thought, for he had far other matter now fully occupying his mind. And then the breakfast was over, and in a few minutes the two clergymen found themselves together in the Parsonage study.
"Mr. Robarts," began the senior, when he had seated himself uncomfortably on one of the ordinary chairs at the farther side of the well-stored library table, while Mark was sitting at his ease in his own arm-chair by the fire, "I have called upon you on an unpleasant business."
Mark's mind immediately flew off to Mr. Sowerby's bill, but he could not think it possible that Mr. Crawley could have had any thing to do with that.
"But, as a brother clergyman, and as one who esteems you much and wishes you well, I have thought myself bound to take this matter in hand."
"What matter is it, Crawley?"
"Mr. Robarts, men say that your present mode of life is one that is not befitting a soldier in Christ's army."
"Men say so! what men?"
"The men around you, of your own neighborhood—those who watch your life, and know all your doings—those who look to see you walking as a lamp to guide their feet, but find you consorting with horse-jockeys and hunters, galloping after hounds, and taking your place among the vainest of worldly pleasure-seekers—those who have a right to expect an example of good living, and who think that they do not see it."
Mr. Crawley had gone at once to the root of the matter, and in doing so had certainly made his own task so much the easier. There is nothing like going to the root of the matter at once when one has on hand an unpleasant piece of business.
"And have such men deputed you to come here?"
"No one has or could depute me. I have come to speak my own mind, not that of any other. But I refer to what those around you think and say, because it is to them that your duties are due. You owe it to those around you to live a godly, cleanly life, as you owe it also, in a much higher way, to your Father who is in heaven. I now make bold to ask you whether you are doing your best to lead such a life as that?" And then he remained silent, waiting for an answer.
He was a singular man; so humble and meek, so unut-
