Manning took instant alarm. She lived outside the town, and fully three miles from her son-in-law's parish, and she was quite determined that for the future, the junior clergy should be kept at a distance. No amount of excellence should suffice as an excuse for an introduction.

"Remember, Charles, no curates shall come here so long as Katie and Elsie are unmarried. Afterwards. I will manifest my hearty respect for the cloth by a double share of hospitality. But I have one parson, and a very good fellow, as a son-in-law, and I am resolved not to have another, if I can help it."

"Well, mother, I will do my utmost to keep away or scare away all dangerous characters. Nevertheless, I stoutly affirm that you might do worse for Katie and Elsie than my Mary has done by her choice of a country parson. Ask her if she would change, could she undo the past!"

"I know well enough she would not. But you know what a bitter disappointment it would be to me if Katie or Elsie were—"

Mrs. Manning paused, for, after all, however well she and her son-in-law might understand each other, it is rather a difficult thing to look a man in the face and tell him what was on her mind at the moment.

Mr. Peyton, however, took her words very good-humouredly, and went away with the laughing remark, "Whoever may be the means of bringing an enemy to besiege your citadel, the blame shall not rest on my head."

So far, so good. The mother dreamed golden dreams for her gifted Katie, and for Elsie, with that lovely face and tender nature. She could hardly think who would be good enough for either, and with the goodness which must, after all, be the chief qualification in a candidate, there must be abundant means, so that no breath of adversity might blight her darlings.

The mother was not worldly enough to make wealth and position the first things.

The man who should ask for one of her girls must be good. But the refined gold of religious and moral excellence must be gilded by the baser metal which the world calls wealth, and generally values at the highest price.

It was three months before our story begins when Mrs. Manning, thus indulging in a daydream, had her vision rudely disturbed by the sound of voices. She lifted her eyes, and there, sauntering along the path, came a group, the first glimpse of which filled her with dismay. The two grey-headed men, with linked arms, and deep in friendly talk, were Uncle Edward and their own clergyman, whose visits were eagerly welcomed by young and old at the Priory, Mrs. Manning's present home.

They were deep in parish matters and plans for the benefit of their neighbours, and all unconscious of the trio behind, made up of Mrs. Manning's fair daughters, and, in her eyes, the most objectionable curate that ever wore the cloth.

Objectionable, not because the cut of the aforesaid cloth indicated any extreme party, but because, as the mother instantly decided, he was one of the handsomest, and externally the most taking individuals that had ever donned it.

The mother groaned in spirit. She had beaten back the enemy in one direction, with the certainty of no second advance from that quarter, and here was Uncle Edward calmly leading on a new attacking party.

"Why did you bring Mr. Gilmour here?" she asked, after an evening during which the gentleman alluded to had made himself exceptionally agreeable.

Uncle Edward opened his kindly eyes to their utmost width.

"Surely you do not know anything bad about him!" he exclaimed, with a look of alarm. "I had no idea you knew him at all."

"I do not. I never saw him before, and I heartily wish he had not come here now."

"Why, my dear? We must see him now and then, for he will be our neighbour. The rector considers himself especially fortunate in having secured such a man. He has distinguished himself at Cambridge, has been three years in orders, bears a high character, and, Harvey tells me, takes a right view of the responsibilities before him. Fastidious as you are, you can find no fault with his manners, and even the girls must own that Nature has favoured him so far as externals go. He is a fine manly fellow, not ashamed of his own profession, but, I do believe, desirous of glorifying the Master in whose service he has enlisted. I was so pleased with the young man that, as I bade him good night, I said, 'Come when you like, you will find a welcome.' And he said, 'I shall be only too glad,' as if he meant it."

No going back from this. No routing an enemy thus supported. Beside, Uncle Edward was the master of the house, and his sister-in-law the graceful stewardess, who assisted him in dispensing hospitality therein. He never, by word or act, hinted at her dependent condition; but she could not shut her eyes to it, or forget her indebtedness to the man whose roof sheltered her and hers.

Three months passed, and Douglass Gilmour had won the good-will of high and low in the parish of St. James's, Rathbury. Even Mrs. Manning was won over to acknowledge that any mother might thank God for such a son, any girl be proud to possess the affection of so good a man.

Looking from the window on this particular afternoon, she caught glimpses of a white dress flitting here and there among the trees. Beside it was a tall figure, "every inch a man," to guide, shield, and support the girl who should trust herself to him as a partner for life. A man and a Christian, bright, earnest, true! And the mother wished she could add "rich," for the sweet, shy face and tender grace of the girl formed so lovely a contrast to the partner of her walk that she owned to herself Nature had seldom formed two more fitted to walk together.

"And that is the worst of it," thought she. "Elsie has such a good excuse for liking Mr. Gilmour. Twenty times more than ever Mary had for choosing Charles Peyton, and yet she found more to say than I could answer."

Another glance out of the window. The wearer of the white dress was sauntering back alone, having parted with her companion. And the mother, looking back through the years, found in the memory of one short day in her own young life a key to the happy light which shed its radiance over the fair face of her youngest darling. Even that memory could not conquer the motherly ambition—she called it prudence—on behalf of her child, and she resolved to have a little talk with Elsie then and there.