He did not forget to restore the treasure with gratitude proportionate to what the loan had cost Mary. With a trembling voice, she proffered it to him for the whole day, and every day, if she might only have it at night; and she even looked black when he did not accept the proposal.

"It is exactly like--" said she.

"It can't help being so, in a certain sense," he answered kindly, "but after all, Mary dear, he did not pout out his chin in that way."

Mary was somewhat mortified, but she valued her photograph more than ever, because no one else would admire it, except Daisy, whom she had taught to regard it with unrivalled veneration.

A letter soon arrived from Captain Gordon, giving a fuller account of the loss of his ship, and of the conduct of his officers, speaking in the highest terms of Alan Ernescliffe, for whom he said he mourned as for his own son, and, with scarcely less warmth, of Harry, mentioning the high esteem all had felt for the boy, and the good effect which the influence of his high and truthful spirit had produced on the other youngsters, who keenly regretted him.

Captain Gordon added that the will of the late Captain Ernescliffe had made him guardian of his sons, and that he believed poor Alan had died intestate. He should therefore take upon himself the charge of young Hector, and he warmly thanked Dr. May and his family for all the kindness that the lad had received.

Though the loss of poor Hector's visits was regretted, it was, on the whole, a comforting letter, and would give still more comfort in future time.

Richard contrived to come home through Oxford and see Norman, whom he found calm, and almost relieved by the cessation from suspense; not inclined, as his father had feared, to drown sorrow in labour, but regarding his grief as an additional call to devote himself to ministerial work. In fact, the blow had fallen when he first heard the rumour of danger, and could not recur with the same force.

Richard was surprised to find that Margaret was less cast down than he could have dared to hope. It did not seem like an affliction to her.

Her countenance wore the same gentle smile, and she was as ready to participate in all that passed, finding sympathy for the little pleasures of Aubrey and Gertrude, and delighting in Flora's baby; as well as going over Cocksmoor politics with a clearness and accuracy that astonished him, and asking questions about his parish and occupations, so as fully to enjoy his short visit, which she truly called the greatest possible treat.

If it had not been for the momentary consternation that she had seen upon Dr. Spencer's face, Ethel would have been perfectly satisfied; but she could not help sometimes entertaining a dim fancy that this composure came from a sense that she was too near Alan to mourn for him.

Could it be true that her frame was more wasted, that there was less capability of exertion, that her hours became later in the morning, and that her nights were more wakeful? Would she fade away? Ethel longed to know what her father thought, but she could neither bear to inspire him with the apprehension, nor to ask Dr. Spencer's opinion, lest she should be confirmed in her own.

The present affliction altered Dr. May more visibly than the death of his wife, perhaps, because there was not the same need of exertion. If he often rose high in faith and resignation, he would also sink very low under the sense of bereavement and disappointment. Though Richard was his stay, and Norman his pride, there was something in Harry more congenial to his own temper, and he could not but be bowed down by the ruin of such bright hopes. With all his real submission, he was weak, and gave way to outbursts of grief, for which he blamed himself as unthankful; and his whole demeanour was so saddened and depressed, that Ethel and Dr. Spencer consulted mournfully over him, whenever they walked to Cocksmoor together.

This was not as often as usual, though the walls of the school were rising, for Dr. Spencer had taken a large share of his friend's work for the present, and both physicians were much occupied by the condition of Mr. Ramsden who was fast sinking, and, for some weeks, seemed only kept alive by their skill. The struggle ended at last, and his forty years' cure of Stoneborough was closed. It made Dr. May very sad--his affections had tendrils for anything that he had known from boyhood; and though he had often spoken strong words of the vicar, he now sat sorrowfully moralising and making excuses. "People in former times had not so high an estimate of pastoral duty--poor Mr. Ramsden had not much education--he was already old when better times came in--he might have done better in a less difficult parish with better laity to support him, etc." Yet after all, he exclaimed with one of his impatient gestures, "Better have my Harry's seventeen years than his sixty-seven!"

"Better improve a talent than lay it by!" said Ethel.

"Hush! Ethel. How do you know what he may have done? If he acted up to his own standard, he did more than most of us."

"Which is best," said Ethel, "a high standard, not acted up to, or a lower one fulfilled?"

