The New Rector

"And that is all?" the rector said, a little huskiness in his tone. "That is all," the archdeacon replied, rubbing his head again. It was plain that he had hard work to keep his vexation within bounds.

"Well, I must not complain because he has taken me at my word," the rector said, recovering himself a little.

"Well, I hoped the bishop might have had a word to say to it," the archdeacon grumbled. "But he had not, and I could not get to see his wife. He spoke very highly of your conduct, but he did not see his way clear, he said, to interfering."

"I scarcely see how he could," Lindo answered slowly.

"Well, I do not know. Bonamy's representation in the church-wardens' names was very strong-very strong indeed, coming from them, you know."

Lindo reddened. "There is an odd man for you, if you like," he said impulsively. He was glad, perhaps, to change the subject. "He has scarcely said a civil word to me since I came. He even began an action against me. Yet when this happened he turned round and in his way fought for me."

"Well, that is Bonamy all over!" the archdeacon answered, almost with enthusiasm. "He is rough and crabbed, but he has the instincts of a gentleman, which are the greater credit to him, since he is a self-made man. I think I can tell you something about him, though, which you do not know."

"Indeed?" said Lindo mechanically.

"Yes. It has to do with your letter, too. I had it from Lord Dynmore. In the first flush of his anger, it seems, he went to Bonamy and directed him to take the necessary steps to eject you. He is not the earl's solicitor, and he must have seen an excellent opportunity of getting hold of the Dynmore business through this. He could not but see it. Nevertheless, he declined."

"Why?" asked the rector shortly.

The archdeacon shrugged his shoulders. "Ah! that I cannot say," he answered. "I only know that he did, putting forward some scruple or other which sent the earl off almost foaming with rage; and, of course, sent off with him Bonamy's chance of his business."

"He is a strange man!" Lindo sighed as he spoke.

The archdeacon took a turn up the room. "Now," he said, coming back, "I want to talk to you about another man."

"Clode?" muttered the rector.

"Well, yes; you have guessed it," the elder clergyman assented. "The truth is, I am to offer him the living if you report well of him."

"I do not like him," Lindo said briefly.

"To be candid," replied the other as briefly, "neither do I, now."

To that Lindo for a moment said nothing. The young man had fallen into an old attitude, and stood with his foot on the fender, his head bent, his eyes fixed on the fire. He was passing through a temptation. Here was a brave vengeance ready to his hand. The man who had behaved badly, heartlessly, disloyally to him, who had taken part against him, and been hard and unfriendly from the moment of Lord Dynmore's return, was now in his power. He had only to say that he distrusted Clode, that he suspected him of being unscrupulous, even that their connection had not been satisfactory to himself-and the thing was done. Clode would not have the living.

Yet he hesitated to say those words. He felt that the thing was a temptation.

He remembered that Clode had worked well in the parish, and that his only offence was a private one. And, not at once, but after a pause, he gulped down the temptation, and, looking up with a flushed face, spoke. "Yes," he said, "I must report well of him-in the parish, that is. He is a good worker. I am bound to say as much as that, I think."

The archdeacon shrugged his shoulders once more. "Right!" he said, with a certain curtness which hid his secret disgust. "I suppose that is all, then. Will you come with me and tell him?"

"No," the rector answered very decidedly, "certainly I will not."

"It will look well," the other still suggested.

"No," Lindo replied again, almost in anger, "I cannot sincerely congratulate the man, and I will not!"

Nor would he budge from that resolve; and when the archdeacon called at the curate's lodgings a few minutes later, he called alone. The man he sought was out, however. "Mr. Clode is at the Reading-Room, I think, sir," the landlady said, with her deepest courtesy. And thither, accordingly, after a moment's hesitation, the archdeacon went.

The gas in the big, barely-furnished room, which we have visited more than once, had just been lit, but the blinds still remained up; and in this mingling of lights the place looked less home-like and more uncomfortable than usual. There were three people in the room when the archdeacon entered. Two sat reading by the fire, their backs to the door. The third-the future rector-was standing up near one of the windows, taking advantage of the last rays of daylight to read the Times, which he held open before him. The archdeacon cast a casual glance at the others, and then stepped across to him and touched him on the shoulder.

