"Oh, Mr. Mules!" exclaimed Judith, with a leap of hope in her heart—here was someone who might if he would be a help to her. She had indeed made up her own mind as to what was the safest road on which to set her feet, but she was timid, shrank from falsehood, and earnestly craved for someone to whom she could speak, and from whom she could obtain advice.
"Oh, Mr. Mules! will you give me some advice and assistance?"
"Advice, by all means," said the rector. "I'll turn and walk your way, the froth is blown into my face and stings it. My skin is sensitive, so are my eyes. Upon my word, when I got home my face will be as salt as if I had flooded it with tears—fancy me crying. "What did you say you wanted—advice?"
"Advice and assistance."
"Advice you shall have, it is my profession to give it. I mix it with pepper and salt and serve it out in soup plates every week—am ready with it every day, Mrs. Coppinger. I have buckets of it at your disposal, bring your tureen and I'll tip in as much of the broth as you want, and may you like it. As to assistance, that is another matter. Pecuniary assistance I never give. I am unable to do so. My principles stand in the way. I have set up a high standard for myself and I stick to it. I never render pecuniary assistance to anyone, as it demoralizes the receiver. I hope and trust it was not pecuniary assistance you wanted."
"No, Mr. Mules—not that, only guidance."
"Oh, guidance! I'm your sign-post, where do you want to go?"
"It is this, sir. I have given poison to Mr. Coppinger."
"Mercy on me!" the rector jumped back and turned much the tinge of the foam plasters that were on his face.
"That is to say, I gave him arsenic mixed with his porridge the day before yesterday, and it made him very ill. Yesterday——"
"Hush, hush!" said Mr. Mules, "no more of this. This is ghastly. Let us. say it is hallucination on your part. You are either not right in your head or are very wicked. If you please—don't come nearer to me. I can hear you quite well, hear a great deal more than
