Salem Chapel Volume II Part 8

CHAPTER XIII.

MRS. VINCENT made many pilgrimages out of the sick-room that day; her mind was disturbed and restless; she could not keep still by Susan's side. She went and strayed through her son's rooms, looked at his books, gave a furtive glance at his linen; then went back and sat down for a little, until a renewed access of anxiety sent her wandering forth once more. Then she heard him come in, and went out to see him. But he was gloomy and uncommunicative, evidently indisposed to satisfy her in any way, absorbed in his own thoughts. Mrs. Vincent came and sat by him while he dined, thinking, in her simplicity, that it would be a pleasure to Arthur. But Arthur, with the unsocial habits of a man accustomed to live alone, had already set up a book before him while he ate, leaving his mother to wonder by herself behind what was the world of unknown thought that rapt her son, and into which her wistful wonder could not penetrate. But the widow was wise in her generation: she would not worry him with questions which it was very apparent beforehand that he did not mean to answer. She admitted to herself with a pang of mingled pain, curiosity, and resignation, that Arthur was no longer a boy having no secrets from his mother. Once more the little woman looked at the unreasonable male creature shut up within itself, and decided, with a feminine mixture of pity and awe, that it must be allowed to take its own time and way of disclosing itself, and that to torture it into premature utterance would be foolish, not to say impracticable. She left him, accordingly, to himself, and went away again, returning, however, ere long, in her vague restlessness, as she had been doing all day. The early winter evening had closed in, and the lamp was lighted--the same lamp which had smoked and annoyed Mrs. Vincent's nice perceptions the first evening she was in Carlingford. Vincent had thrown himself on a sofa with a book, not to read, but as a disguise under which he could indulge his own thoughts, when his mother came quietly back into the room. Mrs. Vincent thought it looked dark and less cheerful than it ought. She poked the fire softly not to disturb Arthur, and made it blaze. Then she turned to the lamp, which flared huskily upon the table.

"It smokes more than ever," said Mrs. Vincent, half apologetically, in case Arthur should observe her proceedings as she took off the globe.

He, as was natural, put down his book and gazed at her with a certain impatient wonder, half contemptuous of that strange female development which amid all troubles could carry through, from one crisis of life to another, that miraculous trifling, and concern itself about the smoking of a lamp. As she screwed it up and down and adjusted the wick, with the smoky light flaring upon her anxious face, and magnifying the shadow of her little figure against the wall behind, her son looked on with a feeling very similar to that which had moved Mrs. Vincent when she watched him eating his dinner with his book set up before him. These were points upon which the mother and son could not understand each other. But the sight disturbed his thoughts and touched his temper; he got up from the sofa and threw down his unread book.

"You women are incomprehensible," said the young man, with an irritation he could not subdue--"what does it matter about the lamp? but if the world were going to pieces you must still be intent upon such trifles--leave that to the people of the house."

"But, my dear, the people of the house don't understand it," said Mrs.

Vincent. "Oh Arthur, it is often the trifles that are the most important. I have had Mrs. Tozer calling upon me to-day, and Mrs.

Tufton. I don't wonder, dear, if you find them a little tiresome; but that is what every pastor has to expect. I daresay you have been worried to-day paying so many visits. Hush, there is some one coming up-stairs.

It is Mr. Tozer, Arthur. I can hear his voice."

Upon which the minister, conscious of not being prepared for Tozer's questions, gave vent to an impatient e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. "Never a moment's respite! And now I shall have to give an account of myself," said the unfortunate Nonconformist. Mrs. Vincent, who had just then finished her operations with the lamp, looked up reproachfully over the light at her son.

