“But of course,” she went on, “there must be something VERY wrong with him to know so much as you say, and occupy such a menial position! Nothing but a gate-keeper, and talk like that about bishops and what not! People that are crooked in body are always crooked in mind too. I dare say now he has quite a coterie of friends and followers amongst the lower orders in Glaston. He’s just the sort of man to lead the working classes astray. No doubt he is a very interesting study for a young man like you, but you must take care; you may be misunderstood. A young clergyman CAN’T be too cautious—if he has any hope of rising in his profession.—A gate-keeper, indeed!”
“Wasn’t it something like that David wanted to be?” said the curate.
“Mr. Wingfold, I never allow any such foolish jests in my hearing. It was a DOOR-keeper the Psalmist said—and to the house of God, not a nobleman’s park.”
“A verger, I suppose,” thought Wingfold.—“Seriously, Mrs. Ramshorn, that poor little atom of a creature is the wisest man I know,” he said.
“Likely enough, in YOUR judgment, Mr. Wingfold,” said the dean’s widow, and drew herself up.
The curate accepted his dismissal, and joined the little man by Leopold’s chair.
“I wish you two could be with me when I am dying,” said Leopold.
“If you will let your sister know your wish, you may easily have it,” said the curate.
“It will be just like saying good-bye at the pier-head, and pushing off alone—you can’t get more than one into the boat—out, out, alone, into the infinite ocean of—nobody knows what or where,” said Leopold.
“Except those that are there already, and they will be waiting to receive you,” said Polwarth. “You may well hope, if you have friends to see you off, you will have friends to welcome you too. But I think it’s not so much like setting off from the pier-head, as getting down the side of the ocean-ship, to laud at the pier-head, where your friends are all standing looking out for you.”