"Even so. I have, in truth, well-founded faith and hope that by the continuation of your friendship and good report, cousin William, I may at no distant period attain unto both." "And if you do, cousin Stephen," returned the vicar, with a smile; "your _benefice_ in the parish of Wrexhill will be worth considerably more than mine." A serious, waggish, holy, cunning smile now illuminated the red, dry features of the attorney, and shaking his head with a Burleigh-like-pregnancy of meaning, he said, "Ah, cousin!" The vicar smiled again, and rising from his chair, put his head and shoulders out of the open window, looking carefully, as it seemed, in all directions; then, drawing them in again, he proceeded to open the door of the room, and examined the passage leading to it in the same cautious manner. "My son Jacob is one of the finest young men in Europe, cousin Stephen," said the vicar, reseating himself; "but he is young, and as full of little childish innocent fooleries as any baby: so it is as well not to speak all we may have to say, without knowing that we are alone; for many an excellent plan in which Providence seemed to have taken a great share, has been impiously spoiled, frustrated, and destroyed, by the want of caution in those to whom it was intrusted. Let not such sin lie at our door! Now tell me then, cousin Stephen, and tell me frankly, why did you smile and say, 'Ah cousin'?" "Because, while speaking of what, through mercy, I may get at Wrexhill, it seemed to me like a misdoubting of Providence not to speak a little hint of what its chosen minister there may get too." "I get my vicar's dues, cousin Stephen; and it may be, by a blessing upon my humble endeavours, I may, when next Easter falls, obtain some trifle both from high and low in the way of Easter offering." "Ah, cousin!" repeated the attorney, renewing his intelligent smile. "Well then," said the well-pleased vicar, "speak out." "I am but a plodding man of business," replied Mr. Corbold, "with such illumination upon matters of faith as Providence hath been pleased to bestow; but my sense, such as it is, tells me that the excellent and pious widow of Mowbray Park will not always be permitted by Providence to remain desolate." "She does, in truth, deserve a better fate," rejoined the vicar. "And what better fate can befall her, cousin William, than being bound together in holy matrimony with one of the most shining lights to be found among the saints on earth?" "Yes!" responded the vicar with a sigh; "that is the fate she merits, and that is the fate she ought to meet!" "And shall we doubt Providence?--shall we doubt that a mate shall be found for her? No, cousin William; doubt not, for I say unto thee, 'Thou art the man!'"