out, mother; let us walk a bit o' t' way to meet
her."

"I don't mind if we do, only let me put on
my bonnet."

Alice passed through the gate, and stood
leaning against the post until her mother joined
her, when they went straight forward along
the path without there being much talk
between them. Not meeting Mary, perhaps
they walked further than they intended, for,
coming to an inconvenient stile beside a great
pond called in the country-side Ash-pool, from
the trees that overhung it, Mrs. Ward stopped,
and said she did not see the use of proceeding.
"She can't be long now, so we might as well
wait here. Sit thee down, Alice; I'm well-nigh
tired myself." So they rested on the plank put
through the bars by way of steps, Alice above
her mother, and both with their faces set to-
wards Heckerdyke. Ash-pool laved the Iong
meadow grass almost close to their feet, and
when the swaying of the boughs permitted it,
the broken moonlight shone through on the
water with silvery brightness. It was a lovely
spot. The moonlight and the ripple, the quivering
leaves and the dipping reeds fired Alice's
half-sleepy eyes, and she stared at them until
she fancied she saw something white moving
out of the black shade on the further bank.

"La, mother, I'm glad I didn't come by
mysel'—there's something not right about the
pool to-night!" cried she, shuddering all through
as I have heard old-fashioned folks say we do
when anybody is walking over the place where
we are to be buried.

Mrs. Ward was looking straight along the
path to Heckerdyke, but at this exclamation
she turned her face towards the water, and
replied, " I remember hearing tell when I was a
lass how that it was ha'nted, but I've passed it
mysel' at all hours, an' i' all weathers, an' I
never saw or heard anything. There's nought i'
this world worse than ourselves, an' you've no
call to be afeard, Alice."

Notwithstanding this encouragement, Alice's
gaze lingered on the water with a kind of
fascination. The ash-boughs swayed apart under
a stronger gust, and showed her the blackest
and deepest of the pool, where the trees arched
over like a cavern roof, and the bank was steep
and jagged as if desperate hands had clutched
and broken it in a struggling fall.

"Ay, mother, but it's a dismal, dreary place!
Let's get on a bit further, or else go back!"
cried she, springing suddenly from her seat. " It
gives me such a feel you can't tell."

"I didn't know I'd such a fond lass to take
flights an' fancies for she doesn't know what,"
responded her mother; " but come thy ways;
if Mary was over-persuaded to stay supper at
thy aunt's, there's no telling but she may stop
all night, or if she doesn't Jack'll come with her
part o' her road."

Alice set off down the path at a pace which
soon left her mother behind; at the next stile,
however, she waited until she overtook her,
when Mrs. Ward said, rather testily, " What
ails thee to-night, Alice? One would think thee
was daft."

Alice only laughed, and said she was all right
again now she had left Ash-pool.

"Such stuff! thee talking o' being feared on
it. It's none so long sin' thee would paddle in
after marsh-mallows, wetting thy skirts and
catching cold i' thy feet! Don't run, bairn; who
does thee think's after thee?"

Alice at this remonstrance moderated her
pace, and they regained their home side by side.
Mrs. Ward struck a light in the house-place
quickly, and as Alice turned off the garment
which she had worn over her head during the
walk, she stood before her mother's eyes the
prettiest girl in Rivisdale. Mrs. Ward was
very fond of her two children, and very proud
of them. They had been well brought up, and
were esteemed as well conducted as girls could
be. Alice was twenty-one, and was engaged
soon to be married to Farmer Goodhugh, of
Rookwood End; but Mary was only seventeen,
and had no avowed suitor. Alice had a healthy
pale face, dark hair, and a figure that was almost
perfect in its build and development, as her firm,
agile walk and graceful movements showed.
Cultivation could not have improved her much;
nature had given her the form and proportions
of an antique model, and also some of the strong
passions that moved antique women. Living
all her life in that lone house, amongst the
woods and fields, taught by her mother, and
having no companion but her young sister, she
had grown up pure, reserved, and good by habit
as well as instinct. Reading her Bible, the
Pilgrim's Progress from this world to a better,
and a few old-fashioned volumes of spiritual
instruction besides, was the highest of her
mental efforts; but she was a clever dairy-
woman on her mother's little farm, and had
quaint stores of practical knowledge about herbs,
roots, bees, and flowers; she was weather-wise,
too, and could tell by the signs in the sky
whether it would be fair or foul in Rivisdale day
by day. Her sister Mary was learning the
dressmaking with Miss Timble, at Heckerdyke,
but Alice had always stayed at home to help her
mother, the liveliest of her holiday excursions
being a monthly visit to the village schoolroom
where the young women of the parish met to
make clothes for the poor, under the
superintendence of that excellent Dorcas the rector's
wife, and after which, for three years past,
Mark Goodhugh had always contrived to join
her and little Mary and set them home. Mrs.
Ward considered Alice very happy in her
prospect of a good husband and a good home,
and between the young people there was an
attachment warm, strong, and true. Alice was
a woman of very deep feeling; her affection for
her mother, and especially for little Mary,
partook of the passionateness of her temperament.

"I think it is a craze I've got to-night,
mother," said she, looking dreamily at the candle
standing on the table between them; "for now
am away from Ash-pool I want to go back."
"I'll hear none of that, at all events,"