CHAPTER XIV.
SHIRLEY SEEKS TO BE SAVED BY WORKS.
"Of course, I know he will marry Shirley," were her first words when sherose in the morning. "And he ought to marry her. She can help him," sheadded firmly. "But I shall be forgotten when they _are_ married," wasthe cruel succeeding thought. "Oh! I shall be wholly forgotten! Andwhat--_what_ shall I do when Robert is taken quite from me? Where shallI turn? _My_ Robert! I wish I could justly call him mine. But I ampoverty and incapacity; Shirley is wealth and power. And she is beautytoo, and love. I cannot deny it. This is no sordid suit. She loveshim--not with inferior feelings. She loves, or _will_ love, as he mustfeel proud to be loved. Not a valid objection can be made. Let them bemarried, then. But afterwards I shall be nothing to him. As for beinghis sister, and all that stuff, I despise it. I will either be all ornothing to a man like Robert; no feeble shuffling or false cant isendurable. Once let that pair be united, and I will certainly leavethem. As for lingering about, playing the hypocrite, and pretending tocalm sentiments of friendship, when my soul will be wrung with otherfeelings, I shall not descend to such degradation. As little could Ifill the place of their mutual friend as that of their deadly foe; aslittle could I stand between them as trample over them. Robert is afirst-rate man--in my eyes. I _have_ loved, _do_ love, and _must___ lovehim. I would be his wife if I could; as I cannot, I must go where Ishall never see him. There is but one alternative--to cleave to him asif I were a part of him, or to be sundered from him wide as the twopoles of a sphere.--Sunder me then, Providence. Part us speedily."
Some such aspirations as these were again working in her mind late inthe afternoon, when the apparition of one of the personages haunting herthoughts passed the parlour window. Miss Keeldar sauntered slowly by,her gait, her countenance, wearing that mixture of wistfulness andcarelessness which, when quiescent, was the wonted cast of her look andcharacter of her bearing. When animated, the carelessness quitevanished, the wistfulness became blent with a genial gaiety, seasoningthe laugh, the smile, the glance, with a unique flavour of sentiment, sothat mirth from her never resembled "the crackling of thorns under apot."
"What do you mean by not coming to see me this afternoon, as youpromised?" was her address to Caroline as she entered the room.
"I was not in the humour," replied Miss Helstone, very truly.
Shirley had already fixed on her a penetrating eye.
"No," she said; "I see you are not in the humour for loving me. You arein one of your sunless, inclement moods, when one feels afellow-creature's presence is not welcome to you. You have such moods.Are you aware of it?"
"Do you mean to stay long, Shirley?"
"Yes. I am come to have my tea, and must have it before I go. I shalltake the liberty, then, of removing my bonnet, without being asked."
And this she did, and then stood on the rug with her hands behind her.
"A pretty expression you have in your countenance," she went on, stillgazing keenly, though not inimically--rather indeed pityingly--atCaroline. "Wonderfully self-supported you look, you solitude-seeking,wounded deer. Are you afraid Shirley will worry you if she discoversthat you are hurt, and that you bleed?"
"I never do fear Shirley."
"But sometimes you dislike her; often you avoid her. Shirley can feelwhen she is slighted and shunned. If you had not walked home in thecompany you did last night, you would have been a different girl to-day.What time did you reach the rectory?"
"By ten."
"Humph! You took three-quarters of an hour to walk a mile. Was it you,or Moore, who lingered so?"
"Shirley, you talk nonsense."
"_He_ talked nonsense--that I doubt not; or he looked it, which is athousand times worse. I see the reflection of his eyes on your foreheadat this moment. I feel disposed to call him out, if I could only get atrustworthy second. I feel desperately irritated. I felt so last night,and have felt it all day."
"You don't ask me why," she proceeded, after a pause, "you littlesilent, over-modest thing; and you don't deserve that I should pour outmy secrets into your lap without an invitation. Upon my word, I couldhave found it in my heart to have dogged Moore yesterday evening withdire intent. I have pistols, and can use them."
"Stuff, Shirley! Which would you have shot--me or Robert?"
"Neither, perhaps. Perhaps myself--more likely a bat or a tree-bough. Heis a puppy, your cousin--a quiet, serious, sensible, judicious,ambitious puppy. I see him standing before me, talking his half-stern,half-gentle talk, bearing me down (as I am very conscious he does) withhis fixity of purpose, etc.; and then--I have no patience with him!"
