"Mr. Vincent, sir, you mustn't swear. I'm as sorry for you as a man can be; but you're a minister, and you mustn't give way," said Tozer. "If there ain't nothing in it, so much the better; but I'm told as the evidence is clean again' her. Well, I won't say no more; it's no pleasure to me to think of a young creature, and a minister's daughter, with a mother like what she's got, going any ways astray--far the contrary, Mr. Vincent: your own father, if he was living, couldn't be more sorry than me. But my advice is, keep quiet, and don't let anything get out no more nor can be helped. I don't mean to say as it can be altogether kep' quiet--that ain't in the nature of things; nor I don't mean to make you suppose as all is likely to go smooth, and no fault found. There's pretty sure to be some unpleasantness, one way or another; and the only thing as I can see is just to put up with it, and stand your ground, and do your duty all the same. And I for one will stand by you, sir," said Tozer, rising to his feet with a little glow of conscious generosity and valour, and shaking the hand of the poor young minister with cordial kindness--"I'll stand by you, sir, for one, whatever happens; and we'll tide it out, Mr. Vincent, that's what we'll do, sir, if you can but hold on." "Thank you," said poor Vincent, moved to the heart--"thank you. I dare not think how it is all to end, but thank you all the same; I shall not forget what you say." "And tell your mother," continued Tozer, swelling to a little triumph in his own magnanimity--"tell your mother as I said so; tell her as I'll stand by you through thick and thin; and we'll pull through, we'll pull through!" said the butterman, slowly disappearing, with a face radiant with conscious bounty and patronage, through the open door. Vincent had followed him with an instinct of civility and gratitude. Just as Tozer withdrew, a fresh burst of outcry came from the sick-room, ringing through the excited house. The deacon turned round half-way down the stair, held up his hands, listened, and made a movement of wondering pity towards the closed door which hid Susan, but did not keep in her cries. The wretched minister drew back from that compassionate gesture as if some one had struck him a blow. He went back and threw himself down on the sofa, and covered his face with his hands. The pity and the patronage were the last drop of humiliation in his bitter cup. Hot tears came to his eyes; it seemed to him more than flesh and blood could bear.