Emily Trevelyan had said, with tears in her eyes.  ’Angry with you, my dear for coming to our house!  How could I be angry with you?’ Then the travellers were hurried upstairs by Mrs Outhouse, and the master of the parsonage was left alone for a while.  He certainly was not angry, but he was ill at ease, and unhappy.  His guests would probably remain with him for six or seven months.  He had resolutely refused all payment from Mr Trevelyan, but, nevertheless, he was a poor man.  It is impossible to conceive that a clergyman in such a parish as St. Diddulph’s, without a private income, should not be a poor man.  It was but a hand-to-mouth existence which he lived, paying his way as his money came to him, and sharing the proceeds of his parish with the poor.  He was always more or less in debt.  That was quite understood among the tradesmen.  And the butcher who trusted him, though he was a bad churchman, did not look upon the parson’s account as he did on other debts.  He would often hint to Mr Outhouse that a little money ought to be paid, and then a little money would be paid.  But it was never expected that the parsonage bill should be settled.  In such a household the arrival of four guests, who were expected to remain for an almost indefinite number of months, could not be regarded without dismay.  On that first evening, Emily and Nora did come down to tea, but they went up again to their rooms almost immediately afterwards; and Mr Outhouse found that many hours of solitary meditation were allowed to him on the occasion.  ’I suppose your brother has been told all about it,’ he said to his wife, as soon as they were together on that evening.

’Yes he has been told.  She did not write to her mother till after she had got to Nuncombe Putney.  She did not like to speak about her troubles while there was a hope that things might be made smooth.’

‘You can’t blame her for that, my dear.’

’But there was a month lost, or nearly.  Letters go only once a month.  And now they can’t hear from Marmaduke or Bessy,’ Lady Rowley’s name was Bessy ‘till the beginning of September.’

‘That will be in a fortnight.’

’But what can my brother say to them?  He will suppose that they are still down in Devonshire.’

‘You don’t think he will come at once?’

’How can he, my dear?  He can’t come without leave, and the expense would be ruinous.  They would stop his pay, and there would be all manner of evils.  He is to come in the spring, and they must stay here till he comes.’  The parson of St. Diddulph’s sighed and groaned.  Would it not have been almost better that he should have put his pride in his pocket, and have consented to take Mr Trevelyan’s money?