That same day the Reverend Henry Lambent walked straight down to the girls’ school, telling himself that he was quite disenchanted now, and that he could talk to Miss Thorne as calmly as if she were a perfect stranger.  The feverish fit had passed away, and he could laugh at the little bit of folly; and hence it was that he kept on thinking of modest violets and sweet perfume, and the face of Hazel Thorne was always before him, gazing at him with her sweet pensive eyes that always seemed so full of trouble and care.  And as he walked he began thinking of what joy it would be to try and soothe the trouble away from those eyes, and make them look love and tenderness; and then he started, and felt what an American would call “mighty bad,” for George Canninge rode by him on horseback, looking very frank, and manly, and handsome.  He did not rein in, but cantered on with a cheery “good morning,” and as soon as he had passed a pang of jealousy shot through the vicar’s breast, worse far than that which he had felt upon the previous day.

“He has been to call at the school,” he thought; and he determined on his own part not to go; but his legs appeared to take him on against his will, and he found himself making excuses for Hazel Thorne.

“She could not help it, perhaps,” he thought.  “At any rate it is my duty to go, and I ought to check her if she is receiving such a visitor as this.”

Then, with heavily beating heart, he reached the entrance to the girls’ school, passing through the gate slowly, and listening to the bleating noise from the boys’ side, with the occasional short, sharp barks that Mr Chute was uttering like a sheepdog driving his flock along the dry and dusty roads of education towards the green and pleasant pastures of Academia.

The Reverend Henry Lambent paused for a few moments to compose himself, and then, wondering at his want of confidence, he entered the schools as we have seen.

The change that came over him instantly was startling.  A moment before he had expected to be alone with Hazel Thorne, the girls counting for nothing ­he could speak in their presence, and say all he wished ­and he had felt a curious feeling of diffidence and pleasure pervade his breast.  Now all was altered.  He was not to be alone with Hazel Thorne, for his sisters were there, and he needed no showing that there had been a scene, while his heart told him that his sisters had been taking Miss Thorne to task for receiving a visit from George Canninge; perhaps they had come and found him there.

He glanced at Hazel, who stood looking pale and indignant with the little book in her hand, and from her to his sisters, who both seemed nervous and excited, consequent upon the encounter that had taken place.

“You here?” he said wonderingly.

There was nothing to wonder at, for it was a matter of course that the sisters should visit the school, and there was no need for explanations; but both brother and sisters were agitated, and Rebecca broke out with: 

“Yes; we came down to have a little conversation with Miss Thorne upon the subject of ­”

“Speak lower, Rebecca,” said the vicar; “we do not wish the children to hear.”

“Exactly, dear Henry,” continued Rebecca.  “We came down to advise Miss Thorne, and to ­”

“Tell her it was not seemly for her to receive so many gentlemen visitors,” said Beatrice.

“Then Mr Canninge has been here!” said the vicar involuntarily.

“Indeed no, I hope not,” cried Rebecca, while Beatrice turned paler than usual.  “Why did you say that?”

The vicar felt that he had made a false move, and he regretted it.

“I met him just now.  I thought he might have had a message from Mrs Canninge.”

“We have been speaking seriously to Miss Thorne,” continued Rebecca:  “and after a little show of indignation I think she has seen the folly of her ways, and is ready to take our good counsel home to her heart.  I am glad that you came, for you can endorse our words.  Miss Thorne, after our preparation of the soil, will be ready to hear.”

The Reverend Henry Lambent had turned to Hazel as these words were spoken, and their eyes met.  He was not a clever reader of the human hearty but he saw the shame and humiliation which the poor girl suffered, for there was an indignant protest in her look ­a look that seemed to say:  “I am a helpless woman and have done no wrong.  You are a gentleman; protect me from these cruel insults, or I must go.”

“We have also given her a book to read and study,” continued Miss Lambent, “and that and our words ­”

“I am afraid that you have chosen a very bad time for making an appeal to Miss Thorne, Rebecca,” said the vicar, interrupting, in low, grave, measured tones; “and I am not sure but that the interference was uncalled for.”

“Henry!” ejaculated Beatrice, as Hazel cast a grateful look at her brother.

“Miss Thorne, will you allow me to look at that book?” continued the Reverend Henry, taking it from her hand.  “Yes, as I thought.  It is most unsuitable to a young” ­he was going to say “person,” but he changed it to “lady of Miss Thorne’s education.  It is such a book as I should have given to some very young girl just come into our service.”

“Henry!” ejaculated Beatrice again, for it was all she could say in her astonishment.

“I think this interview must be rather painful to Miss Thorne,” he continued quietly, “and we will not prolong it.  I was going to question some of the girls, Miss Thorne, but ­another time.  Good-day.”

He bowed and walked to the door, waiting there for his sisters to pass, which they did with heads erect and a severe, injured expression, quite ignorant of the fact that they were being imitated by Miss Feelier Potts, for the benefit of her class.  Then he looked once at Hazel, and saw that there were tears in her eyes as she gazed after him.

He went out then, ready to do battle with fifty sisters, for Hazel’s look had clothed him with moral armour cap-a-pie.