The Rector of St. Marks | Page 8

see it was Arthur. He tried to train me once, and told me I
had a squeak in my voice. Don't you remember?--those frightfully rainy
days in Rome?" Miss Harcourt said, the Arthur dropping from her lips
as readily as if they had always been accustomed to speak it.
She was a talkative, coquettish little lady, but there was something
about her so genuine and cordial, that Anna felt the ice thawing around
her heart, and even returned the pressure of the snowy fingers which
had twined themselves around her, as Lucy rattled on until the whole
party left the church. It had been decided that Mrs. Meredith should call
at Prospect Hill as early as Tuesday, at least; and, still holding Anna's
hand Miss Harcourt whispered to her the pleasure it would be to see her
again.
"I know I am going to like you. I can tell directly I can see a
person--can't I Arthur?" and, kissing her hand to Mrs. Meredith, Anna,
and the rector, too, she sprang into the carriage, and was whirled
rapidly away.

"Who is she?" Anna asked, and Mr. Leighton replied:
"She is an orphan niece of Colonel Hetherton's, and a great heiress, I
believe, though I never paid much attention to the absurd stories told
concerning her wealth."
"You met in Europe?" Mrs. Meredith said, and he replied:
"Yes, she has been quite an invalid, and has spent four years abroad,
where I accidentally met her. It was a very pleasant party, and I was
induced to join it, though I was with them in all not more than four
months."
He told this very rapidly, and an acute observer would have seen that
he did not care particularly to talk of Lucy Harcourt, with Anna for an
auditor. She was walking very demurely at his side, pondering in her
mind the circumstances which could have brought the rector and Lucy
Harcourt into such familiar relations as to warrant her calling him
Arthur and appear so delighted to see him.
"Can it be there was anything between them?" she thought, and her
heart began to harden against the innocent Lucy, at that very moment
chatting so pleasantly of her and of Arthur, too, replying to Mrs.
Hetherton, who suggested that Mr. Leighton would be more
appropriate for a clergyman.
"I shall say Arthur, for he told me I might that time we were in Rome. I
could not like him as well if I called him Mr. Leighton. Isn't he
splendid, though, in his gown, and wasn't his sermon grand?"
"What was the text?" asked Dr. Bellamy, mischievously, and, with a
toss of her golden curls and a merry twinkle of her eyes, Lucy replied,
"Simon, Simon, lovest thou me?"
Quick as a flash of lightning the hot blood mounted to the doctor's face,
while Fanny cast upon him a searching glance as if she would read him
through. Fanny Hetherton would have given much to know the answer
which Dr. Simon Bellamy mentally gave to that question, put by one

whom he had known but little more than three months. It was not fair
for Lucy to steal away all Fanny's beaux, as she surely had been doing
ever since her feet touched the soil of the New World, and truth to tell,
Fanny had borne it very well, until young Dr. Bellamy showed signs of
desertion. Then the spirit of resistance was roused, and she watched her
lover narrowly, gnashing her teeth sometimes when she saw his
ill-concealed admiration for her sprightly little cousin, who could say
and do with perfect impunity so many things which in another would
have been improper to the last degree. She was a tolerably correct
reader of human nature, and, from the moment she witnessed the
meeting between Lucy and the rector of St. Marks, she took courage,
for she readily guessed the channel in which her cousin's preference ran.
The rector, however, she could not read so well; but few men she knew
could withstand the fascinations of her cousin, backed as they were, by
the glamour of half a million; and, though her mother, and, possibly,
her father, too, would be shocked at the mésalliance and throw
obstacles in the way, she was capable of removing them all, and she
would do it, too, sooner than lose the only man she had ever cared for.
These were Fanny's thoughts as she rode home from church that
Sunday afternoon, and, by the time Prospect Hill was reached, Lucy
Harcourt could not have desired a more powerful ally than she
possessed in the person of her resolute, strong-willed cousin.
CHAPTER IV.
BLUE MONDAY.
It was to all intents and purposes "blue Monday" with the rector of St.
Mark's, for, aside from the weariness and exhaustion which