Miss Keeldar started off on a rapid walk through the room, repeatingenergetically that she had no patience with men in general, and with hertenant in particular.
"You are mistaken," urged Caroline, in some anxiety. "Robert is no puppyor male flirt; I can vouch for that."
"_You_ vouch for it! Do you think I'll take your word on the subject?There is no one's testimony I would not credit sooner than yours. Toadvance Moore's fortune you would cut off your right hand."
"But not tell lies. And if I speak the truth, I must assure you that hewas just civil to me last night--that was all."
"I never asked what he was. I can guess. I saw him from the window takeyour hand in his long fingers, just as he went out at my gate."
"That is nothing. I am not a stranger, you know. I am an oldacquaintance, and his cousin."
"I feel indignant, and that is the long and short of the matter,"responded Miss Keeldar. "All my comfort," she added presently, "isbroken up by his manoeuvres. He keeps intruding between you and me.Without him we should be good friends; but that six feet of puppyhoodmakes a perpetually-recurring eclipse of our friendship. Again and againhe crosses and obscures the disc I want always to see clear; ever andanon he renders me to you a mere bore and nuisance."
"No, Shirley, no."
"He does. You did not want my society this afternoon, and I feel ithard. You are naturally somewhat reserved, but I am a social personage,who cannot live alone. If we were but left unmolested, I have thatregard for you that I could bear you in my presence for ever, and notfor the fraction of a second do I ever wish to be rid of you. You cannotsay as much respecting me."
"Shirley, I can say anything you wish. Shirley, I like you."
"You will wish me at Jericho to-morrow, Lina."
"I shall not. I am every day growing more accustomed to--fonder of you.You know I am too English to get up a vehement friendship all at once;but you are so much better than common--you are so different toevery-day young ladies--I esteem you, I value you; you are never aburden to me--never. Do you believe what I say?"
"Partly," replied Miss Keeldar, smiling rather incredulously; "but youare a peculiar personage. Quiet as you look, there is both a force and adepth somewhere within not easily reached or appreciated. Then youcertainly are not happy."
"And unhappy people are rarely good. Is that what you mean?"
"Not at all. I mean rather that unhappy people are often preoccupied,and not in the mood for discoursing with companions of my nature.Moreover, there is a sort of unhappiness which not only depresses, butcorrodes; and that, I fear, is your portion. Will pity do you any good,Lina? If it will, take some from Shirley; she offers largely, andwarrants the article genuine."
"Shirley, I never had a sister--you never had a sister; but it flasheson me at this moment how sisters feel towards each other--affectiontwined with their life, which no shocks of feeling can uproot, whichlittle quarrels only trample an instant, that it may spring more freshlywhen the pressure is removed; affection that no passion can ultimatelyoutrival, with which even love itself cannot do more than compete inforce and truth. Love hurts us so, Shirley. It is so tormenting, soracking, and it burns away our strength with its flame. In affection isno pain and no fire, only sustenance and balm. I am supported andsoothed when you--that is, _you only_--are near, Shirley. Do youbelieve me now?"
"I am always easy of belief whe
n the creed pleases me. We really arefriends, then, Lina, in spite of the black eclipse?"
"We really are," returned the other, drawing Shirley towards her, andmaking her sit down, "chance what may."
"Come, then; we will talk of something else than the Troubler." But atthis moment the rector came in, and the "something else" of which MissKeeldar was about to talk was not again alluded to till the moment ofher departure. She then delayed a few minutes in the passage to say,"Caroline, I wish to tell you that I have a great weight on my mind; myconscience is quite uneasy as if I had committed, or was going tocommit, a crime. It is not my _private_ conscience, you must understand,but my landed-proprietor and lord-of-the-manor conscience. I have gotinto the clutch of an eagle with iron talons. I have fallen under astern influence, which I scarcely approve, but cannot resist. Somethingwill be done ere long, I fear, which it by no means pleases me to thinkof. To ease my mind, and to prevent harm as far as I can, I mean toenter on a series of good works. Don't be surprised, therefore, if yousee me all at once turn outrageously charitable. I have no idea how tobegin, but you must give me some advice. We will talk more on thesubject to-morrow; and just ask that excellent person, Miss Ainley, tostep up to Fieldhead. I have some notion of putting myself under hertuition. Won't she have a precious pupil? Drop a hint to her, Lina,that, though a well-meaning, I am rather a neglected character, and thenshe will feel less scandalized at my ignorance about clothing societiesand such things."
