THE

CORNHILL MAGAZINE.

DECEMBER 1891.

THE NEW RECTOR.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF.'

CHAPTER XXII.

THE RECTOR'S DECISION.

THE church clock was striking nine as the rector, jogging along behind the little pony, came in sight of the turnpike-house outside the town. He had no overcoat, and the drive had chilled him; and, anxious at once to warm himself and to reach the rectory as quietly as possible, he bade the driver stop at the gate and set him down. The lad had been strictly charged to see the parson home, and would have demurred, but Lindo persisted good-humouredly, and had his way. In two minutes he was striding briskly along the road, his shoulders squared, and the night's reflections still running like a rich purple thread through the common stuff of his everyday thoughts.

In this mood, which the pure morning air and crisp sunshine tended to favour and prolong, he came at a corner plump upon Mr. Bonamy, who, like all angular uncomfortable men, was an early riser, and had this morning chosen to extend his beforebreakfast walk in the direction of Baerton. The lawyer's energy had already been rewarded. He had met Mr. Keogh, and learned not only the earlier details of the accident-which were, indeed, known to all Claversham, for the town had sat up into the small hours listening for wheels and discussing the catastrophe-but had further received a minute description of the rector's conduct. Consequently his thoughts were already busy

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with the clergyman when, turning a corner, he came unexpectedly upon him.

Lindo met his glance and looked away hastily. The rector had been anxious to avoid, by going home at once, any appearance of parading what he had done, and he would have passed on with a brief good-morning. But the lawyer seemed to be differently disposed. He stopped short in the middle of the path, so that the clergyman could not pass him without rudeness, and nodded a jerky greeting. 'You have not walked all the way, I suppose, Mr. Lindo?' he said, his keen small eyes reading the other's face like a book.

'No,' the rector answered, colouring uncomfortably under his gaze. 'I drove as far as the turnpike, Mr. Bonamy.'

'Well, you may think yourself lucky to be well out of it,' the lawyer rejoined, with a dry smile. To be here at all, indeed,' he continued, with a gesture of the hand which seemed meant to indicate the sunshine and the upper air. "When a man does a foolhardy thing he does not always escape, you know.'

The younger man reddened. But this morning he had his temper well under control; and he merely answered, 'I thought I was called upon to do what I did, Mr. Bonamy. But of course that is a matter of opinion. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps right. I did what I thought best at the moment, and I am satisfied.'

Mr. Bonamy shrugged his shoulders. Oh, well, every man to his notion,' he said. 'I do not approve, myself, of people running risks which do not lie within the scope of their business. And as nothing has happened to you—

6

The risk of anything happening,' the rector rejoined, with warmth, was so small that the thing is not worth discussing, Mr. Bonamy. There is a matter, however,' he continued, changing the subject on a sudden impulse, which I think I may as well mention to you now as later. You, as churchwarden, have, in fact, a right to be informed of it. I'

'You are cold,' said Mr. Bonamy abruptly. Allow me to turn with you.'

The rector bowed and complied. The request, however, had checked the current of his speech, even the current of his thoughts, and he did not finish his sentence. He felt, indeed, for a moment a temptation as sudden as it was strong. He saw at a glance what his resolve meant. He discerned that what had appeared to him in the isolation of the night an act of dignified self-surrender

must, and would, seem to others an acknowledgment of defeatalmost an acknowledgment of dishonour. He recalled, as in a flash, all the episodes of the struggle between himself and his companion. And he pictured the latter's triumph. He wavered.

But the events of the last eighteen hours had not been lost upon him, and, after a brief hesitation, he set the seal on his purpose. You are aware, I know, Mr. Bonamy,' he said, with an effort, of the circumstances under which, in Lord Dynmore's absence, I accepted the living here.'

'Perfectly,' said the lawyer drily.

'He has made those circumstances the subject of a grave charge against me,' the rector continued, a touch of hauteur in his tone. "That you have heard also, I know. Well, I desire to say once more that I repudiate that charge in the fullest and widest sense.'

'So I understand,' Mr. Bonamy murmured. He walked along by his companion's side, his face set and inscrutable. If he felt any surprise at the communication now being made to him he had the skill to hide it.

'I repudiate it, you understand!' the clergyman repeated, stepping out more quickly in his excitement, and glaring angrily into vacancy. It is a false and wicked charge! But it does not affect me. I do not care a jot for it. It does not in any sense force me to do what I am going to do. If that were all, I should not dream of resigning the living, but, on the contrary, would hold it, as a few days ago I had determined to hold it, in the face of all opposition. However,' he continued, lowering his tone, 'I have now examined my position in regard to the parish rather than the patron, and I have come to a different conclusion, Mr. Bonamy-namely, to place my resignation in the proper hands as speedily as possible.'

