it had hitherto shirked. He could not change the direction
nature had given to his thoughts, and prepossession would in some degree obscure
his judgment where the merits and trustworthiness of a man in Peak's
circumstances called for scrutiny; but self-respect guarded him against vulgar
artifices, and a fine sensibility made it improbable that he would become the
victim of any man in whom base motives predominated.
    Left to his own impulses, he would still have proceeded with all caution in
his offers of friendly services to Peak. A letter of carefully-worded
admonition, which he received from his son, apprising him of Peak's resolve to
transfer himself to Exeter, scarcely affected his behaviour when the young man
appeared. It was but natural - he argued - that Buckland should look askance on
a case of conversion; for his own part, he understood that such a step might be
prompted by interest, but he found it difficult to believe that to a man in
Peak's position, the Church would offer temptation thus coercive. Nor could he
discern in the candidate for a curacy any mark of dishonourable purpose. Faults,
no doubt, were observable, among them a tendency to spiritual pride - which
seemed (Martin could admit) an argument for, rather than against, his sincerity.
The progress of acquaintance decidedly confirmed his favourable impressions;
they were supported by the remarks of those among his friends to whom Peak
presently became known.
    It was not until Whitsuntide of the next year, when the student had been
living nearly five months at Exeter, that Buckland again came down to visit his
relatives. On the evening of his arrival, chancing to be alone with Sidwell, he
asked her if Peak had been to the house lately.
    »Not many days ago,« replied his sister, »he lunched with us, and then sat
with father for some time.«
    »Does he come often?«
    »Not very often. He is translating a German book which interests father very
much.«
    »Oh, what book?«
    »I don't know. Father has only mentioned it in that way.«
    They were in a little room sacred to the two girls, very daintily furnished
and fragrant of sweet-brier, which Sidwell loved so much that, when the season
allowed it, she often wore a little spray of it at her girdle. Buckland opened a
book on the table, and, on seeing the title, exclaimed with a disparaging laugh:
    »I can't get out of the way of this fellow M'Naughten! Wherever I go, there