THE PARSON'S TEMPTATION.

Press, Volume LVIII, Issue 11151, 18 December 1901, Page 9

THE PARSON'S TEMPTATION.

Bt H. Miasm*. "No, "Mt Elwyn. 'You are a good man and I -would not ask for a better husband for my girl, but it cannot be." "Oannot be! But Mary- has promised to become my wife if only you will oonsent. lam not a poor man, my prospects aare fair, and we toy« each other.- Hugh Elwyn, Qirate of Beliinadon, leaned forward towards Farmer Soamee, his face, which was admired by all the unmarried ladies because of its clear-cut aristocratic lines, pale; his tremulous lips, from which on Sundays issued streams of Cbrysostomlan eloquence, working nervously. The burly father bowed his head and sighed. He respected the curate, and would have been proud to see Mary bis wife, bat none knew better than he that marriage was not for them. Prom an inner room the notes of a piano were audible, and both understood that the girl was practising hymns for the mission church, where she played, besides teaching in the school, and working, as do those modest yorrng ladies, who aspire to marry among the inferior clergy. "I have oeen too sudden, you will think it over; but consent you must, for my happiness is at stake, and so w Mary's!" the curate said huskily. He scarcely recognised his own voice, so changed was it in the passage through his parched lips. "Mr Elwyn!" the fanner said, and paused; he was wrestling with himself. "Enough! I wiE go, but to-morrow will find mc here again. You won't mind mc saying good-nignt to Mary?" : And the curate turned to go. Farmer Soames laid his hand detainingly upon the visitor's arm. "Mr Elwyn, you are a clergyman, and clergymen Hear strange things—l mean in the confessional." There was an appealing glance in the man's eyes. "You mistake. I am not a priest, but a Protestant parson and an honest man/ the curate explained, bat the other checked him. "I know you aren't one of them Romanisere, but the Prayer Book says somewhere that if a man is troubled in his conscience, he ought to go to some godly and learned minister, and—you'll remember, rightly what it is better than I do; but it is in my mind to tell you, and then it'll be plain why you and Mary can't marry." Hugh Elwyn dropped , into a seat. "I am ready to listen, he said, wearily, "but I assure you that your daughter shall be my wife with your consent, if possible, but we.are plighted to eachpother. We shall neither of us break our word. I speak for her as well as for myself." "Parson you have a character to lose. If you marry the girl without my consent, you will be a ruined man. All the world will point the finger of aoora at you, aad your hatred for my unfortunate lass will become tenfold greater than your love is." Farmer Soames might be crazy, but if so, there was a method in. his madness. Hugh Elwyn settled himself to listen to the story, and the strains from the piano continued. Mary hezself was happy, being ignorant of what was passing ibetween her father and her lover. "Nothing you can tell mc will alter my intention, , ' the curate said. , Then he relapsed into silence, for the fanner, with lips as dry as his own and a face even paler, began his confession.

"Parson, you see before you a, guilty man," be groaned. "You wiSL remember that droughty spring, when the cattle died for -want of water, and there was a fear that the crops would fail!"

The curate nodded*, for he could not toast himself to speak; the farmer's, trembling earnestness held him in thraH. There was no need to recall that trying eeaeon to him, w.ho remembered it only too w«JI, for his own heart and purse had largely borne the burden of his agricultural neighbours; and if he had not failed with some of them, and cursed Providence with others, the smart had not been escaped.

"I was short of cash, a* well ac short of bread*, and "was afraid of what might bappea if rain didn't oome. So when Squire Braughley offered mc fifty pounds fo<r four heifers, fie had them. That s the rab, Mr Elwya." Fanner Soames groaned again, and looked furtively around as if ihe feared that someone was listening' behind his chair. "The Squire is a tyrannical, overbearing, pnm-prtmd brute, a bear which needs licking into shape; but his purchase of your heifers has noticing'to. do with- my Jove,lor Mary." The curate almost laughed .at this sudden subsidence of. a mountain into a jnolehiH. The farmer quickly undeceived him. "I said he mid mc with a cheque for £60, didn't I? His voice sank into a hissing whisper. "Poison, I altered it into £500. lam a forger. Now you understand why you mustn't wed my girl.". "The sins of tbe fathers shall be visited upon the children," the clergyman murmured. "No, it shall not be. Mary is innocent, she shall not suffer for her father's fault. X should shame.of a. love the* shrank from such a touch of frost." Then aloud/ "You were tempted. JDoes the squire, know of this?" I'mean, has the— the forgery besn discovered?" Even the fanner could «dt comprehend how* anxiously the curate mtutedm*? . answer. It oame tjiundwronsiy, oloang -, fixe last door of hope. - '<-'■'* i J

"Hβ knows it, and the price of bis silence is Maxy. ,, "" "You «ye" Mary to Jam, to a gambler and a drunkard, to a man from whom honest women shrink with shame? Why, the fellow ia drinking at the village alehouse, as he does every night. Former, if I were in your shoes I would rather endure any punishment than condemn a daughter to such & fate I" And Hugh Elwyn. dashed his fiat on the table in a most uaclericai fashion. - - ■ ■

"7m to allow, him to court Mary in Mb own way, and when they many hVllgnre mc tip the forged cheque; he swore to that. It's hjurd for mc, and it's,hard for yon; but, maybe, it won't /all so rough op the girl, for women are fond of fine clothes and show; and the Squire is rich. God forgive mc, and do you forgive mc, parson. I'm in a net."

"W&at assurance is there, besides hi* word, that be will act squarely frith you if he gete Ms price? , ' Hugh Erwyn forced hhneelf to ask. Hβ fdt side, the room swam round -with him. , , . "Hβ swore it. He always carries" the cheque in hie pocket-book. X saw it only yesterday, and on the wedding morning he will burn it." Farmer Soames broke down, and Hugh lElwyn, unable to utter a word of comfort, for the minister in him wag crashed by the man, went out without speaking to Mary, <wfco did not know that he was - gone. He only remembered that the squire carried the forged cheque about with him. That was burnt into his brain.

The squire was, as Hugh Elwyn. eurmieed, a* the -village public, which he did not leave until the hour of closing. The pints which he carried uu<ler his waistcoat made htm merry, and he hammed an opera tone while staggering along the mile of high road whkm wound between? the hamlet and the manor house. Bui' in the loneliest part-of tie road, where the elms vera thickest, and the hawthorns grew ranklv, the melody died! upon. hi* lips. A "tail dark ftgare sprang oat of the hedge, gripped collar, and, with -a dexterous movement of hand and heel, tripped him so that he fell hearily, striking ms head against a stone. With a trembling hand the robber tore at the prostrate man's breast, and took therefrom a pocket-book, -which fee hurriedly searched, and then returned; but a crumpled paper remained in his grasp, and was poached. t . ' An lour later when tie dazed squire readied home—fortunately his head tree thick, or others imgbt b&re carried him to the bouse the best traditions of which he disgracecV—Hugh Elwyn was siting in his bectoom, pale of face and shaking as if with a palsy, his clerical dress torn and dost-covered, intently gsuang at a rumpled dirty cheque. "My God, if t%» man. ehould be dead! ,, he groaned. Then fiercely, "Dead or alive, he will not marry Maiy Soames now."