Mildmay marched out of the old house with all his pulses tingling. It seemed to him that poor Cicely, in the midst of all the anxieties that lurked in her young eyes, had been insulted. Was it that sort of folly he was thinking of, or she, poor girl, who had said nothing to him but reproaches? But yet, I will allow, that absolutely innocent as he felt of any such levity, the accusation excited him more, perhaps, than was needful. He could not forget or forgive it, as one forgives a sorry jest at one's own expense, the reason being, he said to himself, that it was an insult to her, and that this insult had come upon a young innocent creature through him, which was doubly hard. He was still tingling with this blow, when he met his second in succession, so to speak, Mr. Ruffhead, who was serving a curacy near Oxford, and who had a slight unspoken, unacknowledged grudge at his brother Fellow who had been preferred before himself. Mildmay, in his excitement, laid hold upon this probable heir of his, in case he should give up Brentburn, and poured the whole story into his ears, asking with some heat and passion for his advice. "I don't see how I can take the living over Mr. St. John's head; it seems to me the most terrible injustice," he cried. Mr. Ruffhead shook his head. "You must not ask my advice," said that sensible person. "If you don't take it, and it's offered to me, I shall of course. I don't know Mr. St. John, and if one neglected one's own interests for every hard case one heard of, where would one be? I can't afford to play with my chances. I daresay you think I am very hard-hearted; but that is what I should do."