CHAPTER III.

And thus BOB was ordained, and, having married CATHERINE, he accepted
the family living of Wendover, though not before he had taken
occasion to point out to BLACK that family livings were corrupt
and indefensible institutions. Still, the thing had to be done; and
bitterly as BOB pined for the bracing air of the East End of London,
he acknowledged, with one of his quick, bright flashes, that, unless
he went to Wendover, he could never meet Squire MUREWELL, whose
powerful arguments were to drive him from positions he had never
qualified himself, except by an irrational enthusiasm, to defend. Of
CATHERINE a word must be said. Cold, with the delicate but austere
firmness of a Westmoreland daisy, gifted with fatally sharp lines
about the chin and mouth, and habitually wearing loose grey gowns,
with bodices to match, she was admirably calculated, with her narrow,
meat-tea proclivities, to embitter the amiable SILLIMERE's existence,
and to produce, in conjunction with him, that storm and stress, that
perpetual clashing of two estimates without which no modern religious
novel could be written, and which not even her pale virginal grace
of look and form could subdue. That is a long sentence, but, ah!
how short is a merely mortal sentence, with its tyrannous full stop,
against the immeasurable background of the December stars, by whose
light BOB was now walking, with heightened colour, along the vast
avenue that led to Wendover Hall, the residence of the ogre Squire.

CHAPTER IV.

The Squire was at home. On the door-step BOB was greeted by Mrs.
FARCEY, the Squire's sister. She looked at him in her bird-like