"Oh Arthur, consider how kind he has been! Your dear father would never have used such an expression--but you have my quick temper," said the widow, with a little sigh. She shook hands very cordially with the good b.u.t.terman when he made his appearance. "I was just going to make tea for my son," said Mrs. Vincent. "I have scarcely been able to sit with him at all since Susan took ill. Arthur, ring the bell--it is so kind of you to come; you will take a cup of tea with us while my son and you talk matters over--that is, if you don't object to my presence?" said the minister's mother with a smile. "Your dear papa always liked me to be with him, Arthur; and until he has a wife, Mr. Tozer, I daresay his mother will not be much in the way when it is so kind a friend as you he has to talk over his business with. Bring tea directly, please. I fear you have forgotten what I said to you about the lamp, which burns quite nicely when you take a little pains. Arthur, will you open the window to clear the atmosphere of that smoke? and perhaps Mr. Tozer will take a seat nearer the fire."

"I am obliged to you, ma'am," said the b.u.t.terman, who had a cloud on his face. "Not no nearer, thank you all the same. If I hadn't thought you'd have done tea, I shouldn't have come troubling Mr. Vincent, not so soon;" and Tozer turned a doubtful glance towards the minister, who stood longer at the window than he need have done. The widow's experienced eye saw that some irritation had risen between her son and his friend and patron. Tozer was suspicious, and ready to take offence--Arthur, alas! in an excited and restless mood, only too ready to give it. His mother could read in his shoulders, as he stood at the window with his back to her, that impulse to throw off the yoke and resent the inquisition to which he was subject, which, all conscious as he was of not having carried out Tozer's injunctions, seized upon the unfortunate Nonconformist. With a little tremulous rush, Mrs. Vincent put herself in the breach.

"I am sure so warm a friend as Mr. Tozer can never trouble any of my family at any time," said the widow, with a little effusion. "I know too well how rare a thing real kindness is--and I am very glad you have come just now while I can be here," she added, with a sensation of thankfulness perhaps not so complimentary to Tozer as it looked on the surface. "Arthur, dear, I think that will do now. You may put up the window and come back to your chair. You don't smell the lamp, Mr. Tozer?

and here is the little maid with the tea."

Mrs. Vincent moved about the tray almost in a bustle when the girl had placed it on the table. She re-arranged all the cups and moved everything on the table, while her son took up a gloomy position behind her on the hearthrug, and Tozer preserved an aspect of ominous civility on the other side of the table. She was glad that the little maid had to return two or three times with various forgotten adjuncts, though even then Mrs. Vincent's instincts of good management prompted her to point out to the handmaiden the disadvantages of her thoughtlessness. "If you had but taken time to think what would be wanted, you would have saved yourself a great deal of trouble," said the minister's mother, with a tremble of expectation thrilling her frame, looking wistfully round to see whether anything more was wanted, or if, perhaps, another minute might be gained before the storm broke. She gave Arthur a look of entreaty as she called him forward to take his place at table. She knew that real kindness was not very often to be met with in this cross-grained world; and if people are conscious of having been kind, it is only natural they should expect grat.i.tude! Such was the sentiment in her eyes as she turned round and fixed them upon her son. "Tea is ready, Arthur," said the widow, in a tone of secret supplication. And Arthur understood his mother, and was less and less inclined to conciliate as he came forward out of the darkness, where he might look sulky if he pleased, and sat down full in the light of the lamp, which smoked no longer. They were not a comfortable party. Mrs. Vincent felt it so necessary that she should talk and keep them separated, that she lost her usual self-command, and subjects failed her in her utmost need.

"Let me give you another cup of tea," she said, as the b.u.t.terman paused in the supernumerary meal which that excellent man was making; "I am so glad you happened to come this evening when I am taking a little leisure. I hope the congregation will not think me indifferent, Mr.

Tozer. I am sure you and Mrs. Tozer will kindly explain to them how much I have been occupied. When Susan is well, I hope to make acquaintance with all my son's people. Arthur, my dear boy, you are over-tired, you don't eat anything--and you made a very poor dinner. I wish you would advise him to take a little rest, Mr. Tozer. He minds his mother in most things, but not in this. It is vain for me to say anything to him about giving up work; but perhaps a little advice from you would have more effect. I spoke to Dr. Rider on the subject, and he says a little rest is all my son requires; but rest is exactly what he will never take. It was just the same with his dear father--and you are not strong enough, Arthur, to bear so much."

