The Rector of St. Marks | Page 9

always
followed his two services on Sunday, and his care of the Sunday school,
there was a feeling of disquiet and depression, occasioned partly by that
rencontre with pretty Lucy Harcourt, and partly by the uncertainty as to
what Anna's answer might be. He had seen the look of displeasure on
her face as she stood watching him and Lucy, and though to many this
would have given hope, it only added to his nervous fears lest his suit
should be denied. He was sorry that Lucy Harcourt was in the
neighborhood, and sorrier still for her tenacious memory, which had

evidently treasured up every incident which he could wish forgotten.
With Anna Ruthven absorbing every thought and feeling of his heart, it
was not pleasant to remember what had been a genuine flirtation
between himself and the sparkling belle he had met among the Alps.
It was nothing but a flirtation, he knew, for in his inmost soul he
absolved himself from ever having had a thought of matrimony
connected with Lucy Harcourt. He had admired her greatly and loved
to wander with her amid the Alpine scenery, listening to her wild bursts
of enthusiasm, and watching the kindling light in her blue eyes, and the
color coming to her thin, pale cheeks, as she gazed upon some scene of
grandeur, nestling close to him as for protection, when the path was
fraught with peril.
Afterwards, in Venice, beneath the influence of those glorious
moonlight nights, he had been conscious of a deeper feeling which, had
he tarried longer at the siren's side, might have ripened into love. But
he left her in time to escape what he felt would have been a most
unfortunate affair for him, for, sweet and beautiful as she was, Lucy
was not the wife for a clergyman to choose. She was not like Anna
Ruthven, whom both young and old had said was so suitable for him.
"And just because she is suitable, I may not win her, perhaps," he
thought, as he paced up and down his library, wondering when she
would answer his letter, and wondering next how he could persuade
Lucy Harcourt that between the young theological student, sailing in a
gondola through the streets of Venice, and the rector of St. Mark's,
there was a vast difference; that while the former might be Arthur with
perfect propriety, the latter should be Mr. Leighton, in Anna's presence,
at least.
And yet the rector of St. Mark's was conscious of a pleasurable emotion,
even now, as he recalled the time when she had, at his own request,
first called him Arthur, her bird-like voice hesitating just a little, and
her soft eyes looking coyly up to him, as she said:
"I am afraid that Arthur is hardly the name by which to call a
clergyman."

"I am not in orders yet, so let me be Arthur to you. I love to hear you
call me so, and you to me shall be Lucy," was his reply.
A mutual clasp of hands had sealed the compact, and that was the
nearest to love-making of anything which had passed between them, if
we except the time when he had said good-by, and wiped away a tear
which came unbidden to her eye as she told him how lonely she would
be without him.
Hers was a nature as transparent as glass, and the young man, who for
days had paced the ship's deck so moodily, was fighting back the
thoughts which had whispered that in his intercourse with her he had
not been all guiltless, and that if in her girlish heart there was a feeling
for him stronger than that of friendship he had helped to give it life.
Time and absence and Anna Ruthven had obliterated all such thoughts
till now, when Lucy herself had brought them back again with her
winsome ways, and her evident intention to begin just where they had
left off.
"Let Anna tell me yes, and I will at once proclaim our engagement,
which will relieve me from all embarrassments in that quarter," the
clergyman was thinking, just as his housekeeper came up, bringing him
two notes--one in a strange handwriting, and the other in the graceful,
running hand which he recognized as Lucy Harcourt's.
This he opened first, reading as follows:
Prospect Hill, June--.
"MR. LEIGHTON: Dear Sir--Cousin Fanny is to have a picnic down in
the west woods to-morrow afternoon, and she requests the pleasure of
your presence. Mrs. Meredith and Miss Ruthven are to be invited. Do
come. "Yours truly, "LUCY."
Yes, he would go, and if Anna's answer had not come before, he would
ask her for it. There would be plenty of opportunities down in those
deep woods. On the whole, it would