The Vicar of Bullhampton

of annoying him; and Lord Trowbridge had behaved to him in a manner which set all Christian charity at defiance. He told himself plainly that he had no desire to forgive Lord Trowbridge⁠—that life in this world, as it is constituted, would not be compatible with such forgiveness⁠—that he would not, indeed, desire to injure Lord Trowbridge otherwise than by exacting such penalty as would force him and such as he to restrain their tyranny; but that to forgive him, till he should have been so forced, would be weak and injurious to the community. As to that, he had quite made up his mind, in spite of all doctrine to the contrary. Men in this world would have to go naked if they gave their coats to the robbers who took their cloaks; and going naked is manifestly inexpedient. His office of parish priest would be lowered in the world if he forgave, out of hand, such offences as these which had been committed against him by Lord Trowbridge. This he understood clearly. And now he might put down, not only the bell, but with the bell the ill-conditioned peer who had caused it to be put up⁠—on glebe land. All this went through his mind again and again, as he determined that on that day, being Sunday, he would think no more about it.

When the Monday came it was necessary that he should show the letter to his wife⁠—to his wife, and to the Squire, and to Mary Lowther. He had no idea of keeping the matter secret from his near friends and advisers; but he had an idea that it would be well that he should make up his mind as to what he would do before he asked their advice. He started, therefore, for a turn through the parish before breakfast on Monday morning⁠—and resolved as to his course of action. On no consideration whatever would he have the chapel pulled down. It was necessary for his purpose that he should have his triumph over the Marquis⁠—and he would have it. But the chapel had been built for a good purpose which it would adequately serve, and let what might be said to him by his wife or others, he would not have a brick of it disturbed. No doubt he had no more power to give the land for its present or any other purpose than had the Marquis. It might very probably be his duty to take care that the land was not appropriated to wrong purposes. It might be that he had already neglected his duty, in not knowing, or in not having taken care to learn the precise limits of the glebe which had been given over to him for his use during his incumbency. Nevertheless, there was the chapel, and there it should stand, as far as he was concerned. If the churchwardens, or the archdeacon, or the college, or the bishop had power to interfere, as to which he was altogether ignorant, and chose to exercise that power, he could not help it. He was nearly sure that his own churchwardens would be guided altogether by himself⁠—and as far as he was concerned the chapel should remain unmolested. Having thus resolved he came back to breakfast and read Mr. Quickenham’s letter aloud to his wife and Mary Lowther.

“Glebe!” said the Vicar’s wife.

“Do you mean that it is part of your own land?” asked Mary.

“Exactly that,” said the Vicar.

“And that old thief of a Marquis has given away what belongs to us?” said Mrs. Fenwick.

“He has given away what did not belong to himself,” said the Vicar. “But I can’t admit that he’s a thief.”

“Surely he ought to have known,” said Mary.

“As for that, so ought I to have known, I suppose. The whole thing is one of the most ridiculous mistakes that ever was made. It has absolutely come to pass that here, in the middle of Wiltshire, with all our maps, and surveys, and parish records, no one concerned has known to whom belonged a quarter of an acre of land in the centre of the village. It is just a thing to write an article about in a newspaper; but I can’t say that one party is more to blame than the other; that is, in regard to the ignorance displayed.”

“And what will you do, Frank?”

“Nothing.”

“You will do nothing, Frank?”

“I will do nothing; but I will take care to let the Marquis know the nature of his generosity. I fancy that I am bound to take on myself that labour, and I must say that it won’t trouble me much to have to write the letter.”

“You won’t pull it down, Frank?”

“No, my dear.”

“I would, before a week was over.”

“So would I,” said Mary. “I don’t think it ought to be there.”

“Of course it ought not to be there,” said Mrs. Fenwick.

“They might as well have it here in the garden,” said Mary.

“Just the same,” said Mrs. Fenwick.

“It is not in the garden; and, as it has been built, it shall remain⁠—as far as I am concerned. I shall rather like it, now that I know I am the landlord. I think I shall claim a sitting.” This was the Vicar’s decision on the Monday morning, and from that decision the two ladies were quite unable to move him.

This occurred a day or two after the affair of the rubies, and at a time when Mary was being very hard pressed to name a day for her wedding. Of course such pressure had been the result of Mr. Gilmore’s success on that occasion. She had then resolutely gone to work to overcome her own, and his, melancholy gloom, and, having in a great degree succeeded, it was only natural that he should bring up that question of his marriage day. She, when she had accepted him, had done so with a stipulation that she should not be hurried; but we all know what such stipulations are worth. Who is