"I daresay as you're right, ma'am," said Tozer; "if he was to take a little more exercise and walking about--most of us Salem folks wouldn't mind a little less on Sundays, to have more of the minister at other times. I hope as there wasn't no unpleasantness, Mr. Vincent, between you and Pigeon when you see him to-day?"

"I did not see him;--I mean I am sorry I was not able to call on Pigeon to-day," said Vincent, hastily; "I was unexpectedly detained," he added, growing rather red, and looking Tozer in the face. "Indeed, I am not sure that I ought to call on Pigeon," continued the minister, after a pause; "I have done nothing to offend him. If he chooses to take an affront which was never intended, I can't help it. Why should I go and court every man who is sulky or ill-tempered in the congregation? Look here, Tozer--you are a sensible man--you have been very kind, as my mother says. I set out to-day intending to go and see this man for your sake; but you know very well this is not what I came to Carlingford for. If I had known the sort of thing that was required of me!" cried Vincent, rising up and resuming his place on the hearthrug--"to go with my hat in my hand, and beg this one and the other to forgive me, and receive me into favour:--why, what have I ever done to Pigeon? if he has anything to find fault with, he had much better come to me, and have it out."

"Mr. Vincent, sir," said Tozer solemnly, pushing away his empty teacup, and leaning forward over the table on his folded arms, "them ain't the sentiments for a pastor in our connection. That's a style of thing as may do among fine folks, or in the church where there's no freedom; but them as chooses their own pastor, and pays their own pastor, and don't spare no pains to make him comfortable, has a right to expect different.

Them ain't the sentiments, sir, for Salem folks. I don't say if they're wrong or right--I don't make myself a judge of no man; but I've seen a deal of our connection and human nature in general, and this I know, that a minister as has to please his flock, has got to please his flock whatever happens, and neither me nor no other man can make it different; and that Mrs. Vincent, as has seen life, can tell you as well as I can.

Pigeon ain't neither here nor there. It's the flock as has to be considered--and it ain't preaching alone as will do that; and that your good mother, sir, as knows the world, will tell you as well as me."

"But Arthur is well aware of it," said the alarmed mother, interposing hastily, conscious that to be thus appealed to was the greatest danger which could threaten her. "His dear father always told him so; yet, after all, Mr. Vincent used to say," added the anxious diplomatist, "that nothing was to be depended on in the end but the pulpit. I have heard him talking of it with the leading people in the connection, Mr.

Tozer. They all used to say that, though visiting was very good, and a pastor's duty, it was the pulpit, after all, that was to be most trusted to; and I have always seen in my experience--I don't know if the same has occurred to you--that both gifts are very rarely to be met with. Of course, we should all strive after perfection," continued the minister's mother, with a tremulous smile--"but it is so seldom met with that any one has both gifts! Arthur, my dear boy, I wish you would eat something; and Mr. Tozer, let me give you another cup of tea."

"No more for me, ma'am, thankye," said Tozer, laying his hand over his cup. "I don't deny as there's truth in what you say. I don't deny as a family here and there in a flock may be aggravating like them Pigeons, I'm not the man to be hard on a minister, if that ain't his turn. A pastor may have a weakness, and not feel himself as equal to one part of his work as to another; but to go for to say as visiting and keeping the flock pleased, ain't his duty--it's that, ma'am, as goes to my heart."

