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Updated: May 6, 2025
For Helen, what she heard might be interesting to clergymen, or people like her aunt who had to do with such matters, but to her it was less than nothing and vanity, whose brother lay at home "sick in heart and sick in head." But hard thoughts of him could not stay the fountain of Wingfold's utterance, which filled as it flowed.
Nothing is so ruinous to progress in which effort is needful, as satisfaction with apparent achievement; that ever sounds a halt; but Wingfold's experience was that no sooner did he set his foot on the lowest hillock of self-congratulation than some fresh difficulty came that threw him prostrate; and he rose again only in the strength of the necessity for deepening and broadening his foundations that he might build yet higher, trust yet farther: that was the only way not to lose everything.
Wingfold's business was to start him well in the world whither he was going. He must fill his scrip with the only wealth that would not dissolve in the waters of the river that was, the knowledge of Jesus. It shot a terrible pang to the heart of Helen, herself, for all her suffering, so full of life, when she learned that her darling must die.
Rachel, my child, will you get us a cup of tea, and by the time it is ready we shall have got through our business, I daresay." The face of Wingfold's host and new friend in expression a good deal resembled that of his niece, but bore traces of yet greater suffering bodily, and it might be mental as well.
Possibly his anxiety as to how the listener would receive it, served, by dividing him between two emotions, to keep the reuttered tale from overpowering him with freshened vividness. All the time, he kept watching Wingfold's face, the expressions of which the curate felt those eyes were reading like a book.
"For myself," I give a passage from Wingfold's note-book, written for his wife's reading "I feel sometimes as if I were yet a pagan, struggling hard to break through where I see a glimmer of something better, called Christianity.
By this time all the old tenderness of her ministration had returned, nor did she seem any longer jealous of Wingfold's. One day she came behind them as they talked. The grass had been mown that morning, and also she happened to be dressed in her riding- habit and had gathered up the skirt over her arm, so that on this occasion she made no sound of sweet approach.
Ladies are scarce; and any thing almost would be better than a houseful of half-ladies." "I think I understand," said Dorothy thoughtfully. Her father now stated Mr. Wingfold's proposal in the tone of one sorry to be unable to entertain it. "I see perfectly why you think we could not manage it, papa," said Dorothy. "But why should not Miss Meredith lodge with us in the same way as with Mrs.
Next to Wingfold's and his sister's, the face he always welcomed most was that of the gate-keeper indeed I ought hardly to say NEXT to theirs; for if the curate was to him as a brother, Polwarth was like a father in Christ. He came every day, and every day, almost till that of his departure, Leopold had something to ask him about or something to tell him. "I am getting so stupid, Mr.
This IF of Wingfold's was, I need hardly now say, an IF of bare honesty, and came of no desire to shake an unthinking confidence. Neither, had it been of the other sort, could it have shaken Rachel's, for her confidence was full of thinking. As little could it shock her, for she hardly missed a sentence that passed between her uncle and his new friend.
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