“And now,” said Ermine, turning to her other visitor, “perhaps I may discover which of us, or of our uncles, preached a sermon.”
“Mine, I suspect,” returned Mr. Keith. “Your sister and I made out at luncheon that you had known my uncle, Mr. Clare, of Bishopsworthy.”
“Mr. Clare! Oh yes,” cried Ermine eagerly, “he took the duty for one of our curates once for a long vacation. Did you ever hear him speak of Beauchamp?”
“Yes, often; and of Dr. Williams. He will be very much interested to hear of you.”
“It was a time I well remember,” said Ermine. “He was an Oxford tutor then, and I was about fourteen, just old enough to be delighted to hear clever talk. And his sermons were memorable; they were the first I ever listened to.”
“There are few sermons that it is not an infliction to listen to,” began Rachel, but she was not heard or noticed.
“I assure you they are even more striking now in his blindness.”
“Blindness! Indeed, I had not heard of that.”
Even Rachel listened with interest as the young officer explained that his uncle, whom both he and Miss Williams talked of as a man of note, of whom every one must have heard, had for the last four years been totally blind, but continued to be an active parish priest, visiting regularly, preaching, and taking a share in the service, which he knew by heart. He had, of course, a curate, who lived with him, and took very good care of him.
“No one else?” said Rachel. “I thought your sister lived at Bishopsworthy.”