compromise the truth," he said, " one hair's
breadth. I shall do my sacred work
always faithfully and to the best of my
power: but the roaring vulgarity of such
fellows as that Buckley, who has the little
Bethel yonder, does no good."

There was a parsonage next the church,
a very small apostolic mansion. Long ago it
had been given over to the curate at a rent,
while the doctor gave his dinner-parties up
at the Beeches, a handsome gentleman's seat
which he had purchased. There he lived
with Mrs. Bailey, whose little shrunk
figure no one was familiar with, with his
daughter Jessica and his son Tom— a young
fellow in the army, often spoken of as
"the captain." These children had
unhappily been born when Doctor Bailey
was " a mere working curate," and had
not yet established his connexion; he
often regretted that one had not been
christened Constantia, after " dear Lady
Frogmore," and the other St. John, a
family name of the same house. Nay,
turning his regrets still further back, the
doctor would bewail his excessive haste in
the matter of marriage, when he might have
chosen something far more " suitable;" the
truth being that Mrs. Bailey's origin would
not bear heraldic tracing, nor was she even
fortified with useful connexion. But, with
a venial exaggeration, if not untruth, the
doctor devised conversational pedigrees,
spoke of Mrs. Bailey's " family," and very
largely of " the Bakers of Blackforest."

Thus much for allusion to the doctor,
who was, as it were, viceroy of the place,
and was really allowed to take on himself
all representative duties. He was, indeed,
described as an " overbearing, choleric,
insolent fellow," by one of the radicals of the
town, and " a clerical bully," who, at home,
roared at his family, though he was a little
afraid of his daughter. A selfish schemer,
with no more religion about him than was
confined strictly to his Sunday platitudes.
Then, it was owned, he shone, working his
arms vigorously, and having a tremendous
pair of lungs. Thus much for the doctor's
house. But there is a family, whose heiress
daughter is a heroine of this little piece,
who must be noticed before the figures
themselves enter from the wing.

Panton Park was well back in the country,
and the owner, Sir Charles Panton, a true
squire and hunting man, boasted that the
sea could not be seen from his top windows.
Yet it was not more than a mile and a
half from the bathing town, down in a rich
bowl of grass and planting. There, in a
great stone palace which the late baronet
had built fifty years before, literally not
knowing what else to do with his money,
lived Sir Charles and daughter. She was
HEIRESS— magic title of honour, that has
made many hearts thrill more than the
loveliest faces on this earth. More
conjuring has been done with that spell than with
any other, which brings with it beauty,
grace, wit, honour, virtue, and accomplishment.
And Miss Laura Panton was an
heiress combining the blessings of fifteen
thousand a year, with " savings," a park
and mansion, with a town house in
Brook-street, and, what was not the least of
all in the eyes of matrons with young
candidates, a father, grey, rather stricken
in years, though wiry. Such rare attractions
soon became well known, and indeed
it was said that St. Arthur's-on-the-Sea
owed as much to them as to its other
natural advantages of fine air and bathing.
But she was delicate; had a weak fragile
chest, and, though small and refined-looking,
with a well-bred haughty air, seemed
bloodless, and was said once to have broken
a blood-vessel in her throat. Hence she
and her father had to pass each winter at
one of those hiding-places where poor
invalids run timorously from Boreas and
Eurus. The gossips also said she was
flighty and fanciful; gay, too gay, and, for
all her delicacy, passionately fond of the
world and its delights.

Sir Charles had been originally a Mr.
Wright, a plain unassuming gentleman of
very moderate means. He had sent his
only child to a " finishing" school, where
also the parson's daughter, Miss Bailey,
had been placed by her father, not from
any paternal anxiety to give her the best,
that is, the most costly, education possible,
but because it might lead to acquaintances,
"nice connexion, you know," for
himself. How simple, having thus laid a
foundation, to proceed in this way, with
an engaging smile: " Not Mr. Dashwood,
surely? Might I ask, any way connected
with a charming young lady that
was at Dampier House with my little girl?
Wonderful! My dear sir, I am the clergyman
here, &c." It was while this delicate
Miss Wright, whose health was so
precarious, was here, that the two girls first
met.

The truth was, the school had accepted
Jessica at a reduced premium, for a mere
trifle: in fact, the doctor valuing his
position and possible recommendations, at the
difference. Their view was that he would
surely do them mischief, and injure the
school, if they refused his terms. And