The Autobiography of a Slander | Page 7

that it
often plays into the hands of my progenitor, as it most assuredly did in
the present instance.
Hardly had the rector announced, "Here beginneth the forty-fourth
verse of the sixteenth chapter of the book of the prophet Ezekiel," than
a sort of relaxation took place in the mind I was attacking. Lena
Houghton's attention could only have been given to the drearily read
lesson by a very great effort; she was a little lazy and did not make the
effort, she thought how nice it was to sit down again, and then the
melancholy voice lulled her into a vague interval of thoughtless
inactivity. I promptly seized my opportunity, and in a moment her
whole mind was full of me. She was an excitable, impressionable sort
of girl, and when once I had obtained an entrance into her mind I found
it the easiest thing in the world to dominate her thoughts. Though she
stood, and sat, and knelt, and curtseyed, and articulated words, her
thoughts were entirely absorbed in me. I crowded out the Magnificat
with a picture of Zaluski and Gertrude Morley. I led her through more
terrible future possibilities in the second lesson than would be required
for a three-volume novel. I entirely eclipsed the collects with
reflections on unhappy marriages; took her off via Russia and Nihilism
in the State prayers, and by the time we arrived at St. Chrysostom had
become so powerful that I had worked her mind into exactly the
condition I desired.
The congregation rose. Lena Houghton, still dominated by me, knelt
longer than the rest, but at last she got up and walked down the aisle,
and I felt a great sense of relief and satisfaction. We were out in the
open air once more, and I had triumphed; I was quite sure that she
would tell the first person she met, for, as I have said before, she was
entirely taken up with me, and to have kept me to herself would have
required far more strength and unselfishness than she at that moment
possessed. She walked slowly through the churchyard, feeling much

pleased to see that the curate had just left the vestry door, and that in a
few moments their paths must converge.
Mr. Blackthorne had only been ordained three or four years, and was a
little younger, and much less experienced in the ways of the world, than
Sigismund Zaluski. He was a good well-meaning fellow, a little narrow,
a little prejudiced, a little spoiled by the devotion of the district visitors
and Sunday School teachers; but he was honest and energetic, and as a
worker among the poor few could have equalled him. He seemed to
fancy, however, that with the poor his work ended, and he was not
always so wise as he might have been in Muddleton society.
"Good afternoon, Miss Houghton," he exclaimed. "Do you happen to
know if your brother is at home? I want just to speak to him about the
choir treat."
"Oh, he is sure to be in by this time," said Lena.
And they walked home together.
"I am so glad to have this chance of speaking to you," she began rather
nervously. "I wanted particularly to ask your advice."
Mr. Blackthorne, being human and young, was not unnaturally flattered
by this remark. True, he was becoming well accustomed to this sort of
thing, since the ladies of Muddleton were far more fond of seeking
advice from the young and good-looking curate than from the elderly
and experienced rector. They said it was because Mr. Blackthorne was
so much more sympathetic, and understood the difficulties of the day
so much better; but I think they unconsciously deceived themselves, for
the rector was one of a thousand, and the curate, though he had in him
the makings of a fine man, was as yet altogether crude and young.
"Was it about anything in your district?" he asked, devoutly hoping that
she was not going to propound some difficult question about the origin
of evil, or any other obscure subject. For though he liked the honour of
being consulted, he did not always like the trouble it involved, and he
remembered with a shudder that Miss Houghton had once asked him

his opinion about the 'Ethical Concept of the Good.'
"It was only that I was so troubled about something Mrs. O'Reilly has
just told me," said Lena Houghton. "You won't tell any one that I told
you?"
"On no account," said the curate, warmly.
"Well, you know Mr. Zaluski, and how the Morleys have taken him
up?"
"Every one has taken him up," said the curate, with the least little touch
of resentment in his tone. "I knew that the Morleys were his special
friends; I imagine that he