Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete

								

at once a blessing and a command."
"Ah, cease, cease, my lord!" said Evelyn, sobbing.
"No; bid me not cease before you tell me you will be mine. Beloved
Evelyn, I may hope,--you will not resolve against me?"
"No," said Evelyn, raising her eyes and struggling for composure; "I
feel too well what should be my duty; I will endeavor to perform it. Ask
me no more now. I will struggle to answer you as you wish hereafter."
Lord Vargrave, resolved to push to the utmost the advantage he had
gained, was about to reply when he heard a step behind him; and turning
round, quickly and discomposed, beheld a venerable form approaching
them. The occasion was lost: Evelyn also turned; and seeing who was the
intruder, sprang towards him almost with a cry of joy.
The new comer was a man who had passed his seventieth year; but his
old age was green, his step light, and on his healthful and benignant
countenance time had left but few furrows. He was clothed in black; and
his locks, which were white as snow, escaped from the broad hat, and
almost touched his shoulders.
The old man smiled upon Evelyn, and kissed her forehead fondly. He then
turned to Lord Vargrave, who, recovering his customary self-possession,
advanced to meet him with extended hand.
"My dear Mr. Aubrey, this is a welcome surprise. I heard you were not at
the vicarage, or I would have called on you."
"Your lordship honours me," replied the curate. "For the first time for
thirty years I have been thus long absent from my cure; but I am now
returned, I hope, to end my days among my flock."
"And what," asked Vargrave,--"what--if the question be not
presumptuous--occasioned your unwilling absence?"
"My lord," replied the old man, with a gentle smile, "a new vicar has
been appointed. I went to him, to proffer an humble prayer that I might
remain amongst those whom I regarded as my children. I have buried one
generation, I have married another, I have baptized a third."
"You should have had the vicarage itself; you should be better provided
for, my dear Mr. Aubrey; I will speak to the Lord Chancellor."
Five times before had Lord Vargrave uttered the same promise, and the
curate smiled to hear the familiar words.
"The vicarage, my lord, is a family living, and is now vested in a young
man who requires wealth more than I do. He has been kind to me,
and re-established me among my flock; I would not leave them for a
bishopric. My child," continued the curate, addressing Evelyn with great
affection, "you are surely unwell,--you are paler than when I left you."
Evelyn clung fondly to his arm, and smiled--her old gay smile--as she
replied to him. They took the way towards the house.
The curate remained with them for an hour. There was a mingled sweetness
and dignity in his manner which had in it something of the primitive
character we poetically ascribe to the pastors of the Church. Lady