Mr. Bonamy nodded gently and silently. He did not speak, he did not even look at the clergyman; and this placid acquiescence irritated the young man into adding a word he had not intended to say. I tell you this as my churchwarden, Mr. Bonamy,' he continued stiffly, and not as desiring or expecting any word of sympathy or regret from you. On the contrary,' he added, with some bitterness, 'I am aware that my departure can be only a relief to you. We have been opposed to one another since my first day here.'

'Very true,' said Mr. Bonamy, nodding placidly. 'I suppose you have considered-'

'What?'

'The effect which last night's work may have on the relations between you and Lord Dynmore?'

'I do not understand you,' the rector answered haughtily, and yet with some wonder. What did the man mean?

'You know, I suppose,' Mr. Bonamy retorted, turning slightly so as to command a view of his companion's face, 'that he is the owner of the Big Pit at Baerton from which you have just come?' 'Lord Dynmore is?'

'To be sure.'

A flush of crimson swept over the rector's brow and left him red and frowning. I did not know that!' he said, his teeth set together.

'So I perceive,' the lawyer replied, with a nod, as they turned into the churchyard. But I can reassure you. It is not at all likely to affect the earl's plans. He is an obstinate man, though in some points a good-natured one, and he will most certainly accept your resignation if you send it in. But here you are at home.' He paused, standing awkwardly by the clergyman's side. At last he added, 'It is a comfortable house. I do not think that there is a more comfortable house in Claversham.'

He retired a few steps into the churchyard as he spoke, and stood looking up at the massive old-fashioned front of the rectory, as if he had never seen the house before. The clergyman, anxious to be indoors and alone, shot an impatient glance at him, and waited for him to go. But he did not go, and presently something in his intent gaze drew Lindo, too, into the churchyard, and the two ill-assorted companions looked up together at the old grey house. The early sun shone aslant on it, burnishing the halfopen windows. In the porch a robin was hopping to and fro. 'It is a comfortable, roomy house,' the lawyer repeated.

'It is,' the rector answered-slowly, as if the words were wrung from him. And he, too, stood looking up at it as if he were fascinated.

'A man might grow old in it,' murmured Mr. Bonamy. There was a slight, but very unusual, flush on his parchment-coloured face, and his eyes, when he turned with an abrupt movement to his companion, did not rise above the latter's waistcoat. Comfortably too, I should say,' he added querulously, rattling the money in his pockets. 'I think if I were you I would reconsider my determination. I think I would, do you know? As it is, what

you have told me will not go any farther. You did one foolish thing last night. I would not do another to-day, if I were you,

Mr. Lindo.'

With that he turned abruptly away-his head down, his coattails swinging, and both his hands thrust deep into his trouserpockets-such a shrewd, angular, ungainly figure as only a small country town can show. He left the rector standing before his rectory in a state of profound surprise and bewilderment. The young man felt something very like a lump in his throat as he turned to go in. He discerned that the lawyer had meant to do a kind, nay, a generous action; and yet if there was a man in the world whom he had judged incapable of such magnanimity it was Mr. Bonamy! He went in not only touched, but ashamed. Here, if he had not already persuaded himself that the world was less ill-conditioned than he had lately thought it, was another and a surprising lesson !

Meanwhile Mr. Bonamy went home in haste, and finding his family already at breakfast, sat down to the meal in a very snappish humour. The girls were quick to detect the cloud on his brow, and promptly supplied his wants, forbearing, whatever their curiosity, to make any present attempt to satisfy it. Jack was either less observant or more hardy. He remarked that Mr. Bonamy was late, and elicited only a grunt. A further statement that the morning was more like April than February gained no answer at all. Still undismayed, Jack tried again, plunging into the subject which the three had been discussing before the lawyer entered. 'Did you hear anything of Lindo, sir?' he asked, buttering his toast. 'I saw him,' the lawyer said curtly.

'Was he all right?' Jack ventured.

'More right than he deserved to be!' Mr. Bonamy snarled. "What right had he down the pit at all? Gregg did not go.' 'More shame to Gregg, I think!' Jack said.

Mr. Bonamy prudently shifted his ground, and got back to the rector. 'Well, all I can say is that a more foolish, reckless, useless piece of idiocy I never heard of in my life!' he declared in a tone of scorn.

'I call it glorious!' said Daintry, looking dreamily across the table and slowly withdrawing an egg-spoon from her mouth. 'I shall never say anything against him again.'

Mr. Bonamy looked at her for an instant as if he would annihilate her. And then he went on with his breakfast.

Apparently, however, the outburst had relieved him, for pre