“Far from it: the aunt is all the aunt of Miss Leicester should be--all the widow of Dr. Leicester ought to be. But her circumstances are not what they ought to be; and by the liberality of a friend, who lends me a house, rent free, and by the resources of my profession, I am better able than Mrs. Leicester is to spare fifteen hundred pounds: therefore, in the recovery of this money I have no personal interest at present. I shall never receive it from her.” “Noble! Noble!--just what I could have done myself--once! What a contrast!” Buckhurst laid his head down upon his arms flat on the table, and remained for some moments silent--then, starting upright, “I’ll never claim a penny from her--I’ll give it all up to you! I will, if I sell my band for it, by Jove!” “Oh! what has your father to answer for, who forced you into the church!” thought Alfred. “My dear Buckhurst,” said he, “my dear dean--” “Call me Buckhurst, if you love me.” “I do love you, it is impossible to help it, in spite of--” “All my faults--say it out--say it out--in spite of your conscience,” added Buckhurst, trying to laugh. “Not in spite of my conscience, but in favour of yours,” said Alfred, “against whose better dictates you have been compelled all your life to act.” “I have so, but that’s over. What remains to be done at present? I am in real distress for five hundred pounds. Apropos to your being engaged in this dilapidation suit, you can speak to Mrs. Falconer about it. Tell her I have given up the thing; and see what she will do.” Alfred promised he would speak to Mrs. Falconer. “And, Alfred, when you see your sister Caroline, tell her that I am not in one sense such a wretch--quite, as she thinks me. But tell her that I am yet a greater wretch--infinitely more miserable than she, I hope, can conceive--beyond redemption--beyond endurance miserable.” He turned away hastily in an agony of mind. Alfred shut the door and escaped, scarcely able to bear his own emotion. When they met at dinner, Mrs. Dean Falconer was an altered person--her unseemly morning costume and well-worn shawl being cast aside, she appeared in bloom-coloured gossamer gauze, and primrose ribbons, a would-be young lady. Nothing of that curmudgeon look, or old fairy cast of face and figure, to which he had that morning been introduced, but in their place smiles, and all the false brilliancy which rouge can give to the eyes, proclaimed a determination to be charming.