not very eloquent expression of thanks for the squire's solicitude, or as an ironical jeer at his want of sincerity.
'And, therefore, I have not lost a moment in telling you what Sir Omicron said. "You should have Thorne back here;" those were his very words. You can think it over, my dear. And remember this, Bell; if he is to do any good no time should be lost.'
And then the squire left the room, and Lady Arabella remained alone, perplexed by many doubts.
CHAPTER XXXII.
MR. ORIEL.
I must now, shortly—as shortly as it is in my power to do it—introduce a new character to my reader. Mention has been made of the rector of Greshamsbury; but, hitherto, no opportunity has offered itself for the Rev. Caleb Oriel to come upon the boards.
Mr. Oriel was a man of family and fortune, who, having gone to Oxford with the usual views of such men, had become inoculated there with very high-church principles, and had gone into orders influenced by a feeling of enthusiastic love for the priesthood. He was by no means an ascetic—such men, indeed, seldom are—nor was he a devotee. He was a man well able, and certainly willing, to do the work of a parish clergyman, and when he became one, he was efficacious in his profession. But it may perhaps be said of him, without speaking slanderously, that his original calling, as a young man, was rather to the outward and visible signs of religion than to its inward and spiritual graces.
He delighted in lecterns and credence-tables, in services at dark hours of winter mornings when no one would attend, in high waistcoats and narrow white neckties, in chanted services and intoned prayers, and in all the paraphernalia of Anglican formalities which have given such offence to those of our brethren who live in daily fear of the scarlet lady. Many of his friends declared that Mr. Oriel would sooner or later deliver himself over body and soul to that lady; but there was no need to fear for him: for though sufficiently enthusiastic to get out of bed at five a.m. on winter mornings—he did so, at least, all through his first winter at Greshamsbury—he was not made of that stuff which is necessary for a staunch, burning, self-denying convert. It was not in him to change his very sleek black coat for a
