An energetic, hard-working clergyman from a distant part of the diocese, Livingstone by name, was to have the vacant canonry.
Miss Monro said that the name was somehow familiar to her, and by degrees she recollected the young curate who had come to inquire after Ellinor in that dreadful illness she had had at Hamley in the year 1829.

Ellinor knew nothing of that visit; no more than Miss Monro did of what had passed between the two before that anxious night.

Ellinor just thought it possible it might be the same Mr.Livingstone, and would rather it were not, because she did not feel as if she could bear the frequent though not intimate intercourse she must needs have, if such were the case, with one so closely associated with that great time of terror which she was striving to bury out of sight by every effort in her power.

Miss Monro, on the contrary, was busy weaving a romance for her pupil; she thought of the passionate interest displayed by the fair young clergyman fifteen years ago, and believed that occasionally men could be constant, and hoped that if Mr.Livingstone were the new canon, he might prove the _rara avis_ which exists but once in a century.

He came, and it was the same.