On the morrow Caroline found Shirley sitting gravely at her desk, withan account-book, a bundle of banknotes, and a well-filled purse beforeher. She was looking mighty serious, but a little puzzled. She said shehad been "casting an eye" over the weekly expenditure in housekeeping atthe hall, trying to find out where she could retrench; that she had alsojust given audience to Mrs. Gill, the cook, and had sent that personaway with a notion that her (Shirley's) brain was certainly crazed. "Ihave lectured her on the duty of being careful," said she, "in a wayquite new to her. So eloquent was I on the text of economy that Isurprised myself; for, you see, it is altogether a fresh idea. I neverthought, much less spoke, on the subject till lately. But it is alltheory; for when I came to the practical part I could retrench nothing.I had not firmness to take off a single pound of butter, or to prosecuteto any clear result an inquest into the destiny of either dripping,lard, bread, cold meat, or other kitchen perquisite whatever. I know wenever get up illuminations at Fieldhead, but I could not ask the meaningof sundry quite unaccountable pounds of candles. We do not wash for theparish, yet I viewed in silence items of soap and bleaching-powdercalculated to satisfy the solicitude of the most anxious inquirer afterour position in reference to those articles. Carnivorous I am not, noris Mrs. Pryor, nor is Mrs. Gill herself, yet I only hemmed and opened myeyes a little wide when I saw butchers' bills whose figures seemed toprove that fact--falsehood, I mean. Caroline, you may laugh at me, butyou can't change me. I am a poltroon on certain points; I feel it. Thereis a base alloy of moral cowardice in my composition. I blushed and hungmy head before Mrs. Gill, when she ought to have been falteringconfessions to me. I found it impossible to get up the spirit even tohint, much less to prove, to her that she was a cheat. I have no calmdignity, no true courage about me."
"Shirley, what fit of self-injustice is this? My uncle, who is not givento speak well of women, says there are not ten thousand men in Englandas genuinely fearless as you."
"I am fearless, physically; I am never nervous about danger. I was notstartled from self-possession when Mr. Wynne's great red bull rose witha bellow before my face, as I was crossing the cowslip lea alone,stooped his begrimed, sullen head, and made a run at me; but I wasafraid of seeing Mrs. Gill brought to shame and confusion of face. Youhave twice--ten times--my strength of mind on certain subjects,Caroline. You, whom no persuasion can induce to pass a bull, howeverquiet he looks, would have firmly shown my housekeeper she had donewrong; then you would have gently and wisely admonished her; and atlast, I dare say, provided she had seemed penitent, you would have verysweetly forgiven her. Of this conduct I am incapable. However, in spiteof exaggerated imposition, I still find we live within our means. I havemoney in hand, and I really must do some good with it. The Briarfieldpoor are badly off; they must be helped. What ought I to do, think you,Lina? Had I not better distribute the cash at once?"
"No, indeed, Shirley; you will not manage properly. I have often noticedthat your only notion of charity is to give shillings and half-crowns ina careless, free-handed sort of way, which is liable to continual abuse.You must have a prime minister, or you will get yourself into a seriesof scrapes. You suggested Miss Ainley yourself; to Miss Ainley I willapply. And, meantime, promise to keep quiet, and not begin throwing awayyour money. What a great deal you have, Shirley! You must feel very richwith all that?"
"Yes; I feel of consequence. It is not an immense sum, but I feelresponsible for its disposal; and really this responsibility weighs onmy mind more heavily than I could have expected. They say that there aresome families almost starving to death in Briarfield. Some of my owncottagers are in wretched circumstances. I must and will help them."
"Some people say we shouldn't give alms to the poor, Shirley."
"They are great fools for their pains. For those who are not hungry, itis easy to palaver about the degradation of charity, and so on: but theyforget the brevity of life, as well as its bitterness. We have none ofus long to live. Let us help each other through seasons of want and woeas well as we can, without heeding in the least the scruples of vainphilosophy."
"But you do help others, Shirley. You give a great deal as it is."
