So they came out into the street together, and went on to Tozer’s shop. She, tremulous, watchful, noting everything; now lost in thought as to how the dreadful truth was to be broken to Susan; now in anxious plans for impressing upon Arthur the necessity of considering his people—he, stinging with personal wounds and bitterness, much more deeply alarmed than his mother, and burning with consciousness of all the complications which she was totally ignorant of. Fury against the villain himself, bitter vexation that he was Lady Western’s brother, anger at his mother for admitting, at Susan for giving him her heart, at Mrs. Hilyard for he could not tell what, because she had added a climax to all, burned in Vincent’s mind as he went on to George Street with his mother leaning on his arm, who asked him after every wayfarer who passed them, Who was that? It was not wonderful that the young man gradually grew into a fever of excitement and restless misery. Everything conspired to exasperate him—even the fact that Sunday came so near, and could not be escaped. The whirl of his brain came to a climax when Lady Western’s carriage drove past, and through the mist of his wretchedness he saw the smile and the beautiful hand waved to him in sweet recognition. Oh heaven! to bring tears to those eyes, or a pang to that heart!—to have her turn from him shuddering, or pass him with cold looks, because her brother was a villain, and he the avenger of that crime! His mother, almost running to keep up with his unconsciously quickened pace, cast pitiful looks at him, inquiring what it was. The poor young fellow could not have told even if he would. It was a combination of miseries, sharply stimulated to the intolerable point by the mission on which he had now to enter Tozer’s shop.
“We heard you was come, ma’am,” said Tozer, graciously, “and in course was looking for a call. I hope you are going to stay awhile and help us take care of the pastor. He don’t take that care of himself as his friends would wish,” said the butterman. “Mr. Vincent, sir, I’ve a deal to say to you when you’re at leisure. Old Mr. Tufton, he has a deal to say to you. We are as anxious as ever we can be, us as are old stagers, to keep the minister straight, ma’am. He’s but a young man, and he’s come into a deal of popularity, and anyone more thought on in our connection, I don’t know as I would wish to see; but it wouldn’t do to let him have his head turned. Them lectures on Church and State couldn’t but be remarked, being delivered, as you may say, in the world, all on us making a sacrifice to do our duty by our fellow-creaturs, seein’ what we had in our power. But man is but mortal; and us Salem folks don’t like to see no signs of that weakness in a pastor; it’s our duty to see as his head’s not turned.”
“Indeed, I trust there is very little fear of that,” said Mrs. Vincent, roused, and set on the defensive. “My dear boy has been used to be appreciated, and to have people round him who could understand him. As for having his head turned, that might happen to a man who did not know what intelligent approbation was; but after doing so well as he did at college, and having his dear father’s approval, I must say I don’t see any cause to apprehend that, Mr. Tozer. I am not surprised at all, for my part—I always knew what my Arthur could do.” “No more of this,” said Vincent, impatiently. “Look here, I have come on a special business. Can anyone be got, do you think, to preach on Sunday? I must go home with my mother today.”
“Today!” Tozer opened his eyes, with a blank stare, as he slowly took off his apron. “You was intimated to begin that course on the Miracles, Mr. Vincent, if you’ll excuse me, on Sunday. Salem folks is a little sharp, I don’t deny. It would be a great disappointment, and I can’t say I think as it would be took well if you was to go away.”
“I can’t help that,” said the unfortunate minister, to whom opposition at this moment was doubly intolerable. “The Salem people, I presume, will hear reason. My mother has come upon—”
“Family business,” interrupted Mrs. Vincent, with the deepest trembling anxiety. “Arthur dear, let me explain it, for you are too susceptible. My son is all the comfort we have in the world, Mr. Tozer,” said the anxious widow. “I ought not to have told him how much his sister wanted him, but I was rash, and did so; and now I ought to bear the penalty. I have made him anxious about Susan; but, Arthur dear, never mind; you must let me go by myself, and on Monday you can come. Your dear father always said his flock was his first duty, and if Sunday is a special day, as Mr. Tozer says—”
“Oh, Pa, is it Mrs. Vincent? and you keep her in the shop, when we are all as anxious as ever we can be to see her,” said Phoebe, who suddenly came upon the scene. “Oh, please to come upstairs to the drawing-room. Oh, I am so glad to see you! and it was so unkind of Mr. Vincent not to let us know you were coming. Mamma wanted to ask you to come here, for she thought it would be more comfortable than a bachelor’s rooms; and we did think the minister would have told us,” said Phoebe, with reproachful looks; “but now that you have come back again, after such a long time, please, Mr. Vincent, let your mother come upstairs. They say you
