The Rector of St. Marks

Lucy had insisted that she did not care to go to Saratoga. She

preferred remaining in Hanover, where it was cool and quiet, and where

she would not have to dress three times a day and dance every night

till twelve. She was beginning to find that there was something to

live for besides consulting one's own pleasure, and she meant to do

good the rest of her life, she said, assuming such a sober nun-like

air, that no one who saw her could fail to laugh, it was so at

variance with her entire nature.

But Lucy was in earnest; Hanover had a greater attraction for her

than all the watering-places in the world, and she meant to stay

there, feeling very grateful when Fanny threw her influence on her

side, and so turned the scale in her favor. Fanny was glad to leave

her dangerous cousin at home, especially after Dr. Bellamy decided to

join their party at Saratoga, and, as she carried great weight with

both her parents, it was finally decided to let Lucy remain at

Prospect Hill in peace, and so one morning in July she saw the family

depart to their summer gayeties without a single feeling of regret

that she was not of their number. She had too much on her hands to

spend her time in regretting anything. There was the parish school to

visit, and a class of children to hear--children who were no longer

ragged, for Lucy's money had been poured out like water, till even

Arthur had remonstrated with her and read her a long lecture on the

subject of misplaced charity. Then, there was Widow Hobbs, waiting for

the jelly Lucy had promised, and for the chapter which Lucy read to

her, sitting where she could watch the road and see just who turned

the corner, her voice always sounding a little more serious and good

when the footsteps belonged to Arthur Leighton, and her eyes, always

glancing at the bit of cracked mirror on the wall, to see that her

dress and hair and ribbons were right before Arthur came in.

It was a very pretty sight to see her there and hear her as she read

to the poor woman, whose surroundings she had so greatly improved, and

Arthur always smiled gratefully upon her, and then walked back with

her to Prospect Hill, where he sometimes lingered while she played or

talked to him, or brought the luscious fruits with which the garden

abounded.

This was Lucy's life, the one she preferred to Saratoga, and they

left her to enjoy it, somewhat to Arthur's discomfiture, for much as

he valued her society, he would a little rather she had gone when the

Hethertons went, for he could not be insensible to the remarks which

were being made by the curious villagers, who watched this new

flirtation, as they called it, and wondered if their minister had

forgotten Anna Ruthven. He had not forgotten Anna, and many a time was

her loved name upon his lips and a thought of her in his heart, while

he never returned from an interview with Lucy that he did not contrast

the two and sigh for the olden time, when Anna was his co-worker

instead of pretty Lucy Harcourt. And yet there was about the latter a

powerful fascination, which he found it hard to resist. It rested him

just to look at her, she was so fresh, so bright, so beautiful, and

then she flattered his self-love by the unbounded deference she paid

to his opinions, studying all his tastes and bringing her own will

into perfect subjection to his, until she scarcely could be said to

have a thought or feeling which was not a reflection of his own. And

so the flirtation, which at first had been a one-sided affair, began

to assume a more serious form; the rector went oftener to Prospect

Hill, while the carriage from Prospect Hill stood daily at the gate of

the rectory, and people said it was a settled thing, or ought to be,

gossiping about it until old Captain Humphreys, Anna's grandfather,

conceived it his duty as senior warden of St. Mark's, to talk with the

young rector and know "what his intentions were."