So this is how it happened:  Ralph, prodigal Curate, up to his eyebrows in debt, doing his utmost every Sunday to expound on that which he did not yet understand, and in general minding his own business, was disgruntled to find that a particular young woman in the congregation was not properly attentive to his sermons.  The young woman's name was Lizzie.  

He redoubled his efforts to be eloquent, to be persuasive, to be convicting, all for naught.  One day he met Lizzie as he was walking down the road to town.  He asked why she didn't like his sermons, and she replied by asking him whether he liked the sermons himself.  To this he had no reply and began to feel sheepish, for to his dismay he realized that indeed he did not like his own sermons.  She went on to tell him that she doesn't think he believes a word of his own sermons.  By then Ralph knew that he was hopelessly found out, and all he could do was fall to his knees and burst into tears. 

This bewildered Lizzie, but then it came to her that she ought to look after the man, so she led him to a nearby wood where no one would see him crying.  He followed meekly and miserably, finding to his dismay he could not even locate his own handkerchief to blow his nose.  She wordlessly gave him her handkerchief, making him weep all the more.  

Now he felt he must confess the whole story of his mountain of debt and his spiritual poverty.  He asked her what he should do, and she told him simply that he had better quit the ministry for a time and work to get out of debt.  The thought at first silenced him, but he soon saw that this was the only logical way to proceed.  

He asked Lizzie if he could keep the handkerchief, and if she would please marry him.  Then he resigned from the parish and made his way to the city and offered his services as an accountant to his brother, a businessman.