The next evening, just before the sun set, the whole youthful party--for Rachel, by a rare chance, was not to be “wanted” to-night--strayed along the grassy road in a body towards the church. Agnes and Marian were both with Louis, who had been persuaded at last to speak of his own persecutions, while Rachel came behind with Charlie, kindly pointing out for him the far-off towers of Oxford, the two rivers wandering in a maze, and all the features of the scene which Charlie did not know, and amused, sad as she was, in her conscious seniority and womanhood, at the shyness of the lad. Charlie actually began to be touched with a wandering breath of sentiment, had been seen within the last two days reading a poetry book, and was really in a very odd and suspicious “way.” “No,” said Louis, upon whom his betrothed and her sister were hanging eagerly, comforting and persuading--“no; I am not in a worse position. It stings me at the moment, I confess; but I am filled with contempt for the man who insults me, and his words lose their power. I could almost be seduced to stay when he begins to struggle with me after this downright fashion; but you are perfectly right for all that, and within a few days I must go away.” “A few days? O Louis!” cried Marian, clinging to his arm. “Yes; I have a good mind to say to-morrow, to enhance my own value,” said Louis. “I am tempted--ay, both to go and stay--for sake of the clinging of these little hands. Never mind, our mother will come home all the sooner; and what do you suppose I will do?” “I think indeed, Louis, you should speak to the Rector,” said Agnes, with a little anxiety. “O no; it is very cruel of you, and you are quite wrong; he did not mean to be very kind in that mocking way--he meant what he said--he wanted to do you service; and so he would, and vindicate you when you were gone, if you only would cease to be so very grand for two minutes, and let him know.” “Am I so very grand?” said Louis, with a momentary pique. “I have nothing to do with your rectors--I know what he meant, whatever he might say.” “It is a great deal more than he does himself, I am sure of that,” said Agnes with a puzzled air. “He means what he says, but he does not always know what he means; and neither do I.” Marian tried a trembling little laugh at her sister’s perplexity, but they were rather too much moved for laughing, and it did not do. “Now, I will tell you what my plan is,” said Louis. “I do not know what he thinks of me, nor do I expect to find his opinion very favourable; but as that is all I can look for anywhere, it will be the better probation for me,” he added, with a rising colour and an air of haughtiness. “I will not enlist, Marian. I have no longer any dreams of the marshal’s _baton_ in the soldier’s knapsack. I give up rank and renown to those who can strive for them. You must be content with such honour as a man can have in his own person, Marian. When I leave you, I will go at once to your father.”