She was deep in thought.  She recollected now, that as she had gone up the path, from the cove on that eventful morning, she had seen Willis and Thurnall whispering earnestly together; and she recollected now, for the first time, that there had been, a certain sadness and perplexity, almost reserve, about Willis ever since.  Good Heavens! could he suspect her too?  She would find out that at least; and no sooner had her mother fussed away, talking angrily to herself, into the back kitchen, than Grace put on her bonnet and shawl, and went forth to find the Captain.

In an hour she returned.  Her lips were firm set, her cheeks pale, her eyes red with weeping.  She said nothing to her mother, who for her part did not seem inclined to allude again to the matter.

“Where have you been, child?  You look quite poorly, and your eyes red.”

“The wind is very cold, mother,” said she, and went into her room.  Her mother looked sharply after her, and muttered to herself.

Grace went in, and sat down on the bed.

“What a coldness this is at my heart!” she said aloud to herself, trying to smile; but she could not:  and she sat on the bedside, without taking off her bonnet and shawl, her hands hanging listlessly by her side, her head drooping on her bosom, till her mother called her to tea:  then she was forced to rouse herself, and went out, composed, but utterly wretched.

Tom walked up homeward, very ill at ease.  He had played, to use his nomenclature, two trump cards running, and was by no means satisfied that he had played them well.  He had no right, certainly, to be satisfied with either move; for both had been made in a somewhat evil spirit, and certainly for no very disinterested end.

That was a view of the matter, however, which never entered his mind; there was only that general dissatisfaction with himself which is, though men try hard to deny the fact, none other than the supernatural sting of conscience.  He tried “to lay to his soul the flattering unction” that he might, after all, be of use to Mrs. Vavasour, by using his power over her husband:  but he knew in his secret heart that any move of his in that direction was likely only to make matters worse; that to-day’s explosion might only have sent home the hapless Vavasour in a more irritable temper than ever.  And thinking over many things, backward and forward, he saw his own way so little, that he actually condescended to go and “pump” Frank Headley.  So he termed it:  but, after all, it was only like asking advice of a good man, because he did not feel himself quite good enough to advise himself.

The curate was preparing to sally forth, after his frugal dinner.  The morning he spent at the schools, or in parish secularities; the afternoon, till dusk, was devoted to visiting the poor; the night, not to sleep, but to reading and sermon writing.  Thus, by sitting up till two in the morning, and rising again at six for his private devotions, before walking a mile and a half up to church for the morning service, Frank Headley burnt the candle of life at both ends very effectually, and showed that he did so by his pale cheeks and red eyes.