"Not enough. I must give more, or, I tell you, my brother's blood willsome day be crying to Heaven against me. For, after all, if politicalincendiaries come here to kindle conflagration in the neighbourhood, andmy property is attacked, I shall defend it like a tigress--I know Ishall. Let me listen to Mercy as long as she is near me. Her voice oncedrowned by the shout of ruffian defiance, and I shall be full ofimpulses to resist and quell. If once the poor gather and rise in theform of the mob, I shall turn against them as an aristocrat; if theybully me, I must defy: if they attack, I must resist, and I will."
"You talk like Robert."
"I feel like Robert, only more fierily. Let them meddle with Robert, orRobert's mill, or Robert's interests, and I shall hate them. At presentI am no patrician, nor do I regard the poor around me as plebeians; butif once they violently wrong me or mine, and then presume to dictate tous, I shall quite forget pity for their wretchedness and respect fortheir poverty, in scorn of their ignorance and wrath at theirinsolence."
"Shirley, how your eyes flash!"
"Because my soul burns. Would you, any more than me, let Robert be bornedown by numbers?"
"If I had your power to aid Robert, I would use it as you mean to useit. If I could be such a friend to him as you can be, I would stand byhim, as you mean to stand by him, till death."
"And now, Lina, though your eyes don't flash, they glow. You drop yourlids; but I saw a kindled spark. However, it is not yet come tofighting. What I want to do is to _prevent_ mischief. I cannot forget,either day or night, that these embittered feelings of the poor againstthe rich have been generated in suffering: they would neither hate norenvy us if they did not deem us so much happier than themselves. Toallay this suffering, and thereby lessen this hate, let me, out of myabundance, give abundantly; and that the donation may go farther, let itbe made wisely. To that intent, we must introduce some clear, calm,practical sense into our councils. So go and fetch Miss Ainley."
Without another word Caroline put on her bonnet and departed. It may,perhaps, appear strange that neither she nor Shirley thought ofconsulting Mrs. Pryor on their scheme; but they were wise in abstaining.To have consulted her--and this they knew by instinct--would only havebeen to involve her in painful embarrassment. She was far betterinformed, better read, a deeper thinker than Miss Ainley, but ofadministrative energy, of executive activity, she had none. She wouldsu
bscribe her own modest mite to a charitable object willingly--secretalmsgiving suited her; but in public plans, on a large scale, she couldtake no part; as to originating them, that was out of the question. ThisShirley knew, and therefore she did not trouble Mrs. Pryor by unavailingconferences, which could only remind her of her own deficiencies, and dono good.
It was a bright day for Miss Ainley when she was summoned to Fieldheadto deliberate on projects so congenial to her; when she was seated withall honour and deference at a table with paper, pen, ink, and--what wasbest of all--cash before her, and requested to draw up a regular planfor administering relief to the destitute poor of Briarfield. She, whoknew them all, had studied their wants, had again and again felt in whatway they might best be succoured, could the means of succour only befound, was fully competent to the undertaking, and a meek exultationgladdened her kind heart as she felt herself able to answer clearly andpromptly the eager questions put by the two young girls, as she showedthem in her answers how much and what serviceable knowledge she hadacquired of the condition of her fellow-creatures around her.
Shirley placed at her disposal L300, and at sight of the money MissAinley's eyes filled with joyful tears; for she already saw the hungryfed, the naked clothed, the sick comforted thereby. She quickly drew upa simple, sensible plan for its expenditure; and she assured thembrighter times would now come round, for she doubted not the lady ofFieldhead's example would be followed by others. She should try to getadditional subscriptions, and to form a fund; but first she must consultthe clergy. Yes, on that point she was peremptory. Mr. Helstone, Dr.Boultby, Mr. Hall, _must_ be consulted (for not only must Briarfield berelieved, but Whinbury and Nunnely). It would, she averred, bepresumption in her to take a single step unauthorized by them.
The clergy were sacred beings in Miss Ainley's eyes; no matter whatmight be the insignificance of the individual, his station made himholy. The very curates--who, in their trivial arrogance, were hardlyworthy to tie her patten-strings, or carry her cotton umbrella, or checkwoollen shawl--she, in her pure, sincere enthusiasm, looked upon assucking saints. No matter how clearly their little vices and enormousabsurdities were pointed out to her, she could not see them; she wasblind to ecclesiastical defects; the white surplice covered a multitudeof sins.
