"Surely you do not know anything bad about him!" he exclaimed, with a look of alarm. "I had no idea you knew him at all."
"I do not. I never saw him before, and I heartily wish he had not come here now."
"Why, my dear? We must see him now and then, for he will be our neighbour. The rector considers himself especially fortunate in having secured such a man. He has distinguished himself at Cambridge, has been three years in orders, bears a high character, and, Harvey tells me, takes a right view of the responsibilities before him. Fastidious as you are, you can find no fault with his manners, and even the girls must own that Nature has favoured him so far as externals go. He is a fine manly fellow, not ashamed of his own profession, but, I do believe, desirous of glorifying the Master in whose service he has enlisted. I was so pleased with the young man that, as I bade him good night, I said, 'Come when you like, you will find a welcome.' And he said, 'I shall be only too glad,' as if he meant it."
No going back from this. No routing an enemy thus supported. Beside, Uncle Edward was the master of the house, and his sister-in-law the graceful stewardess, who assisted him in dispensing hospitality therein. He never, by word or act, hinted at her dependent condition; but she could not shut her eyes to it, or forget her indebtedness to the man whose roof sheltered her and hers.
Three months passed, and Douglass Gilmour had won the good-will of high and low in the parish of St. James's, Rathbury. Even Mrs. Manning was won over to acknowledge that any mother might thank God for such a son, any girl be proud to possess the affection of so good a man.
Looking from the window on this particular afternoon, she caught glimpses of a white dress flitting here and there among the trees. Beside it was a tall figure, "every inch a man," to guide, shield, and support the girl who should trust herself to him as a partner for life. A man and a Christian, bright, earnest, true! And the mother wished she could add "rich," for the sweet, shy face and tender grace of the girl formed so lovely a contrast to the partner of her walk that she owned to herself Nature had seldom formed two more fitted to walk together.
"And that is the worst of it," thought she. "Elsie has such a good excuse for liking Mr. Gilmour. Twenty times more than ever Mary had for choosing Charles Peyton, and yet she found more to say than I could answer."
Another glance out of the window. The wearer of the white dress was sauntering back alone, having parted with her companion. And the mother, looking back through the years, found in the memory of one short day in her own young life a key to the happy light which shed its radiance over the fair face of her youngest darling. Even that memory could not conquer the motherly ambition—she called it prudence—on behalf of her child, and she resolved to have a little talk with Elsie then and there.
[CHAPTER III.]
"ELSIE, dear, I thought Mr. Gilmour was coming in for a cup of tea, and to say 'Good-bye.' Is he coming?"