“Frank is neither a child nor a lunatic,” so ran the letter, “but he has strong passions and an impetuous temper which would very rapidly carry him down hill if once he turned that way. Add to this his broken health and spirits, and you will see I have had no light task to perform in endeavouring to restore him to what he once was. The physician here tells me his only chance of recovering health and strength is to start at once on a long foreign tour—under any circumstances he must not think of returning to Harleyford for another year. What then, do you advise? Can you leave your parish for so long a time to travel with your son through Europe (she knew the rector hated travelling, or indeed any kind of bodily exertion) or do you consider that I should be a suitable companion for him under the circumstances? Is there any one of his own friends fit for such a task, or who could do for him all that a tender loving wife will do? What would it matter to Mr. Warden, or to any one else likely to criticise his conduct, if Frank fell into a course of reckless dissipation, or ended his life by his own hand—and this, let me tell you, is another terror I have had always before me. No, no, my dear husband, see things in their right light I beseech you; you must give way in this matter, and believe me it is as much for your own happiness as your son’s that you should do so.” And the rector did give way as might have been expected, and not only consented to his son’s wedding, but went over to Dublin and performed the ceremony himself, and also sketched out the wedding tour for the young people—a trip through the American continent first, and a final run through the chief cities of Europe. “Hardcastle has the best of it now,” said poor Frank, sadly, to himself, as he stood waiting for his bride in the vestry of the little Irish church where the ceremony was to take place. “He has no mother to talk him into a marriage he has no heart for. Not but that I shall do my best to make her happy, for she is sweet and good, but I cannot tear the other memory out of my heart.” Thus it was that Frank and Mary became man and wife within a month of poor Amy’s death, and the rector and Mrs. Varley returned to Harleyford to sustain, as best they might, the inquisitiveness and criticism of their neighbours. CHAPTER IX.