Shirley, knowing this harmless infatuation on the part of herrecently-chosen prime minister, stipulated expressly that the curateswere to have no voice in the disposal of the money, that their meddlingfingers were not to be inserted into the pie. The rectors, of course,must be paramount, and they might be trusted. They had some experience,some sagacity, and Mr. Hall, at least, had sympathy and loving-kindnessfor his fellow-men; but as for the youth under them, they must be setaside, kept down, and taught that subordination and silence best becametheir years and capacity.
It was with some horror Miss Ainley heard this language. Caroline,however, interposing with a mild word or two in praise of Mr Sweeting,calmed her again. Sweeting was, indeed, her own favourite. Sheendeavoured to respect Messrs. Malone and Donne, but the slices ofsponge-cake and glasses of cowslip or primrose wine she had at differenttimes administered to Sweeting, when he came to see her in her littlecottage, were ever offered with sentiments of truly motherly regard. Thesame innocuous collation she had once presented to Malone; but thatpersonage evinced such open scorn of the offering, she had neverventured to renew it. To Donne she always served the treat, and washappy to see his approbation of it proved beyond a doubt by the fact ofhis usually eating two pieces of cake, and putting a third in hispocket.
Indefatigable in her exertions where good was to be done, Miss Ainleywould immediately have set out on a walk of ten miles round to the threerectors, in order to show her plan, and humbly solicit their approval;but Miss Keeldar interdicted this, and proposed, as an amendment, tocollect the clergy in a small select reunion that evening at Fieldhead.Miss Ainley was to meet them, and the plan was to be discussed in fullprivy council.
Shirley managed to get the senior priesthood together accordingly, andbefore the old maid's arrival, she had, further, talked all thegentlemen into the most charming mood imaginable. She herself had takenin hand Dr. Boultby and Mr. Helstone. The first was a stubborn oldWelshman, hot, opinionated, and obstinate, but withal a man who did agreat deal of good, though not without making some noise about it. Thelatter we know. She had rather a friendly feeling for both, especiallyfor old Helstone; and it cost her no trouble to be quite delightful tothem. She took them round the garden; she gathered them flowers; she waslike a kind daughter to them. Mr. Hall she left to Caroline--or rather,it was to Caroline's care Mr. Hall consigned himself.
He generally sought Caroline in every party where she and he happened tobe. He was not in general a lady's man, though all ladies liked him;something of a book-worm he was, near-sighted, spectacled, now and thenabstracted. To old ladies he was kind as a son. To men of everyoccupation and grade he was acceptable. The truth, simplicity, franknessof his manners, the nobleness of his integrity, the reality andelevation of his piety, won him friends in every grade. His poor clerkand sexton delighted in him; the noble patron of his living esteemed himhighly. It was only with young, handsome, fashionable, and stylishladies he felt a little shy. Being himself a plain man--plain in aspect,plain in manners, plain in speech--he seemed to fear their dash,elegance, and airs. But Miss Helstone had neither dash nor airs, and hernative elegance was of a very quiet order--quiet as the beauty of aground-loving hedge-flower. He was a fluent, cheerful, agreeable talker.Caroline could talk too in a _tete-a-tete_. She liked Mr. Hall to comeand take the seat next her in a party, and thus secure her from PeterAugustus Malone, Joseph Donne, or John Sykes; and Mr. Hall never failedto avail himself of this privilege when he possibly could. Suchpreference shown by a single gentleman to a single lady would certainly,in ordinary cases, have set in motion the tongues of the gossips; butCyril Hall was forty-five years old, slightly bald, and slightly gray,and nobody ever said or thought he was likely to be married to MissHelstone. Nor did he think so himself. He was wedded already to hisbooks and his parish. His kind sister Margaret, spectacled and learnedlike himself, made him happy in his single state; he considered it toolate to change. Besides, he had known Caroline as a pretty little girl.She had sat on his knee many a time; he had bought her toys and givenher books; he felt that her friendship for him was mixed with a sort offilial respect; he could not have brought himself to attempt to giveanother colour to her sentiments, and his serene mind could glass a fairimage without feeling its depths troubled by the reflection.
When Miss Ainley arrived, she was made kindly welcome by every one. Mrs.Pryor and Margaret Hall made room for her on the sofa between them; andwhen the three were seated, they formed a trio which the gay andthoughtless would have scorned, indeed, as quite worthless andunattractive--a middle-aged widow and two plain, spectacled oldmaids--yet which had its own quiet value, as many a suffering andfriendless human being knew.
