The Vicars Daughter

The Vicar's Daughter [with
accents]

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Title: The Vicar's Daughter
Author: George MacDonald
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THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER
BY GEORGE MACDONALD

The Vicar's Daughter was originally published in 1872 by Tinsley
Brothers, London.

[Illustration: "I've brought you the baby to kiss," I said, unfolding the
blanket. Page 98.]

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I
. INTRODUCTORY
CHAPTER II
. I TRY
CHAPTER III
. MY WEDDING
CHAPTER IV
. JUDY'S VISIT
CHAPTER V
. GOOD SOCIETY
CHAPTER VI
. A REFUGE FROM THE HEAT
CHAPTER VII
. CONNIE

CHAPTER VIII
. CONNIE'S BABY
CHAPTER IX
. THE FOUNDLING REFOUND
CHAPTER X
. WAGTAIL COMES TO HONOR
CHAPTER XI
. A STUPID
CHAPTER
CHAPTER XII. AN INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER XIII
. MY FIRST DINNER PARTY.--A NEGATIVED PROPOSAL
CHAPTER XIV
. A PICTURE
CHAPTER XV
. RUMORS
CHAPTER XVI
. A DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XVII
. MISS CLARE
CHAPTER XVIII
. MISS CLARE'S HOME
CHAPTER XIX
. HER STORY
CHAPTER XX
. A REMARKABLE FACT
CHAPTER XXI
. LADY BERNARD
CHAPTER XXII
. MY SECOND DINNER PARTY
CHAPTER XXIII
. THE END OF THE EVENING

CHAPTER XXIV
. MY FIRST TERROR
CHAPTER XXV
. ITS SEQUEL
CHAPTER XXVI
. TROUBLES
CHAPTER XXVII
. MISS CLARE AMONGST HER FRIENDS
CHAPTER XXVIII
. MR. MORLEY
CHAPTER XXIX
. A STRANGE TEXT
CHAPTER XXX
. ABOUT SERVANTS
CHAPTER XXXI
. ABOUT PERCIVALE
CHAPTER XXXII
. MY SECOND TERROR
CHAPTER XXXIII
. THE CLOUDS AFTER THE RAIN
CHAPTER XXXIV
. THE SUNSHINE
CHAPTER XXXV
. WHAT LADY BERNARD THOUGHT OF IT
CHAPTER XXXVI
. RETROSPECTIVE
CHAPTER XXXVII
. MRS. CROMWELL COMES
CHAPTER XXXVIII
. MRS. CROMWELL GOES
CHAPTER XXXIX
. ANCESTRAL WISDOM
CHAPTER XL
. CHILD NONSENSE

CHAPTER XLI
. "DOUBLE, DOUBLE, TOIL AND TROUBLE"
CHAPTER XLII
. ROGER AND MARION
CHAPTER XLIII
. A LITTLE MORE ABOUT ROGER, AND ABOUT MR.
BLACKSTONE

CHAPTER XLIV
. THE DEA EX

CHAPTER I
.
INTRODUCTORY.
I think that is the way my father would begin. My name is Ethelwyn
Percivale, and used to be Ethelwyn Walton. I always put the Walton in
between when I write to my father; for I think it is quite enough to have
to leave father and mother behind for a husband, without leaving their
name behind you also. I am fond of lumber-rooms, and in some houses
consider them far the most interesting spots; but I don't choose that my
old name should lie about in the one at home.
I am much afraid of writing nonsense; but my father tells me that to see
things in print is a great help to recognizing whether they are nonsense
or not. And he tells me, too, that his friend the publisher, who,--but I
will speak of him presently,--his friend the publisher is not like any
other publisher he ever met with before; for he never grumbles at any
alterations writers choose to make,--at least he never says any thing,
although it costs a great deal to shift the types again after they are once
set up. The other part of my excuse for attempting to write lies simply
in telling how it came about.
Ten days ago, my father came up from Marshmallows to pay us a visit.
He is with us now, but we don't see much of him all day; for he is
generally out with a friend of his in the east end, the parson of one of
the poorest parishes in London,--who thanks God that he wasn't the
nephew of any bishop to be put into a good living, for he learns more
about the ways of God from having to