“You will find subjects for consideration in these volumes,” said Mr Lerew, taking two books from his pocket; “the one describes fully the joys of a religious life, and the other points out to you rules for your daily government. Your aunt has already several works I left with her some time ago, to which I would also draw your attention; and may they prove a blessing to your soul.”
Saying this, the vicar took his leave. In the meantime several persons had come to the house; and scarcely had the vicar left the room than the voice of Mr Sims was heard exclaiming, “By whose authority, I should like to know, has the death-bed of my poor friend been surrounded by those popish play-acting mummeries which I witnessed just now? He was one of the last men on earth who would have sanctioned such proceedings.”
“Sir, sir!” exclaimed Mr Lerew in an angry tone, “I scarcely understand your meaning; but if you allude to the arrangements in the chamber of death above, I have to inform you that they were made by those who had ample authority for doing as they thought right; and I have to add that I consider your remarks indecorous and highly impertinent.”
“I differ with you on that point,” answered the lieutenant, restraining his anger; “and I only hope my poor friend’s daughter has had nothing to do with the matter. It signifies very little to him, or I believe he’d get up and capsize all the candles, and cut down the black cloth rigged round his bed. Why, I’m as sure as I am of my own existence that he died like a true Christian, and is now in the glorious realms of the blest, or I don’t know what the Gospel means. What does he want with all that black stuff round him? It’s just robbing the orphan to put money in the pockets of the undertakers. And now you’ve got my opinion, I’ll wish you good morning;” and Mr Sims walked out of the house, leaving the vicar fuming and boiling with unwonted rage.
Mr Sims had intended leaving a message expressive of his and his wife’s sympathy for poor Clara; but his indignation at what he had witnessed very naturally threw everything else out of his head. He notwithstanding attended Captain Maynard’s funeral, which was conducted with more ceremonies than had ever yet taken place in the parish. Numerous carriages followed the hearse, and the procession formed in the church walked after the coffin, the individuals forming it surrounding the grave, chanting a requiem as the coffin was committed to its last resting-place.
The vicar had kept secret the last interview he had had with Captain Maynard, who, he let it be supposed, had gone through all the required ordinances of the Church before the last seizure, which had deprived him of the power of speech. Those who knew the captain best averred that he would never have consented to the performance in his presence of any Romish ceremony, and that the vicar had some object in view in allowing the idea to get abroad. The parish became more divided than ever, but the original cause of dispute held its ground, and those who sided with the vicar would no longer visit or speak to those who believed that he had declared the Bible to be a dangerous book.
Clara’s grief for the loss of her father was sincere and deep. Her nature was one requiring such consolation as a sympathising friend could afford. Her aunt was never sympathising or gentle, and she had become still less so since she had attended the frequent services of the Church. Early rising did not suit her constitution; but though she thoroughly disliked it, she considered it her duty to induce her niece to accompany her.
Thus time went on at Luton. General Caulfield was detained in the North; he wrote frequently to Clara. Not aware of the influences to which she was exposed, he did not mention the vicar, and failed to caution her, as he otherwise would have done. She, knowing his opinions, did not venture to tell him all that was occurring, though he saw by the tone of her letters that she was unhappy and ill at ease from some cause or other, besides the natural grief she felt for the loss of her father, and her anxiety about Harry. She had heard of his arrival, and that his regiment was ordered up the country, but she had received no answer to the letter she wrote, describing the services at the church, and the various changes introduced by the vicar. Her aunt had, in the meantime, become less agreeable and communicative even than before. She was constantly absorbed in the books lent her by Mr Lerew, and she very frequently drove over to the Vicarage to see him. Clara had at first felt but little interest in the two works he had presented to her; she had glanced over their pages, and was somewhat startled at the language used and the advice given in them, so different to that to which she had been accustomed. On one of his visits he inquired whether she had studied them, and she had to confess the truth. He then entreated her not to risk her spiritual welfare by any longer neglecting to read the works so calculated to advance it. She promised to follow his advice. Had Clara known more of the world, and possessed more self-reliance, her eyes might have been opened by what she read; but she wanted some one to lean on, and on her aunt’s judgment she had no reliance. The vicar appeared, from his position and serious manner, to be the person in whom she ought to confide. Had the general been at Luton, she would have gone to him; but she could not write what she might have spoken; and she finally gave herself up to the guidance of Mr Lerew, as her aunt had long since done.
The following Sunday the communion was to be held, or, as the vicar expressed it, the Holy Eucharist was to be celebrated; “But,” he added, “I have made it a rule that I will administer it to none who have not made confession and received that absolution I am authorised to grant.”
“I was not aware of that,” said Clara; “how long has that rule existed?”