"I think it depends on the will," said Margaret.

"Some people are angry with those whose example would show that there is a higher standard," said Ethel.

"And," said Margaret, "some who have the high one set before them content themselves with knowing that it cannot be fully attained, and will not try."

"The standard is the effect of early impression," said Dr. May. "I should be very sorry to think it could not be raised."

"Faithful in a little--" said Ethel. "I suppose all good people's standard is always going higher."

"As they comprehend more of absolute perfection," said Margaret.

CHAPTER XV.

The city's golden spire it was, When hope and health were strongest; But now it is the churchyard grass, We look upon the longest.--E. B. BROWNING.

A disinclination for exertion or going into public hung upon Dr. May, but he was obliged to rouse himself to attend the Town Council meeting, which was held a few days after the vicar's funeral, to decide on the next appointment. If it had depended on himself alone, his choice would have been Mr. Edward Wilmot, whom the death of his good old father had uprooted from Settlesham; and the girls had much hope, but he was too much out of spirits to be sanguine. He said that he should only hear a great deal of offensive stuff from Tomkins the brewer; and that, in the desire to displease nobody, the votes should settle down on some nonentity, was the best which was likely to happen. Thus, grumbling, he set off, and his daughters watched anxiously for his return. They saw him come through the garden with a quick, light step, that made them augur well, and he entered the room with the corners of his mouth turning up. "I see," said Ethel, "it is all right."

"They were going to have made a very absurd choice."

"But you prevented it? Who was it?"

"Ah! I told you Master Ritchie was turning out a popular preacher."

"You don't mean that they chose Richard!" cried Margaret breathlessly.

"As sure as my name is Dick May, they did, every man of them, except Tomkins, and even he held his tongue; I did not think it of them," said the doctor, almost overcome; "but there is much more goodness of heart in the world than one gives it credit for."

And good Dr. May was not one to give the least credit for all that was like himself.

"But it was Richard's own doing," he continued. "Those sermons made a great impression, and they love the boy, because he has grown up among them. The old mayor waddled up to me, as I came in, telling me that they had been talking it over, and they were unanimously agreed that they could not have a parson they should like better than Mr. Richard."

"Good old Mr. Doddesley! I can see him!" cried Ethel.

"I expected it so little, that I thought he meant some Richards; but no, he said Mr. Richard May, if he had nothing better in view--they liked him, and knew he was a very steady, good young gentleman, and if he took after his fathers that went before him--and they thought we might like to have him settled near!"

"How very kind!" said Margaret, as the tears came. "We shall love our own townsfolk better than ever!"

"I always told you so, if you would but believe it. They have warm, sound hearts, every one of them! I declare, I did not know which way to look, I was so sorry to disappoint them."

"Disappoint them!" cried Margaret, in consternation.

"I was thinking," said Ethel. "I do not believe Richard would think himself equal to this place in such a state as it is. He is so diffident."

"Yes," said Dr. May, "if he were ten or twelve years older, it would be another thing; but here, where everything is to be done, he would not bring weight or force enough. He would only work himself to death, for individuals, without going to the root. Margaret, my darling, I am very sorry to have disappointed you so much--it would have been as great a pleasure as we could have had in this world to have the lad here--"

"And Cocksmoor," sighed Ethel.

"I shall be grateful all my life to those good people for thinking of it," continued the doctor; "but look you here, it was my business to get the best man chosen in my power and, though as to goodness, I believe the dear Ritchie has not many equals; I don't think we can conscientiously say he would be, at present, the best vicar for Stoneborough."

Ethel would not say no, for fear she should pain Margaret.

"Besides," continued Dr. May, "after having staved off the sale of the presentation as a sin, it would hardly have been handsome to have let my own son profit by it. It would have seemed as if we had our private ends, when Richard helped poor old Mr. Ramsden."

Margaret owned this, and Ethel said Richard would be glad to be spared the refusal.

"I was sure of it. The poor fellow would have been perplexed between the right and consideration for us. A vicar here ought to carry things with a high hand, and that is hardest to do at a man's own home, especially for a quiet lad like him."

"Yes, papa, it was quite right," said Margaret, recovering herself; "it has spared Richard a great deal."

"But are we to have Mr. Wilmot?" said Ethel. "Think of our not having heard!"