‘Kind to myself, my dear. It seems like a crime when I look at St. Matthew’s; but when I think of you all, and of home, I believe it is right that he should have the alternative. And now, if poor Lucy come, and it be not too late—’
‘Did he say anything?’ said Phœbe.
‘I only wrote to him; I thought he had rather not let me see his first impulse, so I told him to let me hear nothing till Thursday evening. I doubted before, now I feel sure he will take it.’
‘Lucy has the oldest claim,’ said Phœbe, thoughtfully, wishing she could feel equally desirous of success in this affair as in that of Mervyn and Cecily.
‘Yes, she was his first love, before Whittingtonia. Did you mention the vacancy at Hiltonbury?’
‘No; there was so much besides to talk of.’
‘That is well; for perhaps if she knew, that spirit of hers might keep her aloof. I feel like Padre Cristoforo dispensing Lucia from her vow! If she will only get well! And a little happiness will do more than all the cods in Hammerfest! Phœbe, we will have a chapel-school at the hamlet, and a model kitchen at the school: and Robert will get hold of all the big boys. His London experience is exactly what we want to brighten Hiltonbury, and all our clergy.’
Hiltonbury had a right to stand first with Honora, and Whittingtonia had sunk into a mere training-school for her pattern parson. If there were a sigh to think that Owen was exactly of the right age to have been ordained to Hiltonbury, she put it away, for this was next best.
Her note to Lucilla was penned with trembling caution, and each word was reconsidered day and night, in case the perverse temper might take umbrage. The answer came.
‘My dear Honor,
‘It is beyond my deserts to be so kindly taken home. I have learnt what that means now. I can be spared for a fortnight; and as Mr. Bostock dines in town the day after to-morrow, he will set me down. Your affectionate
L. Sandbrook.’