CHAPTER XXI.

CLERICAL LIES.

ALICE SAUNDERS had always been called amiable. She certainly thought herself so; but the propensity to falsify her word prompted a line of conduct far from amiable.

Not many weeks after her return home, she was in a large party, when a lady asked her how she had enjoyed her visit to W—.

"Very much," was the indifferent reply.

"Miss Morrison is a charming girl."

"Yes; but I feel anxious about her."

"What can you mean?" inquired the lady. "Is not her health firm?"

Instead of answering directly, Alice inquired,—

"Did you ever hear of Mr. Barton?"

"No, I don't remember the name."

"He is a young clergyman residing in W—. Ada is interested in him; but—" She checked herself, and arched her splendid eyebrows.

At this moment a lady joined their group, and stood arm in arm with the companion of Alice.

"Is he not correct in his morals?" urged the other, judging from her friend's manner that something was amiss.

"I do not call any man correct, who trifles with the happiness of a young lady."

"Certainly not!"

"I have heard other remarks prejudicial to him; but it was sufficient for me to know that after deliberately winning the love and confidence of a beautiful girl, he left her on the appearance of a wealthier rival."

"A man that will do that is a rascal!" exclaimed the new-comer, warmly.

"Are you sure it is not a mistake?" queried the other lady.

"I wish for Ada's sake it could be doubted. Imagine my situation as a guest, knowing what I did, yet not wishing to wound her feelings by telling her."

"You ought to have told her frankly."

"It might have been better; but I had not the moral courage. Really, the worry I had between expediency and a fear of losing Ada's friendship almost spoiled my visit. If I but hinted at the truth, she would at once communicate the fact, with the authority for it; and I should either have been obliged to bring proof, or have been thought officious."

"Either course would have been trying, but if she really loved you, and was worthy of your friendship, she would have appreciated your motives. Could you not hint the facts to her parents in a letter?"

"Oh, no! You cannot be acquainted with Squire Morrison, or you would never think of such a thing. To tell the truth, he was not at first over-pleased with Mr. Barton; but Ada is an only daughter, and he would not thwart her wishes. If he thought the gentleman had been guilty of such meanness, he would set all W— in a blaze."

"What is the name of the deserted lady?" inquired the younger miss.

Alice answered decidedly, "I am not at liberty to tell."

A day or two after, the servant announced Miss Perry and Mrs. Mark, the two ladies with whom the conversation had taken place. After a few moments, the latter said,—

"I have thought much about poor Ada Morrison. Suppose she should marry Mr. Barton and find afterward that he had deceived her."

"I have thought of that," murmured Alice, vexed that the subject was renewed; "and I have determined to do nothing about it."

"What else has he been guilty of?" asked Miss Perry, bluntly.

"They say there are things which would depose him from the ministry, if generally known."

"He must be a villain," returned the young lady. "I don't see how he can be such a hypocrite as to write sermons! I heard him once; but I little thought what a vile creature he was."

"That is the worst of the whole," continued Alice. "If I'm not very much mistaken, whole pages of his fine oratory may be found in the best English divines."

"Shocking! Terrible!" ejaculated Mrs. Mark.

While Miss Perry held up her hands and raised her eyes in silent horror, and said, "I'm going to W— to-morrow. My aunt belongs to Mr. Barton's church. What will she think of him when I tell her what a rascal he is! Why, the state prison is too good a place for him!"

Alice's cheeks burned like fire.

"Remember," she said, "that all I have told you about Mr. Barton or Squire Morrison's family was in strict confidence. I would not have my name connected with such scandal for the world."

"Oh, certainly," remarked Miss Perry.

"I have a doubt whether such iniquity ought to be covered up," rejoined Mrs. Mark.

Three months after her visit to W—, Mr. Saunders pointed out to Alice a paragraph in the paper. It read as follows:

"On the 8th inst., by the Rev. Giles Moody, Rev. Charles Barton to Ada, only daughter of Squire Morrison, of W—."

The young lady read the notice with vexation that her friend had married the man in whom she was interested, and pleasure that her falsehoods troubled her not as she feared they would. Mechanically she ran her eye over the paper, when it fell on the following:—

"We regret to say that Rev. Charles Barton has asked a dismission from his people in W—. This unhappy result has been brought about by slanderous reports concerning the gentleman's moral and clerical character, put in circulation by some evil-minded person. On the first intimation of these, he called a meeting of the church, when he told them frankly of the slanders current in the community, and requested them to co-operate with him in searching out the author, or examining the proof of such statements. He told them he knew nothing how they, individually, or collectively, felt regarding his innocence or guilt; he asked nothing but justice, and justice, with the help of God, he would have.

"A council of the neighboring churches was therefore called, which most thoroughly examined the grave charges. Mr. Barton urged the investigation. The result contained these resolutions:—

"'Resolved, that our beloved brother has been foully and wickedly slandered, but has come forth from this trying ordeal like silver refined in a furnace.

"'Resolved, that we have no terms in which to express our cordial and unqualified approval of Mr. Barton's course during the whole examination. We commend him anew to the love and confidence of his church and congregation, with the hope that his useful labors among them may long be continued.'

"Yet Mr. Barton immediately proffered a request to his people for a dissolution of their connection, giving it as a reason, that a pastor's name should be above reproach; that, however unjustly, his name, both as a gentleman and Christian, had been connected with crimes at which his soul revolted; and that he never again could labor here in the cause of his Master. If the event was to any a sorrowful one, it must be charged to the person or persons who originated the slander."

Alice scarcely breathed until she had read every word. Her hot blood burned like fire. Seizing the paper, she rushed to her own room, locked the door, and threw herself in a chair, covering her face with her hands. Conscience was aroused, and set before her the effects of her own lies.

"Was this the way to return Ada's love and Mrs. Morrison's kindness? How did Mr. Barton offend me that I so shamefully slandered him?"

She began to think she had suffered enough to atone for her crime; that what was done could not be undone now; and therefore that it was useless to mourn longer. But the end was not yet.

Scarcely a month passed before Mrs. Mark called one day and requested to see her alone.

"Do you know," she asked quickly, "about poor Ada Morrison?"

"I know she is married."

After a searching glance, the lady asked,—

"Will you have the goodness to tell me the name of your informant concerning the rumors you heard about Mr. Barton?"

"I regret that I cannot oblige you. I'm sorry I ever mentioned the silly affair."

"Miss Perry is almost frantic at the trouble she has brought upon herself. She was actually brought before the council of ministers, and was forced to give your name as her authority for all the reports. Ada was there; as his betrothed wife, she insisted she had a right to be near him. When she heard your name, she fainted and was carried out of church. She was scarcely able to stand during the wedding ceremony, which she would not consent should be postponed, because Mr. Barton needed her more than ever; and now there are alarming symptoms of a hasty decline from the shock."

The lady paused as she noticed the blanched countenance of her hearer, but presently added, "If you could give me the name of your informant, it would relieve you from the terrible burden now resting on your shoulders."

With a shriek she could not suppress, Alice rushed from the room.