Mary's hand trembled a little as she took the note and glanced at it, to detect the writer at once from a peculiarity which had not been concealed. "Well," cried Salis, "I am right?" Mary shook her head again. "No, Hartley, it is certainly not Mr North's writing." "Then, in the name of all that's wonderful, whose is it? The people would not subscribe for it. Besides, it says `from a constant attendant.' Why, good heavens! it cannot be from--" Mary glanced at Leo, who was intent upon her reading, and then looked back at her brother, with a half-mischievous and amused smile, as she nodded her head. "You think so, too," he exclaimed, in a whisper. "Oh!" There was a look of trouble and perplexity in his face that was intensely droll, for, though no name had been mentioned, both had hit upon the donor; and as the trouble deepened in the curate's face, Mary stretched out her hand to him, and he took it, and sat down by her side. "It's impossible," he whispered. "I could not think of taking it. How could she be so foolish?" "It seems cruel to call it foolish," said Mary gently. "The idea was prompted by a very kindly feeling." "Of course, of course; but, my dear Mary, it is putting me in a false position." "Not if you treat it as an anonymous gift." "How can I, when I feel certain that she sent it?" "But even if you are, I think you might keep it, Hartley. See how common it is for ladies of a congregation to present the curate with slippers or braces." "Yes," said Salis drily; "and all out of gratitude to their spiritual teacher. Bless 'em, they throw their gifts, and the weak man thinks they are bladders to enable him to float lightly along the social current of air, when, lo! and behold, he finds, poor weak, fluttering butterfly, that one of the fair naturalists has stuck a pin through him, right into the cork, and he is `set up' for life." "Nonsense, you vain coxcomb!" "No, my dear Mary, I am not a vain man; but I can generally tell which way the wind blows. I have a certain duty to perform in connection with my two sisters--a sort of paternal role to play, and consequently I am rather afraid of Mrs Berens." "Hartley, dear!" "Yes, Mary. This surplice is going to be paid for by H. Salis, clerk in holy orders, ill as he can afford to do it, or it is going back to the donor." "But what can she do with it if your idea is correct?" "Cut it up to make little garments for the poor children, if she likes. Bother the woman: I wish she would go." Volume 2, Chapter XXI. DR NORTH IS STARTLED. "You puzzle me, doctor," said Moredock; "you do, indeed. I've been a-going to church all my life, and I've listened to hundreds o' sarmons, and I know all about the Good Samaritan and duty towards your neighbour; but how, after what happened, you could tie him up and sticking-plaster him, and then go next mornin' to see how he was, caps me."