Tozer's pathos touched a lighter chord in the bosom of the minister. He came back to his seat with a pa.s.sing sense of amus.e.m.e.nt. "If Pigeon has anything to find fault with, let him come and have it out," said Vincent, bringing, as his mother instantly perceived, a less clouded countenance into the light of the lamp. "You, who are a much better judge than Pigeon, were not displeased on Sunday," added the minister, not without a certain complacency. Looking back upon the performances of that day, the young Nonconformist himself was not displeased. He knew now--though he was unconscious at the time--that he had made a great appearance in the pulpit of Salem, and that once more the eyes of Carlingford, unused to oratory, and still more unused to great and pa.s.sionate emotion, were turned upon him.

"Well, sir, if it come to be a question of that," said the mollified deacon; "but no--it ain't that--I can't, whatever my feelings is, be forgetful of my dooty!" cried Tozer, in sudden excitement. "It ain't that, Mr. Vincent; it's for your good I'm a-speaking up and letting you know my mind. It ain't the pulpit, sir. I'll not say as I ever had a word to say against your sermons: but when the minister goes out of my house, a-saying as he's going to visit the flock, and when he's to be seen the next moment, Mrs. Vincent, not going to the flock, but a-spending his precious time in Grange Lane with them as don't know nothing, and don't care nothing for Salem, nor understand the ways of folks like us----"

Here Tozer was interrupted suddenly by the minister, who once more rose from his chair with an angry exclamation. What he might have said in the hasty impulse of the moment n.o.body could tell; but Mrs. Vincent, hastily stumbling up on her part from her chair, burst in with a tremulous voice--

"Arthur, my dear boy! did you hear Susan call me?--hark! I fancied I heard her voice. Oh, Arthur dear, go and see, I am too weak to run myself. Say I am coming directly--hark! do you think it is Susan? Oh, Arthur, go and see!"

Startled by her earnestness, though declaring he heard nothing, the young man hastened away. Mrs. Vincent seized her opportunity without loss of time.

"Mr. Tozer," said the widow, "I am just going to my sick child. Arthur and you will be able to talk of your business more freely when I am gone, and I hope you will be guided to give him good advice; what I am afraid of is, that he will throw it all up," continued Mrs. Vincent, leaning her hand upon the table, and bending forward confidential and solemn to the startled b.u.t.terman, "as so many talented young men in our connection do nowadays. Young men are so difficult to deal with; they will not put up with things that we know must be put up with," said the minister's mother, shaking her head with a sigh. "That is how we are losing all our young preachers;--an accomplished young man has so many ways of getting on now. Oh, Mr. Tozer, I rely upon you to give my son good advice--if he is aggravated, it is my terror that he will throw it all up! Good-night. You have been our kind friend, and I have such trust in you!" Saying which the widow shook hands with him earnestly and went away, leaving the worthy deacon much shaken, and with a weight of responsibility upon him. Vincent met her at the door, a.s.suring her that Susan had not called; but with a heroism which n.o.body suspected--trembling with anxiety, yet conscious of having struck a master-stroke--his mother glided away to the stillness of the sick-room, where she sat questioning her own wisdom all the evening after, and wondering whether, after all, at such a crisis, she had done right to come away.

When the minister and the deacon were left alone together, instead of returning with zest to their interrupted discussion, neither of them said anything for some minutes. Once more Vincent took up his position on the hearthrug, and Tozer gazed ruefully at the empty cup which he still covered with his hand, full of troubled thoughts. The responsibility was almost too much for Tozer. He could scarcely realise to himself what terrors lay involved in that threatened danger, or what might happen if the minister threw it all up! He held his breath at the awful thought. The widow's Parthian arrow had gone straight to the b.u.t.terman's heart.

"I hope, sir, as you won't think there's anything but an anxious feelin'

in the flock to do you justice as our pastor," said Tozer, with a certain solemnity, "or that we ain't sensible of our blessin's. I've said both to yourself and others, as you was a young man of great promise, and as good a preacher as I ever see in our connection, Mr.

