“And you call this a reasonable wish?”

“I do.  And so would my father if he were alive.  Bring his face once again before you, Rector, and you will agree with me.”

The Rector sat down in his arm-chair, and shaded his eyes with one of his long white hands.  He sat for a long time motionless, and without speaking.  Beatrice stood by the mantelpiece; there was a small fire in the grate; now and then a flame leaped up, and cast its reflection on her face.

Suddenly the Rector started upright.

“What day is this?” he asked.

“Thursday—­Thursday night.”

“And you are to be married on Tuesday?”

“No, I may never marry.  Nina Hart and Loftus Bertram are to be married on Tuesday.”

“God bless me!  Beatrice, you have put me into a nice fix.  Guardians are not always to be envied.  What’s the hour, child?”

Beatrice glanced at the clock.

“It is half-past nine,” she said.

“You say that this—­this Miss Hart is staying at the Bells’?”

“Yes.”

“I must go to her.  I must see her to-night.”

“Remember she is weak and ill.  You will be gentle with her.”

“Beatrice, am I as a rule rough with people?  Come, I will see you home, and then call on Miss Hart.”

CHAPTER XXXI.

CIVIL WAR AT NORTHBURY.

It is often very difficult to trace Rumor to his foundation.  His beginning is sometimes as small as a particle of sand; the first dawning of his existence as impalpable as the air.

From these small beginnings, however, rumor arises, strong as a giant, cruel as death.  Perhaps no foe has more injured mankind than idle rumor.

He was abroad now in the little town of Northbury, and no one quite knew the exact place of his birth.  A good many people traced his existence to Hunt, the baker, who sold many loaves of bread, and many sweet and tasty cakes by reason of his love of gossip—­some people laid it to Miss Peters’ door, some to Mrs. Gorman Stanley’s, some again to Mrs. Morris’s; but soon, in the excitement which the Giant Rumor caused, people had no time to talk of the place of his birth—­he was there, he was among them, and he was the only subject now discussed.

A great many afternoon teas, and small social gatherings were given during the next few days in his honor.  As to the Bells’ house it became quite notorious.  People paused as they passed the windows, and even the paving stones round the time-worn steps were fraught with interest.

At the club the men talked of nothing but the story which was abroad.  They took the opportunity to make bets and wagers.  Their tongues were not so cruel as those of the women, but still their tongues did wag, and there was more than one wife in the town who felt the effect of Beatrice Meadowsweet’s engagement for many a long day, because the father of the family had jeopardized a considerable sum in a wager on the probable issue of events.