"But if he is so ill he will not be able to do the duty," said Beatrice. 

 "It is not hard, and Eardly is well able to do it himself." 

 "But will he," said she, "I really feel curious, to see how this embryo bishop will get on, as I suppose nothing less is the object of his taking orders." 

 "Oh, Miss Trevor, judge not so harshly. Is it not possible that in singleness of heart, he may have gone into the Church, unmindful of all but the sacred calling? I do not pretend to judge, but I believe no worldly honour or pecuniary consideration influenced his choice, as I know his grandfather left him quite independent." 

 "Oh, don't tell me, Mr. Barclay, it is very unlikely; but it is natural that you should take his part because—" 

 "Because, what?" responded Mr. Barclay, "do you think money or interest would prompt me to say what I don't think or mean?" 

 "No," said Beatrice, "I think you the last person in the world to truckle to the great,—but no more of this; what kind of a being is this Frederic Eardly?" 

 "I am a poor judge of character, besides, you would hardly give me credit for being impartial. They say he is spoilt by his mother and sisters, by whom he is perfectly idolized and to whom he is, in return, devotedly attached." 

 "Come, that and helping poor Bennet, are certainly very redeeming traits; but will his giving him a preference be doing justice to you, who have done so much, and will it not—" here feeling she was going too far, she coloured. 

 Mr. Barclay too, was much confused; and Beatrice was greatly relieved when Mrs. Fortescue turned the conversation. She had long remarked to herself, there was a mystery about Mr. Barclay which she could not understand. There was, at times, a reserve she attributed to pride. If not well born, he was quite au fait in all the usages of well–bred society. He never spoke of his family, but Mrs. Fortescue once asked him if he had any sisters, when he replied, "Two, such as any brother might be proud of;" but, while he spoke, the blood mantled in his forehead, and fearing it might result from pride, she dropped the subject, and, for the future, avoided saying anything that might recall it, trusting that, in time, she might win his confidence. 

 Almost unconsciously to herself, was Ethelind, under the garb of friendship, indulging a 

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