Vincent, and I'll stand by what I've said; but you ain't above taking a friend's advice--not speaking with no authority," added the good b.u.t.terman, in a conciliatory tone; "it's all along of the women, sir--it's them as is at the bottom of all the mischief in a flock. It ain't Pigeon, bless you, as is to blame. And even my missis, though she's not to say unreasonable as women go--none of them can abide to hear of you a-going after Lady Western--that's it, Mr. Vincent. She's a lovely creature," cried Tozer, with enthusiasm; "there ain't one in Carlingford to compare with her, as I can see, and I wouldn't be the one to blame a young man as was carried away. But there couldn't no good come of it, and Salem folks is touchy and jealous," continued the worthy deacon; "that was all as I meant to say."

Thus the conference ended amicably after a little more talk, in which Pigeon and the other malcontents were made a sacrifice of and given up by the anxious b.u.t.terman, upon whom Mrs. Vincent's parting words had made so deep an impression. Tozer went home thereafter to overawe his angry wife, whom Vincent's visit to Lady Western had utterly exasperated, with the dread responsibility now laid upon them. "What if he was to throw it all up!" said Tozer. That alarming possibility struck silence and dismay to the very heart of the household. Perhaps it was the dawn of a new era of affairs in Salem. The deacon's very sleep was disturbed by recollections of the promising young men who, now he came to think of it, had been lost to the connection, as Mrs. Vincent suggested, and had thrown it all up. The fate of the chapel, and all the new sittings let under the ministry of the young Nonconformist, seemed to hang on Tozer's hands. He thought of the weekly crowd, and his heart stirred. Not many deacons in the connection could boast of being crowded out of their own pews Sunday after Sunday by the influx of unexpected hearers. The enlightenment of Carlingford, as well as the filling of the chapel, was at stake. Clearly, in the history of Salem, a new era had begun.

CHAPTER XIV.

THAT week pa.s.sed on without much incident. To Vincent and his mother, in whose history days had, for some time past, been counting like years, it might have seemed a very grateful pause, but for the thunderous atmosphere of doubt and uncertainty which clouded over them on every side. Susan's recovery did not progress; and Dr. Rider began to look as serious over her utter languor and apathy, which nothing seemed able to disturb, as he had done at her delirium. The Salem people stood aloof, as Mrs. Vincent perceived, with keen feminine observation. She could not persuade herself, as she had tried to persuade Mrs. Tozer, that the landlady answered inquiries at the door by way of leaving the sick-room quiet. The fact was, that except Lady Western's fine footman, the sight of whom at the minister's door was far from desirable, n.o.body came to make inquiries except Mrs. Tufton and Phoebe Tozer, the latter of whom found no encouragement in her visits. Politic on all other points, the widow could not deny herself, when circ.u.mstances put it in her power to extinguish Phoebe. Mrs. Vincent would not have harmed a fly, but it gave her a certain pleasure to wound the rash female bosom which had, as she supposed, formed plans of securing her son. As for Tozer himself, his visits had almost ceased. He was scarcely to be seen even in the shop, into which sometimes the minister himself gazed disconsolately when he strayed out in the twilight to walk his cares away. The good b.u.t.terman was otherwise employed. He was wrestling with Pigeon in many a close encounter, holding little committees in the back parlour. On his single arm and strength he felt it now to depend whether or not the pastor could tide it over, and be pulled through.

