And yet, though vice had laid its heavy hand upon her, the glory and the brightness, and the sweet outward flavour of innocence, had not altogether departed from her. Though her mouth was bold, her eyes were soft and womanly, and she looked up into the face of the clergyman with a gentle, tamed, beseeching gaze, which softened and won his heart at once. Not that his heart had ever been hard against her. Perhaps it was a fault with him that he never hardened his heart against a sinner, unless the sin implied pretence and falsehood. At this moment, remembering the little Carry Brattle of old, who had sometimes been so sweetly obedient, and sometimes so wilful, under his hands, whom he had petted, and caressed, and scolded, and loved,--whom he had loved undoubtedly in part because she had been so pretty,--whom he had hoped that he might live to marry to some good farmer, in whose kitchen he would ever be welcome, and whose children he would christen;--remembering all this, he would now, at this moment, have taken her in his arms and embraced her, if he dared, showing her that he did not account her to be vile, begging her to become more good, and planning some course for her future life. "I have come across from Bullhampton, Carry, to find you," he said. "It's a poor place you're come to, Mr. Fenwick. I suppose the police told you of my being here?" "I had heard of it. Tell me, Carry, what do you know of Sam?" "Of Sam?" "Yes--of Sam. Don't tell me an untruth. You need tell me nothing, you know, unless you like. I don't come to ask as having any authority, only as a friend of his, and of yours." She paused a moment before she replied. "Sam hasn't done any harm to nobody," she said. "I don't say he has. I only want to know where he is. You can understand, Carry, that it would be best that he should be at home." She paused again, and then she blurted out her answer. "He went out o' that back door, Mr. Fenwick, when you came in at t'other." The Vicar immediately went to the back door, but Sam, of course, was not to be seen. "Why should he be hiding if he has done no harm?" said the Vicar. "He thought it was one of them police. They do be coming here a'most every day, till one's heart faints at seeing 'em. I'd go away if I'd e'er a place to go to." "Have you no place at home, Carry?" "No, sir; no place." This was so true that he couldn't tell himself why he had asked the question. She certainly had no place at home till her father's heart should be changed towards her. "Carry," said he, speaking very slowly, "they tell me that you are married. Is that true?" She made him no answer. "I wish you would tell me, if you can. The state of a married woman is honest at any rate, let her husband be who he may." "My state is not honest." "You are not married, then?" "No, sir."