"You mean that you would be guided by that as to your going into the Church?"
"If Mary said she would never have me I might as well go wrong in one way as another."
"That is nonsense, Fred.
Men outlive their love, but they don't outlive the consequences of their recklessness."
"Not my sort of love: I have never been without loving Mary.
If I had to give her up, it would be like beginning to live on wooden legs."
"Will she not be hurt at my intrusion?"
"No, I feel sure she will not.
She respects you more than any one, and she would not put you off with fun as she does me.
Of course I could not have told any one else, or asked any one else to speak to her, but you.
There is no one else who could be such a friend to both of us."
Fred paused a moment, and then said, rather complainingly, "And she ought to acknowledge that I have worked in order to pass.
She ought to believe that I would exert myself for her sake."
There was a moment's silence before Mr. Farebrother laid down his work, and putting out his hand to Fred said—
"Very well, my boy.
I will do what you wish."
That very day Mr. Farebrother went to Lowick parsonage on the nag which he had just set up.
"Decidedly I am an old stalk," he thought, "the young growths are pushing me aside."
He found Mary in the garden gathering roses and sprinkling the petals on a sheet.
The sun was low, and tall trees sent their shadows across the grassy walks where Mary was moving without bonnet or parasol.
She did not observe Mr. Farebrother's approach along the grass, and had just stooped down to lecture a small black-and-tan terrier, which would persist in walking on the sheet and smelling at the rose-leaves as Mary sprinkled them.
She took his fore-paws in one hand, and lifted up the forefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkled his brows and looked embarrassed.
"Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you," Mary was saying in a grave contralto.
"This is not becoming in a sensible dog; anybody would think you were a silly young gentleman."
"You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, Miss Garth," said the Vicar, within two yards of her.
Mary started up and blushed.
"It always answers to reason with Fly," she said, laughingly.
"But not with young gentlemen?"
"Oh, with some, I suppose; since some of them turn into excellent men."
"I am glad of that admission, because I want at this very moment to interest you in a young gentleman."
"Not a silly one, I hope," said Mary, beginning to pluck the roses again, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably.
"No; though perhaps wisdom is not his strong point, but rather affection and sincerity.
However, wisdom lies more in those two qualities than people are apt to imagine.
I hope you know by those marks what young gentleman I mean."
"Yes, I think I do," said Mary, bravely, her face getting more serious, and her hands cold; "it must be Fred Vincy."
"He has asked me to consult you about his going into the Church.
I hope you will not think that I consented to take a liberty in promising to do so."
"On the contrary, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, giving up the roses, and folding her arms, but unable to look up, "whenever you have anything to say to me I feel honored."
"But before I enter on that question, let me just touch a point on which your father took me into confidence; by the way, it was that very evening on which I once before fulfilled a mission from Fred, just after he had gone to college.
Mr. Garth told me what happened on the night of Featherstone's death—how you refused to burn the will; and he said that you had some heart-prickings on that subject, because you had been the innocent means of hindering Fred from getting his ten thousand pounds.
I have kept that in mind, and I have heard something that may relieve you on that score—may show you that no sin-offering is demanded from you there."
Mr. Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary.
He meant to give Fred his full advantage, but it would be well, he thought, to clear her mind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes follow when they do a man the wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement.
Mary's cheeks had begun to burn a little, and she was mute.
"I mean, that your action made no real difference to Fred's lot.
I find that the first will would not have been legally good after the burning of the last; it would not have stood if it had been disputed, and you may be sure it would have been disputed.
So, on that score, you may feel your mind free."
"Thank you, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, earnestly. "I am grateful to you for remembering my feelings."
"Well, now I may go on.
Fred, you know, has taken his degree.