Mrs Ray, in her trouble occasioned by Luke’s letter, had walked up to Mr Comfort’s house, but had not found him at home. Therefore she had written to him, in his own study, a few very simple words, telling the matter on which she wanted his advice. Almost any other woman would have half hidden her real meaning under a cloud of ambiguous words; but with her there was no question of hiding anything from her clergyman. “Rachel has had a letter from young Mr Rowan,” she said, “and I have begged her not to answer it till I have shown it to you.” So Mr Comfort sent word down to Bragg’s End that he would call at the cottage, and fixed an hour for his coming. This task was to be accomplished by him on the morning after Dr Harford’s dinner; and he had thought much of the coming conference between himself and Rachel’s mother while Rowan’s character was being discussed at Dr Harford’s house; but on that occasion he had said nothing to anyone, not even to his daughter, of the application which had been made to him by Mrs Ray. At eleven o’clock he presented himself at the cottage door, and, of course, found Mrs Ray alone. Rachel had taken herself over to Mrs Sturt, and greatly amazed that kind-hearted person by her silence and confusion. “Why, my dear,” said Mrs Sturt, “you hain’t got a word today to throw at a dog.” Rachel acknowledged that she had not; and then Mrs Sturt allowed her to remain in her silence.

“Oh, Mr Comfort, this is so good of you!” Mrs Ray began as soon as her friend was inside the parlour. “When I went up to the parsonage I didn’t think of bringing you down here all the way — I didn’t indeed.” Mr Comfort assured her that he thought nothing of the trouble, declared that he owed her a visit, and then asked after Rachel.

“To tell you the truth, then, she’s just stepped across the green to Mrs Sturt’s, so as to be out of the way. It’s a trying time to her, Mr Comfort — very; and whatever way it goes, she’s a good girl — a very good girl.”

“You needn’t tell me that, Mrs Ray.”

“Oh! but I must. There’s her sister thinks she’s encouraged this young man too freely, but —”

“By the by, Mrs Ray, I’ve been told that Mrs Prime is engaged to be married herself.”

“Have you, now?”

“Well, yes; I heard it in Baslehurst yesterday — to Mr Prong.”

“She’s kept it so close, Mr Comfort, I didn’t think anybody had heard it.”

“It is true, then?”

“I can’t say she has accepted him yet. He has offered to her — there’s no doubt about that, Mr Comfort — and she hasn’t said him no.”

“Do let her look sharp after her money,” said Mr Comfort.

“Well, that’s just it. She’s not a bit inclined to give it up to him, I can tell you.”

“I can’t say, Mrs Ray, that the connection is one that I like very much, in any way. There’s no reason at all why your eldest daughter should not marry again, but —”

“What can I do, Mr Comfort? Of course I know he’s not just what he should be — that is, for a clergyman. When I knew he hadn’t come from any of the colleges, I never had any fancy for going to hear him myself. But of course I should never have left your church, Mr Comfort — not if anybody had come there. And if I could have had my way with Dorothea, she would never have gone near him — never. But what could I do, Mr Comfort? Of course she can go where she likes.”

“Mr Prime was a gentleman and a Christian,” said the vicar.

“That he was, Mr Comfort; and a husband for a young woman to be proud of. But he was soon taken away from her — very soon! and she hasn’t thought much of this world since.”

“I don’t know what she’s thinking of now.”

“It isn’t of herself, Mr Comfort; not a bit. Dorothea is very stern; but, to give her her due, it’s not herself she’s thinking of.”

“Why does she want to marry him, then?”

“Because he’s lonely without someone to do for him.”

“Lonely! — and he should be lonely for me, Mrs Ray.”

“And because she says she can work in the vineyard better as a clergyman’s wife.”

“Pshaw! work in the vineyard, indeed! But it’s no business of mine; and, as you say, I suppose you can’t help it.”

“Indeed I can’t. She’d never think of asking me.”

“I hope she’ll look after her money, that’s all. And what’s all this about my friend Rachel? I’d a great deal sooner hear that she was going to be married — if I knew that the man was worthy of her.”

Then Mrs Ray put her hand into her pocket, and taking out Rowan’s letter, gave it to the vicar to read. As she did so, she looked into his face with eyes full of the most intense anxiety. She was he greatly frightened by the magnitude of this marriage question. She feared the enmity of Mrs Rowan; and she doubted the firmness of Luke. She could not keep herself from reflecting that a young man from London was very dangerous; that he might probably be a wolf; that she could not be safe in trusting her one lamb into such custody. But, nevertheless, she most earnestly hoped that Mr Comfort’s verdict might be in the young man’s favour. If he would only say that the young man was not a wolf — if he would only take upon his own clerical shoulders the responsibility of trusting the young man — Mrs Ray would become for the moment one of the happiest women in Devonshire. With what a beaming face — with what a true joy — with what smiles through her tears, would she then have welcomed Rachel back from the farmhouse! How she would have watched her as she came across the green, beckoning to her eagerly, and telling all her happy tale beforehand by the signs of her joy! But there was to be no such happy tale as that told on this morning. She watched the vicar’s face as he read the letter, and soon perceived that the verdict was to be given against the writer of it. I do not know that Mrs Ray was particularly quick at reading the countenances of men, but, in this instance, she did read the countenance of Mr Comfort. We, all of us, read more in the faces of those with whom we hold converse, than we are aware of doing. Of the truth, or want of truth, in every word spoken to us, we judge, in great part, by the face of the speaker. By the face of every man and woman seen by us, whether they speak or are silent, we form a judgement — and in nine cases out of ten our judgement is true. It is because our tenth judgement — that judgement which has been wrong — comes back upon us always with the effects of its error, that we teach ourselves to say that appearances cannot be trusted. If we did not trust them we should be walking ever in doubt, in darkness, and in ignorance. As Mr Comfort read the letter, Mrs Ray knew that it would not be allowed to her a speak words of happiness to Rachel on that day. She knew that the young man was to be set down as dangerous; but she was by no means aware that she was reading the vicar’s face with precise accuracy. Mr Comfort had been slow in his perusal, weighing the words of the letter; and when he had finished it he slowly refolded the paper and put it back into its envelope. “He means what he says,” said he, as he gave the letter back to Mrs Ray.

