And then the squire left the room, and Lady Arabella remained alone, perplexed by many doubts.

CHAPTER XXXII

MR ORIEL

I must now, shortly—­as shortly as it is in my power to do it—­introduce a new character to my reader.  Mention has been made of the rectory of Greshamsbury; but, hitherto, no opportunity has offered itself for the Rev Caleb Oriel to come upon the boards.

Mr Oriel was a man of family and fortune, who, having gone to Oxford with the usual views of such men, had become inoculated there with very High-Church principles, and had gone into orders influenced by a feeling of enthusiastic love for the priesthood.  He was by no means an ascetic—­such men, indeed, seldom are—­nor was he a devotee.  He was a man well able, and certainly willing to do the work of a parish clergyman; and when he became one, he was efficacious in his profession.  But it may perhaps be said of him, without speaking slanderously, that his original calling, as a young man, was rather to the outward and visible signs of religion than to its inward and spiritual graces.

He delighted in lecterns and credence-tables, in services at dark hours of winter mornings when no one would attend, in high waistcoats and narrow white neckties, in chanted services and intoned prayers, and in all the paraphernalia of Anglican formalities which have given such offence to those of our brethren who live in daily fear of the scarlet lady.  Many of his friends declared that Mr Oriel would sooner or later deliver himself over body and soul to that lady; but there was no need to fear for him:  for though sufficiently enthusiastic to get out of bed at five am on winter mornings—­he did so, at least, all through his first winter at Greshamsbury—­he was not made of that stuff which is necessary for a staunch, burning, self-denying convert.  It was not in him to change his very sleek black coat for a Capuchin’s filthy cassock, nor his pleasant parsonage for some dirty hole in Rome.  And it was better so both for him and others.  There are but few, very few, to whom it is given to be a Huss, a Wickliffe, or a Luther; and a man gains but little by being a false Huss, or a false Luther,—­and his neighbours gain less.

But certain lengths in self-privation Mr Oriel did go; at any rate, for some time.  He eschewed matrimony, imagining that it became him as a priest to do so.  He fasted rigorously on Fridays; and the neighbours declared that he scourged himself.

Mr Oriel was, it has been said, a man of fortune; that is to say, when he came of age he was master of thirty thousand pounds.  When he took it into his head to go into the Church, his friends bought for him the next presentation to the living at Greshamsbury; and, a year after his ordination, the living falling in, Mr Oriel brought himself and his sister to the rectory.

Mr Oriel soon became popular.  He was a dark-haired, good-looking man, of polished manners, agreeable in society, not given to monkish austerities—­except in the matter of Fridays—­nor yet to the Low-Church severity of demeanour.  He was thoroughly a gentleman, good-humoured, inoffensive, and sociable.  But he had one fault:  he was not a marrying man.