And at that moment, unluckily for Mr. Wentworth, there suddenly floated across his mind the clearest recollection of the Miss Hemmings, and the look they gave him in passing. He felt a hot flush rush over his face as he recalled it. They, then, were his accusers in the first place; and for the first time he began to realise how the tide of accusation would surge through Carlingford, and how circumstances would be patched together, and very plausible evidence concocted out of the few facts which were capable of an inference totally opposed to the truth. The blood rushed to his face in an overpowering glow, and then he felt the warm tide going back upon his heart, and realised the position in which he stood for the first time in its true light.
“And if you’ll let me say it, sir,” said the judicious Hayles, “though a man may be in a bit of a passion, and speak more strong that is called for, it aint unnatural in the circumstances; things may be better than they appear,” said the druggist, mildly; “I don’t say nothing against that; it may be as you’ve took her away, sir (if so be as you have took her away), for to give her a bit of education, or suchlike, before making her your wife; but folks in general aint expected to know that; and when a young girl is kep’ out of her ’ome for a whole night, it aint wonderful if her friends take fright. It’s a sad thing for Rosa whoever’s taken her away, and wherever she is.”
Now, Mr. Wentworth, notwithstanding the indignant state of mind which he was in, was emphatically of the tolerant temper which is so curiously characteristic of his generation. He could not be unreasonable even in his own cause; he was not partisan enough, even in his own behalf, to forget that there was another side to the question, nor to see how hard and how sad was that other side. He was moved in spite of himself to grieve over Rosa Elsworthy’s great misfortune.
“Poor little deluded child,” he said, sadly; “I acknowledge it is very dreadful for her and for her friends. I can excuse a man who is mad with grief and wretchedness and anxiety, and doesn’t know what he is saying. As for any man in his senses imagining,” said the Curate again, with a flush of sudden colour, “that I could possibly be concerned in anything so base, that is simply absurd. When Elsworthy returns to reason, and acknowledges the folly of what he has said, I will do anything in the world to help him. It is unnecessary for you to wait,” said Mr. Wentworth, turning to Sarah, who had stolen up behind, and caught some of the conversation, and who was staring with round eyes of wonder, partly guessing, partly inquiring, what had happened—“these people want me; go indoors and never mind.”
“La, sir! Missis is a-ringing all the bells down to know what ’as ’appened,” said Sarah, holding her ground.
This was how it was to be—the name of the Curate of St. Roque’s was to be linked to that of Rosa Elsworthy, let the truth be what it might, in the mouths of every maid and every mistress in Carlingford. He was seized with a sudden apprehension of this aspect of the matter, and it was not wonderful if Mr. Wentworth drew his breath hard and set his teeth, as he ordered the woman away, in a tone which could not be disobeyed.
“I don’t want to make no talk,” said Elsworthy, who during this time had made many efforts to speak; “I’ve sait it before, and I say it again—it’s Mr. Wentworth’s fault if there’s any talk. She was seen here last night,” he went on rapidly, “and afore six o’clock this blessed morning, you, as are never known to be stirring early, meets us at the door, all shaved and dressed; and it aint very difficult to see, to them as watches the clergyman’s countenance,” said Elsworthy, turning from one to another, “as everything isn’t as straight as it ought to be; but I aint going to make no talk, Mr. Wentworth,” he went on, drawing closer, and speaking with conciliatory softness; “me and her aunt, sir, loves her dearly, but we’re not the folks to stand in her way, if a gentleman was to take a fancy to Rosa. If you’ll give me your word to make her your wife honourable, and tell me where she is, tortures wouldn’t draw no complaints from me. One moment, sir; it aint only that she’s pretty, but she’s good as well—she won’t do you no discredit, Mr. Wentworth. Put her to school, or what you please, sir,” said Rosa’s uncle; “me and my wife will never interfere, so be as you make her your wife honourable; but I aint a worm to be trampled on,” cried Elsworthy, as the Curate, finding him approach very closely, thrust him away with vehement indignation; “I aint a slave to be pushed about. Them as brings Rosa to shame shall come to shame by me; I’ll ruin the man as ruins that child. You may turn me out,” he cried, as the Curate laid his powerful hand upon his shoulder and forced him towards the door, “but I’ll come back, and I’ll bring all Carlingford. There shan’t be a soul in the town as doesn’t know. Oh, you young viper, as I thought was a pious clergyman! you aint got rid of me. My child—where’s my child?” cried the infuriated clerk, as he found himself ejected into the road outside, and the door suddenly closed upon him. He turned round to beat upon it in blind fury, and kept calling upon Rosa, and wasting his threats and arguments upon the calm
