Mrs. Linnet had become a reader of religious books since Mr. Tryan’s advent, and as she was in the habit of confining her perusal to the purely secular portions, which bore a very small proportion to the whole, she could make rapid progress through a large number of volumes.  On taking up the biography of a celebrated preacher, she immediately turned to the end to see what disease he died of; and if his legs swelled, as her own occasionally did, she felt a stronger interest in ascertaining any earlier facts in the history of the dropsical divine—­whether he had ever fallen off a stage coach, whether he had married more than one wife, and, in general, any adventures or repartees recorded of him previous to the epoch of his conversion.  She then glanced over the letters and diary, and wherever there was a predominance of Zion, the River of Life, and notes of exclamation, she turned over to the next page; but any passage in which she saw such promising nouns as ‘small-pox’, ‘pony’, or ’boots and shoes’, at once arrested her.

‘It is half-past six now,’ said Miss Linnet, looking at her watch as the servant appeared with the tea-tray.  ’I suppose the delegates are come back by this time.  If Mr. Tryan had not so kindly promised to call and let us know, I should hardly rest without walking to Milby myself to know what answer they have brought back.  It is a great privilege for us, Mr. Tryan living at Mrs. Wagstaff’s, for he is often able to take us on his way backwards and forwards into the town.’

’I wonder if there’s another man in the world who has been brought up as Mr. Tryan has, that would choose to live in those small close rooms on the common, among heaps of dirty cottages, for the sake of being near the poor people,’ said Mrs. Pettifer.  ’I’m afraid he hurts his health by it; he looks to me far from strong.’

‘Ah,’ said Miss Pratt, ’I understand he is of a highly respectable family indeed, in Huntingdonshire.  I heard him myself speak of his father’s carriage—­quite incidentally, you know—­and Eliza tells me what very fine cambric handkerchiefs he uses.  My eyes are not good enough to see such things, but I know what breeding is as well as most people, and it is easy to see that Mr. Tryan is quite comme il faw, to use a French expression.’

‘I should like to tell him better nor use fine cambric i’ this place, where there’s such washing, it’s a shame to be seen,’ said Mrs. Linnet; ’he’ll get ’em tore to pieces.  Good lawn ’ud be far better.  I saw what a colour his linen looked at the sacrament last Sunday.  Mary’s making him a black silk case to hold his bands, but I told her she’d more need wash ‘em for him.’

‘O mother!’ said Rebecca, with solemn severity, ’pray don’t think of pocket-handkerchiefs and linen, when we are talking of such a man.  And at this moment, too, when he is perhaps having to bear a heavy blow.  We have more need to help him by prayer, as Aaron and Hur held up the hands of Moses.  We don’t know but wickedness may have triumphed, and Mr. Prendergast may have consented to forbid the lecture.  There have been dispensations quite as mysterious, and Satan is evidently putting forth all his strength to resist the entrance of the Gospel into Milby Church.’