As for Vincent himself, he had retired from the conflict. He paid no visits; with a certain half-conscious falling back upon the one thing he could do best, he devoted himself to his sermons. At least he shut himself up to write morning after morning, and remained all day dull and undisturbed, brooding over his work. The congregation somehow got to hear of his abstraction. And to the offended mind of Salem there was something imposing in the idea of the minister, misunderstood and unappreciated, thus retiring from the field, and devoting himself to "study." Even Mrs. Pigeon owned to herself a certain respect for the foe who did not humble himself, but withdrew with dignity into the intrenchments of his own position. It was fine; but it was not the thing for Salem. Mrs. Brown had a tea-party on the Thursday, to which the pastor was not even invited, but where there were great and manifold discussions about him, and where the Tozers found themselves an angry minority, suspected on all sides. "A pastor as makes himself agreeable here and there, but don't take no thought for the good of the flock in general, ain't a man to get on in our connection," said Mrs. Pigeon, with a toss of her head at Phoebe, who blushed over all her pink arms and shoulders with mingled gratification and discomposure. Mrs. Tozer herself received this insinuation without any violent disclaimer. "For my part, I can't say as the minister hasn't made himself very agreeable as far as we are concerned," said that judicious woman. "It's well known as friends can't come amiss to Tozer and me. Dinner or supper, we never can be took wrong, not being fine folks but comfortable," said the b.u.t.terman's wife, directing her eyes visibly to Mrs. Pigeon, who was not understood to be liberal in her house-keeping. Poor Phoebe was not so discriminating. When she retired into a corner with her companions, Phoebe's injured feelings disclosed themselves. "I am sure he never said anything to me that he might not have said to any one," she confessed to Maria Pigeon; "it is very hard to have people look so at me when perhaps he means nothing at all," said Phoebe, half dejected, half important. Mrs. Pigeon heard the unguarded confession, and made use of it promptly, not careful for her consistency.

"I said when you had all set your hearts on a young man, that it was a foolish thing to do," said poor Vincent's skilful opponent; "I said he'd be sure to come a-dangling about our houses, and a-trifling with the affections of our girls. It'll be well if it doesn't come too true; not as I want to pretend to be wiser nor other folks--but I said so, as you'll remember, Mrs. Brown, the very first day Mr. Vincent preached in Salem. I said, 'He's not bad-looking, and he's young and has genteel ways, and the girls don't know no better. You mark my words, if he don't make some mischief in Carlingford afore all's done,'--and I only hope as it won't come too true."

"Them as is used to giddy girls gets timid, as is natural," said Mrs.

Tozer; "it's different where there is only one, and she a quiet one. I can't say as I ever thought a young man was more taking for being a minister; but there can't be no doubt as it must be harder upon you, ma'am, as has four daughters, than me as has only one--and she a quiet one," added the deacon's wife, with a glance of maternal pride at Phoebe, who was just then enfolding the spare form of Maria Pigeon in an artless embrace, and who looked in her pink wreath and white muslin dress, "quite the lady," at least in her mother's eyes.

"The quiet ones is the deep ones," said Tozer, interfering, as a wise man ought, in the female duel, as it began to get intense. "Phoebe's my girl, and I don't deny being fond of her, as is natural; but she ain't so innocent as not to know how things is working, and what meaning is in some folks' minds. But that's neither here nor there, and it's time as we was going away."

"Not before we've had prayers," said Mrs. Brown. "I was surprised the first time I see Mr. Vincent in your house, Mr. Tozer, as we all parted like heathens without a blessing, specially being all chapel folks, and of one way of thinking. Our ways is different in this house; and though we're in a comfortless kind of condition, and no better than if we hadn't no minister, still as there's you and Mr. Pigeon here----"

The tea-party thus concluded with a still more distinct sense of the pastor's shortcomings. There was n.o.body to "give prayers" but Pigeon and Tozer. For all social purposes, the flock in Salem might as well have had no minister. The next little committee held in the back parlour at the b.u.t.ter-shop was still more unsatisfactory. While it was in progress, Mr. Vincent himself appeared, and had to be taken solemnly up-stairs to the drawing-room, where there was no fire, and where the hum of the voices below was very audible, as Mrs. Tozer and Phoebe, getting blue with cold, sat vainly trying to occupy the attention of the pastor.

"Pa has some business people with him in the parlour," explained Phoebe, who was very tender and sympathetic, as might be expected; but it did not require a very brilliant intelligence to divine that the business under discussion was the minister, even if Mrs. Tozer's solemnity, and the anxious care with which he was conveyed past the closed door of the parlour, had not already filled the mind of the pastor with suspicion.

