in one of the low quarters?
He would call in at the doctor’s, and mention the matter to Miss Luttrell.
It was to find her enthusiastic, but at the same time full of shrewd common-sense, and clever suggestions which he followed out, and the way became smooth.
His means were good, for just before leaving college the death of an aunt had placed him in possession of a competency; hence he wished to be charitable, and Millicent advised him as to the best channels into which he could direct his molten gold.
Then there were the Sundays when, after getting easily and well through the service, he ascended the pulpit to commence his carefully elaborated sermon, the first sentences of which were hard, faltering, and dry, till his eyes fell upon one sweet, grave face in the middle of the aisle, watching him intently, and its effect was strange. For as their eyes met, Christie Bayle’s spirit seemed to awaken: he ceased to read the sermon. Words, sentences, and whole paragraphs were crowding in his brain eager to be spoken, and as they were spoken it was with a fire and eloquence that deeply stirred his hearers; while when, perhaps, at the very last, his eyes fell once more upon Millicent’s calm, sweet face, he would see that it was slightly flushed and her eyes were suffused.
He did not know it; but her influence stirred him in everything he did, and when he called, there was no mistaking the bright, eager look of pleasure, the friendly warmth, and the words that were almost reproachful if he had allowed three or four days to pass.
Work? No man could have worked harder or with a greater display of zeal. She would be pleased, he felt, to see how he had made changes in several matters that were foul with neglect. And it was no outer whitewashing of that which was unclean within. Christie Bayle was very young, and he had suddenly grown enthusiastic; so that when he commenced some work he never paused until it was either well in train or was done.
“You’re just the man we wanted here,” said Doctor Luttrell. “Why, Bayle, you have wakened me up. I tried all sorts of reformations years ago, but I had not your enthusiasm, and I soon wearied and jogged on in the old way. I shall have to begin now, old as I am, and see what I can do.”
“But it is shameful, papa, what opposition Mr Bayle meets with in the town,” cried Millicent warmly.
“Yes, my dear, it is. There’s a great deal of opposition to everything that is for people’s good.”
Millicent was willing enough to help, for there was something delightfully fresh and pleasant in her association with Christie Bayle.
“He’s working too hard, my dear,” the doctor said. “He wants change. He’s a good fellow. You and your mother must coax him here more, and get him out.” Bayle wanted no coaxing, for he came willingly enough to work hard with the doctor in the garden; to inspect Mrs Luttrell’s jams, and see how she soaked the paper in brandy before she tied them down; to go for walks with Millicent, or, on wet days, read German with her, or practise some instrumental or vocal duet.
How pleasantly, how happily those days glided by! Mr Hallam from the bank came just as often as of old, and once or twice seemed disposed to speak slightingly of the curate, but he saw so grave and appealing a look in Millicent’s eyes that he hastened, in his quiet, gentlemanly way, to efface the slight.
Sir Gordon Bourne, as was his custom, when not at the Hall or away with his yacht, came frequently to the doctor’s evenings, heavy with the smartest of sayings and the newest of stories from town. Gravely civil to the bank manager, a little distant to the new curate, and then, by degrees, as the months rolled by, talking to him, inviting him to dinner, placing his purse at his disposal for deserving cases of poverty, and at last becoming his fast friend.
“An uncommonly good fellow, doctor, uncommonly. Very young – yes, very young. Egad, Sir, I envy him sometimes, that I do.”
“I’m glad you like him, Sir Gordon,” cried Millicent, one day.
“Are you, my dear, are you?” he said, half sadly. “Well, why shouldn’t I? The man’s sincere. He goes about his work without fuss or pretence. He does not consider it his duty to be always preaching at you and pulling a long face; but seems to me to be doing a wonderful deal of good in a quiet way. Do you know – ”
He paused, and looked from the doctor to Mrs Luttrell, and then at Millicent, half laughingly.
“Do we know what?”
“Well, I’ll confess. I’ve played chess with him, and we’ve had a rubber at whist here, and he never touched upon sacred subjects since I’ve known him, and it has had a curious effect upon me.”
“A curious effect?” said Millicent wonderingly.
“Yes, egad, it’s a fact; he makes me feel as if I ought to go and hear him preach, and if you’ll take me next Sunday, Miss Millicent, I will.”
Millicent laughingly agreed; and Sir Gordon kept his word, going to the doctor’s on Sunday morning, and walking with the ladies to church.
It is worthy of remark though, that he talked a good deal to himself as he went home, weary and uncomfortable from wearing tight boots, and bracing up.
“It won’t do,” he said. “I’m old enough to know better, and if I can see into such matters more clearly than I could twenty years ago, Bayle’s in love with her. Well, a good thing too, for I’m afraid Hallam is taken too, and – no, that would not do. I’ve nothing whatever against the fellow; a gentleman in his manners, the very perfection of a manager, but somehow I should not like to see her his wife.”
“Why?” he said after a pause.
He shook his head.
“I can’t answer that question,” he muttered; and he was as far off from the answer when six months had passed.
Volume One – Chapter Seven.
A Terrible Mistake
“Going out for a drive?”
“Yes, Mr Bayle; and it was of no use my speaking. No end of things to see to; but the doctor would have me come with him.”
“I think the doctor was quite right, Mrs Luttrell.”
“There you are. You see, my dear? What did I tell you? Plants must have air, mustn’t they, Bayle?”
“Certainly.”
“I wish you would not talk like that, my dear. I am not a plant.”
“But you want air,” cried the doctor, giving his whip a flick, and making his sturdy cob jump.
“Oh! do be careful, my dear,” cried Mrs Luttrell nervously as she snatched at the whip.
“Oh, yes, I’ll be careful. I say, Bayle, I wish you would look in as you go by; I forgot to open the cucumber-frame, and the sun’s coming out strong. Just lift it about three inches.”
“I will,” said the curate; and the doctor drove on to see a patient half-a-dozen miles away.
“Well, you often tell me I’m a very foolish woman, my dear,” said Mrs Luttrell, buttoning and unbuttoning the chaise-apron with uneasy fingers, “but I should not have done such a thing as that.”
“Thing as what?” cried the doctor.
“As
