"That is just what I wanted to speak to you about," said Mildmay, embarrassed. "I don't want it to fall to Ruffhead. Listen, before you say anything! I don't want to play the part of the dog in the manger. Ruffhead is young, and so am I; but, my dear Master, listen to me. The curate in charge, Mr. St. John, is not young; he has been twenty years at Brentburn, a laborious excellent clergyman. Think how it would look in any other profession, if either Ruffhead or I should thus step over his head." "The curate in charge!" said the Master, bewildered. "What are you talking about? What has he to do with it? I know nothing about your curate in charge." "Of course you don't; and therefore there seemed to be some hope in coming to tell you. He is a member of our own college; that of itself is something. He used to know you, he says, long ago, when he was an undergraduate. He has been Chester's curate at Brentburn, occupying the place of the incumbent, and doing everything for twenty years; and now that Chester is dead, there is nothing for him but to be turned out at a moment's notice, and to seek his bread, at over sixty, somewhere else--and he has children too." This last sentence was added at a venture to touch the Master's sympathies; but I don't think that dignitary perceived the application; for what is there in common between the master of a college and a poor curate? He shook his head with, however, that sympathetic gravity and deference towards misfortune which no man who respects himself ever refuses to show. "St. John, St. John?" he said. "Yes, I think I recollect the name: very tall--stoops--a peaceable sort of being? Yes. So he's Chester's curate? Who would have thought it? I suppose he started in life as well as Chester did, or any of us. What has possessed him to stay so long there?" "Well--he is, as you say, a peaceable, mild man; not one to push himself----" "_Push_ himself!" cried the Master; "not much of that, I should think. But even if you don't push yourself, you needn't stay for twenty years a curate. What does he mean by it? I am afraid there must be something wrong." "And I am quite sure there is nothing wrong," cried Mildmay, warmly, "unless devotion to thankless work, and forgetfulness of self is wrong; for that is all his worst enemy can lay to his charge." "You are very warm about it," said the Master, with some surprise; "which does you credit, Mildmay. But, my dear fellow, what do you expect me--what do you expect the college to do? We can't provide for our poor members who let themselves drop out of sight and knowledge. Perhaps if you don't take the living, and Ruffhead does, you might speak to him to keep your friend on as curate. But I have nothing to do with that kind of arrangement. And I'm sure you will excuse me when I tell you we start to-night." "Master," said Mildmay solemnly, "when you hear of a young colonel of thirty promoted over the head of an old captain of twice his age, what do you say?"