The New Rector

by Stanley John Weyman

The curate frowned a little at that—why, the doctor did not understand—and then the two parted. Gregg went on his way to carry the news to others, and Clode, after standing a moment in thought, turned his steps toward the Town House. The sky had grown cloudy, the day cold and raw. The leafless avenue and silent shrubberies through which he strode presented but a wintry prospect to the common eye, but for him the air was full of sunshine and green leaves and the songs of birds. From despair to hope, from a prison to a palace, he had leapt at a single bound. In the first intoxication of confidence he could even spare a moment to regret that his hands were not quite clean. He felt a passing remorse for the doing of one or two things, as needless, it now turned out, as they had been questionable. Nay, he could afford to shudder, with a luxurious sense of danger safely passed, at the risks he had been so foolish as to run; thanking Providence that his folly had not landed him, as he now saw that it easily might have landed him, in such trouble as would have effectually tripped up his rising fortunes.

He reached the Town House in a perfect glow of moral worth and self-gratulation; and he was already half-way across the drawing-room before he perceived that it contained, besides Mrs. Hammond and her daughter, a third person. The third person was the rector. Except in church the two men had not met since the day of the bazaar, and both were unpleasantly surprised. Lindo rose slowly from a seat in one of the windows, and, without stepping forward, stood silently looking at his curate, as one requiring an explanation, not offering a greeting; while Clode felt something of a shock, for he discerned at once that the situation would admit of no half measures. In the presence of Mrs. Hammond, to whom he had expressed his view of the rector’s conduct, he could not adopt the cautious apologetic tone which he would probably have used had he met Lindo alone. He was fairly caught. But he was not a coward, and before the tell-tale flush had well mounted to his brow he had determined on his rôle.

Half-way across the room he stopped, and looked at Mrs. Hammond. “I thought you were alone,” he said with an air of constraint, partly real, partly assumed.

“There is only the rector here,” she answered bluntly. And then she added, with a little spice of malice, for Mr. Clode had not been a favorite with her since his defection, “I suppose you are not afraid to meet him?”

“Certainly not,” the curate answered, thus challenged. And he turned haughtily to meet the rector’s angry gaze. “I am not aware that I have any need to be. I am glad to see that you are none the worse for your gallant conduct last night,” he added with perfect aplomb.

“Thank you,” Lindo answered, choking down his indignation with an effort. For a week—for a whole week—this, his chosen lieutenant, had not been near him in his trouble! “I am much obliged to you,” he continued, “but I am rather surprised that your anxiety on my account did not lead you to come and see me at the rectory.”

“I called, and failed to find you,” Clode answered, sitting resolutely down.

Lindo followed his example. “I believe you did once,” he replied contemptuously. Had a friend been about to succeed him, he could have borne even to congratulate him. But the thought of this man entering on the enjoyment of all the good things he was resigning was well-nigh unendurable. Though he knew that it would best consort with his dignity to be silent, he could not refrain from pursuing the subject. “You thought,” he went on, the same gibe in his tone, “that a non-committal policy was best, I suppose?”

The curate for a moment sat silent, his dark face glowing with resentment. “If you mean,” he said at last, neither Mrs. Hammond nor her daughter venturing to interfere—the former because she thought he was only getting his deserts, and the latter because she felt no call to champion him at present—“if you mean that I did not wish to publish my opinion, you are right, Mr. Lindo.”

“I think you published it sufficiently for your purpose’” the young rector retorted with bitterness.