Shirley opened the business and showed the plan.
"I know the hand which drew up that," said Mr. Hall, glancing at MissAinley, and smiling benignantly. His approbation was won at once.Boultby heard and deliberated with bent brow and protruded under lip.His consent he considered too weighty to be given in a hurry. Helstoneglanced sharply round with an alert, suspicious expression, as if heapprehended that female craft was at work, and that something inpetticoats was somehow trying underhand to acquire too much influence,and make itself of too much importance. Shirley caught and comprehendedthe expression. "This scheme is nothing," said she carelessly. "It isonly an outline--a mere suggestion. You, gentlemen, are requested todraw up rules of your own."
And she directly fetched her writing-case, smiling queerly to herself asshe bent over the table where it stood. She produced a sheet of paper, anew pen, drew an arm-chair to the table, and presenting her hand to oldHelstone, begged permission to install him in it. For a minute he was alittle stiff, and stood wrinkling his copper-coloured foreheadstrangely. At last he mutter
ed, "Well, you are neither my wife nor mydaughter, so I'll be led for once; but mind--I know I _am_ led. Yourlittle female manoeuvres don't blind me."
"Oh!" said Shirley, dipping the pen in the ink, and putting it into hishand, "you must regard me as Captain Keeldar to-day. This is quite agentleman's affair--yours and mine entirely, doctor" (so she had dubbedthe rector). "The ladies there are only to be our aides-de-camp, and attheir peril they speak, till we have settled the whole business."
He smiled a little grimly, and began to write. He soon interruptedhimself to ask questions, and consult his brethren, disdainfully liftinghis glance over the curly heads of the two girls and the demure caps ofthe elder ladies, to meet the winking glasses and gray pates of thepriests. In the discussion which ensued, all three gentlemen, to theirinfinite credit, showed a thorough acquaintance with the poor of theirparishes--an even minute knowledge of their separate wants. Each rectorknew where clothing was needed, where food would be most acceptable,where money could be bestowed with a probability of it being judiciouslylaid out. Wherever their memories fell short, Miss Ainley or Miss Hall,if applied to, could help them out; but both ladies took care not tospeak unless spoken to. Neither of them wanted to be foremost, but eachsincerely desired to be useful; and useful the clergy consented to makethem--with which boon they were content.
Shirley stood behind the rectors, leaning over their shoulders now andthen to glance at the rules drawn up and the list of cases making out,listening to all they said, and still at intervals smiling her queersmile--a smile not ill-natured, but significant--too significant to begenerally thought amiable. Men rarely like such of their fellows as readtheir inward nature too clearly and truly. It is good for women,especially, to be endowed with a soft blindness; to have mild, dim eyes,that never penetrate below the surface of things--that take all for whatit seems. Thousands, knowing this, keep their eyelids drooped on system;but the most downcast glance has its loophole, through which it can, onoccasion, take its sentinel-survey of life. I remember once seeing apair of blue eyes, that were usually thought sleepy, secretly on thealert, and I knew by their expression--an expression which chilled myblood, it was in that quarter so wondrously unexpected--that for yearsthey had been accustomed to silent soul-reading. The world called theowner of these blue eyes _bonne petite femme_ (she was not anEnglishwoman). I learned her nature afterwards--got it off byheart--studied it in its farthest, most hidden recesses. She was thefinest, deepest, subtlest schemer in Europe.
When all was at length settled to Miss Keeldar's mind, and the clergyhad entered so fully into the spirit of her plans as to head thesubscription-list with their signatures for L50 each, she ordered supperto be served, having previously directed Mrs. Gill to exercise herutmost skill in the preparation of this repast. Mr. Hall was no _bonvivant_--he was naturally an abstemious man, indifferent to luxury; butBoultby and Helstone both liked good cookery. The _recherche_ supperconsequently put them into excellent humour. They did justice to it,though in a gentlemanly way--not in the mode Mr. Donne would have donehad he been present. A glass of fine wine was likewise tasted, withdiscerning though most decorous relish. Captain Keeldar was complimentedon his taste; the compliment charmed him. It had been his aim to gratifyand satisfy his priestly guests. He had succeeded, and was radiant withglee.