clerical agent ; "the rest is nought but ' lather
and umbrellas,' as Pope says. He has also
heard of your kindness to the poor, your
charity, and many other good qualities, and
he has done himself the honour to present
you to the valuable living of Swilkstone
Magna ; it is a clear income of eight hundred
a-year, with a good parsonage-house, and
two packs of hounds within— but, perhaps,
you don't hunt, Mr. Benford— ah ! very right ;
it is very unclerical— the bishops ought to
interfere. ' Poor is the triumph o'er the timid
hare,' as Thomson says, or fox as I say."

"You have proofs, I suppose?" said
Benford, thinking it just possible that the
plethoric gentleman before him might be an
impostor about to end with asking the loan
of a pound.

"Here is the presentation, sir, all ready,
signed and sealed; you have nothing to do
but go to Wells—his lordship will institute
you any day you like."

The only other remarkable thing connected
with this incident is, that about this time Sir
Hildo Swilks paid off a mortgage of eight or
nine thousand pounds, as if fortune had
smiled on his benevolent action in favour of
Mr. Benford.

But, in the meantime, all intercourse
between the curate and the noble had ceased.
The business of the parish was transacted by
letter as before; and it was only when the
rector of Swilkstone Magna thought it his
duty to announce his approaching departure,
that he determined to go up to the castle, and
wait on Lord Warleigh in person. Lord
Warleigh was ill —he could see nobody— he
kept his room; and the confidential gentleman,
who drest in plain black, and spoke in
whispers, couldn't name any day when his
lordship would be likely to admit Mr.
Benford.

"Is he very unwell?" said the rector;
"for if his lordship will not receive my visit
as a neighbour, perhaps he will not object to
seeing me in my professional character as a
visitor of the sick."

"We dare not tell his lordship he is ill,
sir; your presence would alarm him too
much; as it is, he is terribly out of spirits,
and says curious things —he never was fond
of clergymen."

"Mention my request to him if you have
the opportunity. I don't wish to go without
taking leave."

The man promised, though evidently with
no expectation of being able to comply with
the request, and Benford returned to
communicate to his wife that the animosity of the
great man continued.

"And all because poor little Dulcibella
said she didn't like him. It was certainly
very foolish in her to say so to a lord; but
she knows no better."

"He can't bear malice for a mere infant's
observations," said Benford. "But I have
some strange suspicions about his lordship
which I would not divulge for the world
except to you. I fear his lordship drinks." He
almost shuddered as he said the horrid
word.

"Drinks!—a nobleman!" —exclaimed Mrs.
Benford: " impossible!"

"I don't know," replied the rector of
Swilkstone. " He looked very odd and talked
in a queer way, and fell into passions about
nothing. I am not sorry, I assure you, to
be going away. I told you from the first I
did not like him. His hand felt as cold as a
sword."

"I never felt his hand," said Mrs. Benford,
in so sad a voice that it was pretty clear she
regretted the circumstance very deeply.
"But we shall probably be more intimate
with that excellent man Sir Hildo. He is
only a baronet to be sure, but his title is
older than Lord Warleigh's. How good in
him to give you the living merely from the
good reports he heard of your character."

It was now autumn. The middle of October
was past, and an early winter was already
beginning to be felt. The preparations for
removal were completed, and on the following
day the Parsonage was to be deserted, and
possession of the new living entered upon.
It was nine o'clock: the night was dark and
windy; a feeble moon glimmered at intervals
through the sky, and added to the gloom she
could not disperse. Mrs. Benford retired to
her room, as they had to rise early in the
morning. Benford was sitting with his feet
on the fender, looking into the fire, when he
heard a knock at the front door. It was
opened by the maid, and soon he perceived
steps in the passage; a tap came to the door
of the parlour.

"A gentleman to see you, sir," and a figure
entered the room. Benford looked round
amazed. The stranger stood near the door,
and fixed his eyes on Benford's. Wrapt up
against the cold, but with the cloak now
drooping on his shoulders: with his hat still
on his head, and his hand resting on a long
staff, stood Lord Warleigh, pale, ghastly, with
lips distended, and uttering not a word.

"Your lordship! " exclaimed Benford
springing up. " What in heaven's name has
brought your lordship here, on this dreadful
night, so ill as you are ? "

"Speak low," said Lord Warleigh. " I've
come to you—to see you again; to compare
your features with—Help! set me down;
my head grows giddy."

Benford helped him into a chair, drew it
near the fire, and chafed his hand between
his palms.

"Can you touch it without a shudder?"
said Lord Warleigh. " Don't you feel that it
is not like other people's hands?"

Conscience kept Benford silent; he ceased
to rub the hand, and let it fall.

"There! again he interferes! " said the
old man in a broken voice. "I see him
lifting your hand away."