THE

CORNHILL MAGAZINE.

JULY 1891.

THE NEW RECTOR.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF.'

CHAPTER I.

'LE ROI EST MORT!'

THE king was dead. But not at once, not until after some short breathing-space, such as was pleasant enough to those whose only concern with the succession lay in the shouting, could the cry of 'Long live the king!' be raised. For a few days there was no rector of Claversham. The living was during this time in abeyance, or in the clouds, or in the lap of the law, or in any strange and inscrutable place you choose to name. It may have been in the prescience of the patron, and, if so, no locality could be more vague, the whereabouts of Lord Dynmore himself, to say nothing of his prescience, being as uncertain as possible. Messrs. Gearns & Baker, his solicitors and agents, should have known as much about his movements as anyone; yet it was their habit to tell one inquirer that his lordship was in the Cordilleras, and another that he was on the slopes of the Andes, and another that he was at the forty-ninth parallel-quite indifferently; these places being all one to Messrs. Gearns & Baker, whose walk in life had lain for so many years about Lincoln's Inn Fields that Clare Market had come to be their ideal of an uncivilised country.

Moreover, if the whereabouts of Lord Dynmore could only be told in words rather far-sounding than definite, there was room for a doubt whether his prescience existed at all. According to his friends, there never was a man whose memory was so notably VOL. XVII. NO. 97, N.S.

1

eccentric-not weak, but eccentric. And if his memory was impeachable, his prescience. But we grow wide of the mark. The question being merely where the living of Claversham was during the days which immediately followed Mr. Williams's death, let it be said at once that we do not know.

man.

He had been rector of

Mr. Williams was the late incumbent. the little Warwickshire town for nearly forty years; and although his people were ready enough to busy themselves with the question of his successor, he did not lack honour in his death. His had been a placid life, such as suited an indolent and easy-going 'Let me sit upon one chair and put up my feet on another, and there I am,' he had once been heard to say; and the town repeated the remark and chuckled over it. There were some who would have had the parish move more quickly, and who talked with a sneer of the old port-wine kind of parson. But these were few. If he had done little good, he had done less evil. He was kindly and open-handed, and he had not an enemy in the parish. He was regretted as much as such a man should be. Besides, people did not die commonly in Claversham. It was but once a year, or twice at the most, that anyone who was anyone passed away. And so when the event did occur the most was made of it in an old-fashioned way. When Mr. Williams passed for the last time into his churchyard, there was no window which did not by shutter or blind mark its respect for him, not a tongue which wagged foul of his memory. And then the shutters were taken down and the blinds pulled up, and everyone, from Mr. Clode, the curate, to the old people at Bourne's Almshouses, who, having no affairs of their own, had the more time to discuss their neighbours', asked, 'Who is to be the new rector?'

On the day of the funeral two of these old pensioners watched the curate's tall form as he came gravely along the opposite side of the street, to fall in at the door of his lodgings with two ladies, one elderly, one young, who were passing so opportunely that it really seemed as if they might have been waiting for him. He and the elder lady-she was so plump of figure, so healthy of eye and cheek, and was dressed besides with such a comfortable richness that it did one good to look at her-began to talk in a subdued, decorous fashion, while the girl listened. He was telling them of the funeral, how well the archdeacon had read the service, and what a crowd of Dissenters had been present, and so on; and at last he came to the important question.

'I hear, Mrs. Hammond,' he said, 'that the living will be given to Mr. Herbert of Easthope, whom you know, I think? To me? Oh, no, I have not, and never had, any expectation of it. Please do not,' he added, with a slight smile and a shake of the head, 'mention such a thing again. Leave me in my content.' 'But why should you not have it? 'replied the young lady, with a pleasant persistence. Everyone in the parish would be glad if you were appointed. Could we not do something or say something-get up a petition or anything? Lord Dynmore ought, of course, to give it to you. I think some one should tell him what are the wishes of the parish. I do indeed, Mr. Clode.'

She was a very pretty young lady, with bright brown eyes and hair, and rather arch features; and the gentleman she was addressing had long found her face pleasant to look upon. But at this moment it really seemed to him as the face of an angel. Yet his answer spoke only a kind of depressed gratitude. Thank you, Miss Hammond,' he said. "If good wishes could procure me the living, I should have an excellent reason for hoping. But as things are, it is not for me.'

'Pooh! pooh!' said Mrs. Hammond cheerily, who knows?' And then, after a few more words, she and her daughter went on their way, and he turned into his rooms.

The old women were still watching. 'I don't well know who'll get it, Peggy,' said one, but I be pretty sure of this, as he won't! It isn't his sort as gets 'em. It's the lord's friends, bless you!'

