Emily did not like to let her thoughts dwell upon the subject; and after telling her tale out to the boy, and making some arrangements with the housekeeper, who came down at the moment, so as to ensure that the little fellow should have the attendance of some woman, she thanked Chandos in graceful terms for the gallant assistance he had rendered in the morning, and proposed to her uncle that they should return home.
Emily remained grave and thoughtful, however, during the whole day, and Rose was also very much less gay than ordinary; so that when Mr. Tracy, who had been out all the morning on business, returned towards dinner time, he found the party who had left him a few hours before as cheerful as a mountain stream, more dull than perhaps he had ever seen it.
Before dinner but little time was given for narrative, and at dinner a guest was added to the party who has been mentioned incidentally once before. This was the young clergyman of Northferry, a man of about eight and twenty years of age, but who had been the incumbent of the parish only three or four months. Mr. Fleming was always a welcome visitor at Mr. Tracy's house, it must be said to all parties. It was not indeed because he was Honourable as well as Reverend; but because few men were better calculated to win regard as well as esteem. Handsome in person, there was a sort of harmony in his calling, his manners, and his appearance, which was wonderfully pleasing. Mild and engaging in demeanour, he was cheerful, though not perhaps gay; never checking mirth in others, though giving but moderate way to it himself. Yet his conversation, though quiet and calm, was so rich with the stores of thought, that it was brilliant without effort, and light even in its seriousness. Perhaps no man was ever so well fitted for the profession which he had chosen; but I must not be mistaken, I mean well fitted both as regarded his own destiny and that of others. In the first place he loved it, and in the next he estimated it justly. He was an aristocrat by family and by conviction; and he regarded an hierarchy in the church as the only means of maintaining order and discipline therein, of stimulating to high exertion every member, and checking every tendency to neglect or misconduct. He had not the slightest touch of the democratic tendencies usually attributed to what is called the low church, but yet he had neither pride with him nor ambition. He was perfectly contented with a small rectory of four hundred a-year, with a congregation generally poor, and no prospect either of display or advancement. His private fortune was sufficient, not large; but it was enough with his stipend to maintain him in the rank in which he was born, and he asked no more. Had a bishopric been offered to him, he would certainly have refused it. In the next place he had little vanity, and detested eloquent sermons. He sought to convince and instruct, and belaboured night and day to qualify himself for those tasks; but his language was as simple as his mind. If a figure would now and then find place, it was because it sprung naturally from a rich imagination, and was so clear, so forcible, so just, that, like the rest of his discourses, there was no mistaking in the least what he advanced. He never tried to enlist the fancy, and seldom to engage the feelings of his hearers on his side. The latter he regarded as engines, to be used only on great occasions, in order to carry convictions into active effect; and he spared them purposely, feeling that he had within the power of rousing them when it might be necessary, and could do so more surely by rousing them rarely. Then he was a charitable man in the enlarged, but not the licentious sense of the word. He had vast toleration for the opinions of others, though he was firm and steadfast in the support of his own. Thus anger at false views never even in the least degree came to diminish the efficacy of his support of just ones. He fearlessly stated, fearlessly defended his own principles, but never disputed, and was silent as soon as a quibble or a jest took the place of argument. There was moreover a truth, a sincerity, an uprightness in his whole dealings and his whole demeanour, which had a powerful influence upon all who knew him. To every man but the most vain it became a natural question--"If one so vigorous in mind, so learned, and so wise, is thus deeply impressed with the truth of opinions different to my own, is there not good cause for re-examining the grounds of those I entertain?" And thus his arguments obtained more fair consideration than vanity generally allows to the views of those who oppose us.