"Go down and let your pa know as Mr. Vincent's here," said Mrs. Tozer, after this uncomfortable seance had lasted half an hour; "and he's not to keep them men no longer than he can help; and presently we'll have a bit of supper--that's what I enjoy, that is, Mr. Vincent; no ceremony like there must be at a party, but just to take us as we are; and we can't be took amiss, Tozer and me. There's always a bit of something comfortable for supper; and no friend as could be made so welcome as the minister," added the good woman, growing more and more civil as she came to her wits' end; for had not Pigeon and Brown been asked to share that something comfortable? For the first time it was a relief to the b.u.t.terman's household when the pastor declined the impromptu invitation, and went resolutely away. His ears, sharpened by suspicion, recognised the familiar voices in the parlour, where the door was ajar when he went out again. Vincent could not have imagined that to feel himself unwelcome at Tozer's would have had any effect whatever upon his preoccupied mind, or that to pa.s.s almost within hearing of one of the discussions which must inevitably be going on about him among the managers of Salem, could quicken his pulse or disturb his composure. But it was so notwithstanding. He had come out at the entreaty of his mother, half unwillingly, antic.i.p.ating, with the liveliest realisation of all its attendant circ.u.mstances, an evening spent at that big table in the back parlour, and something comfortable to supper. He came back again tingling with curiosity, indignation, and suppressed defiance. The something comfortable had not this time been prepared for him. He was being discussed, not entertained, in the parlour; and Mrs. Tozer and Phoebe, in the chill fine drawing-room up-stairs, where the gas was blazing in a vain attempt to make up for the want of the fire--shivering with cold and civility--had been as much disconcerted by his appearance as if they too were plotting against him. Mr. Vincent returned to his sermon not without some additional fire. He had spent a great deal of time over his sermon that week; it was rather learned and very elaborate, and a little--dull. The poor minister felt very conscious of the fact, but could not help it. He was tempted to put it in the fire, and begin again, when he returned that Friday evening, smarting with those little stinging arrows of slight and injury; but it was too late: and this was the beginning of the "coorse" which Tozer had laid so much store by. Vincent concluded the elaborate production by a few sharp sentences, which he was perfectly well aware did not redeem it, and explained to his mother, with a little ill-temper, as she thought, that he had changed his mind about visiting the Tozers that night. Mrs.

Vincent did Arthur injustice as she returned to Susan's room, where again matters looked very sadly; and so the troubled week came to a close.

CHAPTER XV.

SUNDAY! It came again, the inevitable morning. There are pathetic stories current in the world about most of the other professions that claim the ear of the public; how lawyers prepare great speeches, which are to open for them the gates of the future, in the midst of the killing anxieties of life and poverty--how mimes and players of all descriptions keep the world in laughter while their hearts are breaking.

