"It is not that," crossly responded the Rector--"what people will think or say; it is for Sale's own sake that I object. He cannot like the connection. A clergyman should marry in his own sphere." "I suppose men are differently constituted, clergymen as well as others," said I, with deprecation, remembering that I was a plain, inexperienced lad, and he was the Rector of Timberdale. "Some persons don't care for social distinctions as others do, don't even see them: perhaps Mr. Sale is one." "He cares for probity and honour--he would not choose to ally himself to crime, to disgrace," sternly spoke the Rector. "And he would do that in marrying Margaret Rymer. Remember what the son did, that ill-doing Benjamin," added he, dropping his voice. "You know all about it, Johnny. The affair of the bank-note, I mean." And if Herbert Tanerton had said to me the affair of the moon and planets, I could not have been more surprised. "How did you get to know of it?" I asked, when speech came to me. "Mr. Rymer told me on his death-bed. I was attending him spiritually. Of course, I have never spoken of it, even to my wife--I should not think of speaking of it; but I consider that it lies in my duty to disclose the facts to Mr. Sale." "Oh no, don't--don't, please, Mr. Tanerton!" I cried out, starting up in a sort of distress, for the words seemed to take hold of me. "No one knows of it: no one but the Squire, and I, as you say, and Mrs. Rymer, and you, and Ben himself; Jelf's dead, you know. It need never be brought up again in this world; and I dare say it never will be. Pray don't tell Mr. Sale--for Margaret's sake." "But I have said that I consider it my duty to tell him," replied the parson, steadily. "Here he comes!" I turned to the window, and saw Sale trudging up to the parsonage through the snowy field pathway, his black hair and red rugged face presenting a sort of contrast to the white glare around. Ugly, he might be called; but it was a face to be liked, for all that. And the ring of his voice was true and earnest. The affair of the bank-note had helped to kill Thomas Rymer, and sent Mr. Ben off on his wanderings again. It was a bit of ill-luck for Ben, for he had really pulled up, was reading hard at his medical books, and become as steady as could be. Never since then--some ten months ago now--had Ben been heard of; never had it been spoken of to man or woman. _Need_ Herbert Tanerton disclose it to the curate? No: and I did not think he would do it. "We were just talking of you," was the Rector's greeting to Mr. Sale, as the curate came into the room. "Bring a chair to the front of the fire: Johnny, keep your seat. I'm sure it's cold enough to make one wish to be in the fire to-day, instead of before it." "What were you saying about me?" asked Mr. Sale, drawing forward the chair to sit down, as bidden, and giving me a nod in his short way.