So it appeared that she and Mr. Clode were of one mind on the matter. If that was really Mr. Clode's opinion. But it was when the crow opened its beak that it dropped the piece of cheese, it will be remembered; and so to this day the wise man has no chance or expectation of this or that—until he gets it. And if a patron or a patron's solicitor has for some days had under his paper-weight a letter written in a hand that bears a strange likeness to the wise man's-a letter setting forth the latter's claims and wisdom-what of that? That is a private matter, of course.

Be that as it may, there was scarcely a person in Claversham who did not give some time that evening, and subsequent. evenings too, to the interesting question who was to be the new rector. The rector was a big factor in the town life. Girls wondered whether he would be young, and hoped he would dance. Their mothers were sanguine that he would be unmarried, and their fathers that he would play whist. And one asked whether

he would buy Mr. Williams's stock of port, and another whether he would dine late. And some trusted that he would let things be, and some hoped that he would cleanse the stables. And only one thing was certain and sure and immutably fixed-that, whoever he was, he would not be able to please everybody.

Nay, the ripple of excitement spread far beyond Claversham. Not only at the archdeacon's at Kingsford Carbonel, five miles away among the orchards and hopyards, was there much speculation upon the matter, but even at the Homfrays', at Holberton, ten miles out beyond the Baer Hills, there was talk about it, and bets were made across the billiard-table. And in more distant vicarages and curacies, where the patron was in some degree known, there were flutterings of heart and anxious searchings of the 'Guardian' and Crockford. Those who seemed to have some chance of the living grew despondent, and those who had none talked the thing over with their wives after the children had gone to bed, until they persuaded themselves that they would die at Claversham Rectory. Middle-aged men who had been at college with Lord Dynmore remembered that they had on one occasion rowed in the same boat with him; and young men who had danced with his niece thought secretly that, dear little woman as Emily or Annie was, they might have done better. And a hundred and eleven letters, written by people who knew less than Messrs. Gearns & Baker of the Andes, seeing that they did not know that Lord Dynmore was there or thereabouts, were received at Dynmore Park and forwarded to London, and duly made up into a large parcel with other correspondence by Messrs. Gearns & Baker, and so were despatched to the forty-ninth parallel-or thereabouts.

CHAPTER II.

· VIVE LE ROI!'

Ir was at the beginning of the second week in October that Mr. Williams died; and, the weather in those parts being peculiarly fine and bright for the time of year, men stood about in the churchyard with bare heads, and caught no colds. And it continued so for some days after the funeral. But not everywhere. Upon a morning, some three perhaps after the ceremony at Claversham, a young gentleman sat down to his breakfast, only a hundred and twenty miles away, under conditions so different-a bitter east

wind, a dense fog, and a general murkiness of atmosphere-that one might have supposed his not over-plentiful meal to be laid in another planet.

The air in the room-a meagrely furnished, much littered room, was yellow and choking. The candles burned dimly in the midst of yellow halos. The fire seemed only to smoulder, and the owner of the room had to pay some attention to it before he sat down and found a letter lying beside his plate. He glanced at it doubtfully. 'I do not know the handwriting,' he muttered. 'It is not a subscription, for subscriptions never come in an east wind. I am afraid it is a bill.'

The letter was addressed to the Rev. Reginald Lindo, St. Barnabas' Mission House, 383 East India Dock Road, London, E. After scrutinising it for a moment, he pulled a candle towards him and tore open the envelope.

He read the letter slowly, his tea cup at his lips, and, though he was alone, his face grew crimson. When he had finished the note he turned back and read it again, and then flung it down and, starting up, began to walk the room. 'What a boy I am!' he muttered. But it is almost incredible. Upon my honour it is almost incredible!'

He was still at the height of his excitement, now sitting down to take a mouthful of breakfast and now leaping up to pace the room, when his housekeeper entered and said that a woman from Tamplin's Rents wanted to see him.

'What does she want, Mrs. Baxter ?' he asked.

"Husband is dying, sir,' the old lady replied briefly.
'Do you know her at all ? '

'No, sir. But she is as poor a piece as I have ever seen. She says that she could not have come out, for want of clothes, if it had not been for the fog. And they are not particular here, as I know, the hussies!'

'Say that I shall be ready to go with her in less than five minutes,' the young clergyman answered. And here! Give her some tea, Mrs. Baxter. The pot is half full.'

He bustled about; but nevertheless the message and the business he was now upon had sobered him, and as he buttoned up the letter in his breast-pocket, his face was grave. He was a tall young man, fair, with regular features, and curling hair cut rather short. His eyes were blue and pleasantly bold; and in his every action and in his whole carriage there was a great appearance of