But few people think of the sufferings of the priest, whom, let trouble or anxiety come as they please, necessity will have in the inexorable pulpit Sunday after Sunday. So Vincent thought as he put on his Geneva gown in his little vestry, with the raw February air coming in at the open window, and his sermon, which was dull, lying on the table beside him. It was dull--he knew it in his heart; but after all the strain of pa.s.sion he had been held at, what was to preserve him any more than another from the unavoidable la.s.situde and blank that followed? Still it was not agreeable to know that Salem was crowded to the door, and that this sermon, upon which the minister looked ruefully, was laboured and feeble, without any divine spark to enlighten it, or power to touch the hearts of other men. The consciousness that it was dull would, the preacher knew, make it duller still--its heaviness would affect himself as well as his audience. Still that was not to be helped now, there it lay, ready for utterance; and here in his Geneva gown, with the sound in his ears of all the stream of entering worshippers who were then arranging themselves in the pews of Salem, stood the minister prepared to speak. There was, as Vincent divined, a great crowd--so great a crowd that various groups stood during the whole service, which, by dint of being more laboured and feeble than usual, was longer too. With a certain dulness of feeling, half despairing, the minister accomplished the preliminary devotions, and was just opening his Bible to begin the work of the day when his startled eye caught a most unlooked-for accession to the flock. Immediately before him, in the same pew with Mrs. Tozer and Phoebe, what was that beautiful vision that struck him dumb for the moment? Tozer himself had brought her in during the prayers, through the groups that occupied the pa.s.sage, to his own seat, where she sat expanding her rustling plumage, and looking round with all her natural sweetness, and a kind of delightful unconscious patronage and curiosity, upon the crowd of unknown people who were n.o.body in Carlingford. The sight of her struck the young Nonconformist dumb. He took some moments to recover himself, ere, with a pang in his heart, he began his dull sermon. It mattered nothing to Lady Western what kind of a sermon he preached. She was not clever, and probably would never know the difference; but it went to the young man's heart, an additional pang of humiliation, to think that it was not his best he had to set before that unexpected hearer. What had brought the beauty here? Vincent's dazzled eyes did not make out for some time the dark spare figure beside her, all sunned over with the rays of her splendour. Mrs. Tozer and Phoebe on one side, proud yet half affronted, contemplating with awe and keen observation the various particulars of Lady Western's dress, were not more unlike her, reposing in her soft beauty within the hard wooden enclosure of the pew, beaming upon everybody in sweet ease and composure--than was the agitated restless face, with gleaming uncertain eyes that flashed everywhere, which appeared at her other side when Vincent came to be able to see. He preached his sermon with a certain self-disgust growing more and more intense every time he ventured to glance at that strange line of faces. The only attentive hearer in Tozer's pew was Lady Western, who looked up at the young minister steadily with her sweet eyes, and listened with all the gracious propriety that belonged to her. The Tozers, for their part, drawn up in their end of the seat, gave a very divided attention, being chiefly occupied with Lady Western; and as for Mrs. Hilyard, the sight of her restlessness and nervous agitation would have been pitiful had anybody there been sufficiently interested to observe it. Mr. Vincent's sermon certainly did not secure that wandering mind. All her composure had deserted this strange woman. Now and then she almost rose up by way apparently of relieving the restless fever that possessed her; her nervous hands wandered among the books of the Tozer pew with an incessant motion. Her eyes gleamed in all directions with a wistful anxiety and suspicion. All this went on while Vincent preached his sermon; he had no eyes for the other people in the place. Now and then the young man became rhetorical, and threw in here and there a wild flourish to break the deadness of his discourse, with no success as he saw. He read tedium in all the lines of faces before him as he came to a close with a dull despair--in all the faces except that sweet face never disturbed out of its lovely calm of attention, which would have listened to the Dissenting minister quite as calmly had he preached like Paul.

With a sensation that this was one of the critical moments of his fate, and that he had failed in it, Vincent dropped into his seat in exhaustion and self-disgust, while his hearers got up to sing their hymn. It was at this moment that Tozer walked up through the aisle, steadily, yet with his heart beating louder than usual, and ascended the pulpit-stairs to give forth that intimation which had been agreed upon in the back parlour on Friday. The minister was disturbed in his uncomfortable repose by the entrance of the deacon into the pulpit, where the worthy b.u.t.terman seated himself by Vincent's side. The unconscious congregation sang its hymn, while the Nonconformist, rousing up, looked with surprised eyes upon his unexpected companion; yet there were bosoms in the flock which owned a thrill of emotion as Tozer's substantial person partially disappeared from view behind the crimson cushion. Phoebe left off singing, and subsided into tears and her seat. Mrs. Pigeon lifted up her voice and expanded her person; meanwhile Tozer whispered ominously, with a certain agitation, in his pastor's ear--