Clode turned with a start. He had not heard the approaching footstep. One glance at the newcomer's face, however, set his blood in a glow. It told him, or almost told him, all; and instinctively he dropped his eyes, that the other might not read in them his triumph and exultation.

The archdeacon's first words confirmed him in his hopes. "I have some good news for you, Mr. Clode," he said, smiling benevolently. He had of late distrusted the curate, as we have seen; but he was a man of kindly nature, and such a man cannot convey good tidings without entering into the recipient's feelings. "I saw Lord Dynmore yesterday," he continued.

"Indeed," said the curate a little thickly. His face had grown hot, but the increasing darkness concealed this.

"Yes," the archdeacon resumed, in a confidential tone which was yet pretty audible through the room. "You have heard, no doubt, that Mr. Lindo has resigned the living?"

The curate nodded. At that moment he dared not speak. A dreadful thought was in his mind. What if the archdeacon's good news was news that the earl declined to receive the resignation? Some people might call that good news! The mere thought struck him dumb.

The archdeacon's next words resolved his doubts. "Frankly," the elder man said in a genial tone, "I am sorry-sorry that circumstances have forced him to take so extreme a step. But having said that, Mr. Clode, I have done for the present with regret, and may come to pleasanter matter. I have to congratulate you. I am happy to say that Lord Dynmore, whom I saw yesterday, has authorized me to offer the living to you."

The newspaper rustled in the curate's grasp, and for a moment he did not answer. Then he said huskily, "To me?"

"Yes," the archdeacon answered expansively-it was certainly a pleasant task he had in hand, and he could not help beaming over it. "To you, Mr. Clode. On one condition only," he continued, "which is usual enough in all such cases, and I venture to think is particularly natural in this case. I mean that you have your late rector's good word."

"Mr. Lindo's good word?" the curate stammered.

"Of course," the unconscious archdeacon answered.

The curate's jaw dropped; but by an effort he forced a ghastly smile. "To be sure," he said. "There will be no difficulty about that, I think."

"No," replied the other, "for I have just seen him, and can say at once that he is prepared to give it you. He has behaved throughout in a most generous manner, and the consequence is that I have nothing more to do except to offer you my congratulations on your preferment."

For a moment Clode could scarcely believe in his happiness. In the short space of two minutes he had tasted to the full both the pleasure of hope and the pang of despair. Could it be that all that was over already? That the period of waiting and uncertainty was past and gone? That the prize to which he had looked so long-and with the prize the woman he loved-was his at last? – was actually in his grasp?

His head reeled, great as was his self-control, and a haze rose before his eyes. As this passed away he became conscious that the archdeacon was shaking his hand with great heartiness, and that the thing was real! He was rector, or as good as rector, of Claversham. The object of his ambition was his! He was happy: perhaps it was the happiest moment of his life. He had even time to wonder whether he could not do Lindo a good turn-whether he could not somehow make it up to him.

"You are very good," he muttered, gratefully pressing the archdeacon's hand.

"I am glad it is not a stranger," that gentleman replied heartily. "Oh," he continued, turning and speaking in a different tone, "is that you, Mr. Bonamy? Well, there can be no harm in your hearing the news also. You are people's warden, of course, and have a kind of claim to hear it early. To be sure you have."

"What is the news?" Mr. Bonamy asked rather shortly. He had risen and drawn near unnoticed, Jack Smith behind him. "Do I understand that Lord Dynmore has accepted the rector's resignation?"

"That is so."

"And that he proposes to present Mr. Clode?" the lawyer continued, looking at the curate as he named him.

"Precisely," replied the archdeacon, without hesitation.

"I hope you have no objection, Mr. Bonamy," said the curate, bowing slightly with a gracious air. He could afford to be gracious now. He even felt good-as men in such moments do.

But in the lawyer's response there was no graciousness, nor much apparent goodness. "I am afraid," he said, standing up gaunt and stiff, with a scowl on his face, "that I must take advantage of that saving clause, Mr. Clode. I am people's warden, as the archdeacon says, and frankly I object to your appointment-to your appointment as rector here."

"You object!" the curate stammered, between wrath and wonder.

"Bless me!" exclaimed the archdeacon in unmixed astonishment. "What do you mean?"