The New Rector. Weyman Stanley John

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      "Yes!" said the rector, looking up at him with a black brow and steadfast eyes-"it was an accident."

      Gregg was a little cowed by the look, and in a moment, with a muttered word or two, fidgeted himself away, cursing the general superciliousness of parsons and the quiet airs of this one in particular. He was a little dog-in-the-mangerish man, ill-bred, and, like most ill-bred men, resentful of breeding in others. The fact that he had a sneaking liking for Kate did not tend to lessen his disgustful wonder how the Bonamy girls and the new rector came to be travelling together-which, indeed, to any Claversham person would have seemed a portent. But, then, Lindo did not know that.

      The objectionable item removed, and the temptation to remark upon him overcome, Lindo soon recovered his good temper, and rattled away so pleasantly that the train time seemed to all of them to come very quickly. "There," he said, as he handed the last of Kate's books into the railway-carriage, "now I have done something to make amends for my fault, I trust. One thing more I can do. When you get home you need not spare me. You can put it all on my shoulders, Miss Bonamy."

      "Thank you," Kate answered demurely.

      "You are going to do so, I see," he said, laughing. "I fear my character will reach Claversham before me."

      "I do not think we shall spread it very widely," she answered in a peculiar tone, which he naturally misunderstood.

      The train was already in motion then, and he shook hands with her as he walked beside it. "Goodbye," he said. And then he added in a lower tone-he was such a very young rector-"I hope to see very much of you in the future, Miss Bonamy."

      Kate sank back in her seat, her cheek a shade warmer. And in a moment he was alone upon the platform.

      CHAPTER V

      "REGINALD LINDO, 1850."

      Long before the later train by which the rector came on arrived at the Claversham station, the Rev. Stephen Clode was waiting on the platform. The curate was a tall, dark man, somewhat over thirty, with a strong rugged face and a bush of stiff black hair standing up from his forehead. He had been at Claversham three years, enjoying all the importance which old Mr. Williams's long illness naturally gave to his curate and locum tenens; and, though the town was agreed that his chagrin at having a new rector set over his head was great, it must be admitted that he concealed it with admirable skill. More than one letter had passed between him and the new incumbent, and, in securing for the latter Mr. Williams's good old-fashioned furniture, and in other ways, he had made himself very useful to Lindo. But the two had not met, and consequently the curate viewed the approaching train with lively, though secret, curiosity.

      It came, the bell rang, the porter cried, "Claversham! Claversham!" and the curate walked down it, past the carriage-windows, looking for the man he had come to meet. Half-a-dozen people stepped out, and for a moment there was a mimic tumult on the little platform; but nowhere amid it all could Clode see any one like the new rector. "He has missed another train!" he muttered to himself in contemptuous wonder; and he was already casting a last look round him before turning on his heel, when a tall, fair young man, in a clerical overcoat, who had been one of the first to alight, stepped up to him. "Am I speaking to Mr. Clode?" said the stranger pleasantly. And he lifted his hat.

      "Certainly," the curate answered. "I am Mr. Clode. But I fear I have not the-"

      "No, I know," replied the other, smiling, and at the same time holding out his hand. "Though, indeed, I hoped that you might have been here on purpose to meet me. My name is Lindo."

      The curate uttered an exclamation of surprise; and, hastily returning the proffered grip, fixed his black eyes curiously on his new friend. "Mr. Lindo did not mention that you were with him," he answered in a tone of some embarrassment. "But, there, let me see to your luggage. Is it all here?"

      "Yes, I think so," Lindo answered, tapping one article after another with his umbrella, and giving the stationmaster a pleasant "Good-day!" "Is there an omnibus or anything?"

      "Yes," Clode said; "it will be all right. They know where to take it. You will walk up with me, perhaps. It is about a quarter of a mile to the rectory."

      The new comer assented gladly, and the two passed out of the station together. Lindo let his eye travel up the wide steep street before him, until it rested on the noble tower which crowned the little hill and looked down now, as it had looked down for five centuries, on the red roofs clustering about it. His tower! His church! Even his companion did not remark, so slight was the action, that, as he passed out of the station and looked up, he lifted his hat for a second.

      "And where is your father?" Clode asked. "Was he delayed by business? Or perhaps," he added, dubiously scanning him, "you are Mr. Lindo's brother?"

      "I am Mr. Lindo!" said our friend, turning in astonishment and looking at his companion.

      "The rector?"

      "Yes."

      It was the curate's turn to stare now, and he did so-his face flushing darkly and his eyes wide opened for once. He even seemed for a moment to be stricken dumb with surprise and emotion. "Indeed!" he said at last, in a half stifled voice which he vainly strove to control. "Indeed! I beg your pardon. I had thought-I don't know why-I mean that I had expected to see an older man."

      "I am sorry you are disappointed," the rector replied, smiling ruefully. "I am beginning to think I am rather young, for you are not the first to-day who has made that mistake."

      The curate did not answer, and the two walked on in silence, feeling somewhat awkward. Clode, indeed, was raging inwardly. By one thing and another he had been led to expect a man past middle life, and the only Clergy List in the parish, being three years old and containing the name of Lindo's uncle only, had confirmed him in the error. He had never conceived the idea that the man set over his head would be a fledgling, scarcely a year in priest's orders, or he would have gone elsewhere. He would never have stayed to be at the beck and call of such a puppy as this! He felt now that he had been entrapped, and he chafed inwardly to such an extent that he did not dare to speak. To have this young fellow, six or seven years his junior, set over him would humiliate him in the eyes of all those before whom he had long played a different part!

      In a minor degree Lindo was also vexed-not only because he was sufficiently sensitive to enter into the other's feelings, but also because he foresaw trouble ahead. It was annoying, too, to be received at each new rencontre as a surprise-as the reverse of all that had been expected and all that had been, as he feared, hoped.

      "You will find the rectory a very comfortable house," said the curate at last, his mind fully made up now that he would leave at the earliest possible date. "Warm and old-fashioned. Rough-cast outside. Many of the rooms are panelled."

      "It looks out on the churchyard, I believe," replied the rector, with the same labored politeness.

      "Yes, it stands high. The view from the windows at the back is pleasant. The front is perhaps a little gloomy-in winter at least."

      Near the top of the street a quaint, narrow flight of steps conducted them to the churchyard-an airy, elevated place, surrounded on three sides by the church and houses, but open on the fourth, where a terraced walk, running along the summit of the old town wall, admitted the southern sun and afforded a wide view of plain and hill. The two men crossed the churchyard, the new rector looking about him with curiosity and a little awe, his companion marching straight onward, his strongly-marked face set ominously. He would go! He would go at the earliest possible minute! he was thinking.

      It did not affect him nor alter his СКАЧАТЬ