“Yes; I think he means what he says.”

“But we cannot tell how long he may mean it; nor can we tell as yet whether such a connection would be good for Rachel, even if he should remain steadfast in such meaning. If you ask me, Mrs Ray —”

“I do ask you, Mr Comfort.”

“Then I think we should all of us know more about him, before we allow Rachel to give him encouragement — I do indeed.”

Mrs Ray could not quite repress in her heart a slight feeling of anger against the vicar. She remembered the words — so different not only in their meaning, but in the tone in which they were spoken — in which he had sanctioned Rachel’s going to the ball: “Young people get to think of each other,” he had then said, speaking with good-humoured, cheery voice, as though such thinking were worthy of all encouragement. He had spoken then of marriage being the happiest condition for both men and women, and had inquired as to Rowan’s means. Every word that had then fallen from him had expressed his opinion that Luke Rowan was an eligible lover. But now he was named as though he were undoubtedly a wolf. Why had not Mr Comfort said then, at that former interview, when no harm had as yet been done, that it would be desirable to know more of the young man before any encouragement was given to him? Mrs Ray felt that she was injured; but, nevertheless, her trust in her counsellor was not on that account the less.

“I suppose it must be answered,” said Mrs Ray.

“Oh, yes; of course it should be answered.”

“And who should write it, Mr Comfort?”

“Let Rachel write it herself. Let her tell him that she is not prepared to correspond with him as yet, any further that is, you understand, than the writing of that letter.”

“And about — about — about what he says as to loving her, you know? There has been a sort of promise between them, Mr Comfort, and no young man could have spoken more honestly than he did.”

“And he meant honestly, no doubt; but you see, Mrs Ray, it is necessary to be so careful in these matters! It is quite evident his mother doesn’t wish this marriage.”

“And he shouldn’t have called her a goose; should he?”

“I don’t think much about that.”

“Don’t you, now?”

“It was all meant in good-humour. But she thinks it a bad marriage for him as regards money, and money considerations always go so far, you know. And then he’s away, and you’ve got no hold upon him.”

“That’s quite true, Mr Comfort.”

“He has quarrelled with the people here. And upon my word I’m inclined to think he has not behaved very well to Mr Tappitt.”

“Hasn’t he, now?”

“I’m afraid not, Mrs Ray. They were talking about him last night in Baslehurst, and I’m afraid he has behaved badly at the brewery. There were words between him and Mr Tappitt — very serious words.”

“Yes; I know that. He told Rachel as much as that. I think he said he was going to law with Mr Tappitt.”

“And if so, the chances are that he may never be seen here again. It’s ill coming to a place where one is quarrelling with people. And as to the lawsuit, it seems to me, from what I hear, that he would certainly lose it. No doubt he has a considerable property in the brewery; but he wants to be master of everything, and that can’t be reasonable, you know. And then, Mrs Ray, there’s worse than that behind.”

“Worse than that!” said Mrs Ray, in whose heart every gleam of comfort was quickly being extinguished by darkening shadows.

“They tell me that he has gone away without paying his debts. If that is so, it shows that his means cannot be very good.” Then why had Mr Comfort taken upon himself expressly to say that they were good at that interview before Mrs Tappitt’s party? That was the thought in the widow’s mind at the present moment. Mr Comfort, however, went on with his caution. “And then, when the happiness of such a girl as Rachel is concerned, it is impossible to be too careful. Where should we all be if we found that we had given her to a scamp?”

“Oh dear, oh dear! I don’t think he can be a scamp — he did take his tea so nicely.”

“I don’t say he is — I don’t judge him. But then we should be careful. Why didn’t he pay his debts before he went away? A young man should always pay his debts.”

“Perhaps he’s sent it down in a money order,” said Mrs Ray. “They are so very convenient — that is if you’ve got the money.”

“If he hasn’t I hope he will, for I can assure you I don’t want to think badly of him. Maybe he will turn out all right. And you may be sure of this, Mrs Ray, that if he is really attached to Rachel he won’t give her up, because she doesn’t throw herself into his arms at his first word. There’s nothing becomes a young woman like a little caution, or makes a young man think more of her. If Rachel fancies that she likes him let her hold back a while and find out what sort of stuff he’s made of. If I were her I should just tell him that I thought it better to wait a little before I made any positive engagement.”

“But, Mr Comfort, how is she to begin it? You see he calls her Dearest Rachel.”

“Let her say Dear Mr Rowan. There can’t be any harm in that.”

“She mustn’t call him Luke, I suppose.”

“I think she’d better not. Young men think so much of those things.”

“And she’s not to say ‘Yours affectionately’ at the end?”

“She’ll understand all that when she comes to write the letter better than we can tell her. Give her my love; and tell her from me I’m quite sure she’s a dear, good girl, and............