up the minds of the town. A very few said,
How generous, how charitable, how
disinterested and gallant was the parson's
daughter, and how she stood up to battle
against unmeaning whims and humours.
Mr. Conway read off the true solution — all
women are rivals to each other.

But he had just arrived on the eve of
another little battle—the battle of the
bridge.

Before the building of the light bridge
already mentioned, the people of the
district, on Sunday and holiday evenings, often
clustered at the edge of the bank opposite
to the Castle Gardens, gazing curiously at
the gay and charming beds of flowers, the
pretty walks, the rare shrubs, which a
skilful Scotch gardener, hired at a vast
price by the horticultural Sir Charles, had
taken pains to make the pride and show
of the district. Here were rare plants
which had come from afar, here " a
labyrinth" so complicated and tangled as to
be the wonder and delight of the few
children, who had been allowed to lose
their way in it. Sir Charles, good-natured
always, seeing the rows of excluded spectators,
had often wished to give them greater
enjoyment, and unrestricted admission to
his grounds. Having been poor himself,
he would say, he knew how welcome were
these cheap benefits. Once, when his
daughter was in a pettish fit of impatience,
at having to go round to the great gate,
when she was in a hurry to get home, he
said artfully that a new bridge across would
be a great convenience. She caught at the
idea with enthusiasm, and became almost
restless until she had made her father get
plans from an eminent architect. It was
begun at once, and was pushed forward to
gratify another fancy of hers that it should
be completed and opened by her birthday.
Then it was christened Laura Bridge.

It seemed to be unlucky from the
beginning. A scaffolding gave way during
its construction, and a workman's son was
drowned in sight of the drawing-room
windows. By a strange and fitful change,
quite characteristic of her nature, she
seemed, when her whim was gratified, to
become indifferent, scarcely ever to use it,
and at last to dislike it. Her father felt he
never could understand her.

It was a pretty object, springing across
airily, and seeming to be made of thin wire.
It was a model of lightness combined with
strength, taking the shape of an airy bow
with towers, transparent as bird-cages, at
each end. In gilt letters over each entrance
was the name " Laura Bridge," a christening
done in honour of the daughter of
the house. " Laura Bridge, Laura Bridge,"
read Conway, aloud and contemptuously,
" even this is twisted into homage to the
vanity of wealth. This spoiled creature
thinks the whole world is for her. I should
like to have the schooling of her."

The good-natured baronet had even built
the natives a little pavilion where they
could have their pleasure parties and
junketings. Visitors to the castle, as they
looked from the windows and strolled
through the gardens, saw these honest
folks, the sailors and their lasses, the
shopkeepers and others, scattered about on
the grass, enjoying themselves after their
fashion with the usual rustic gambolling.
This sight made Miss Panton more fretful
on each occasion. She disliked the idea of
community, or sharing, which it suggested.
And she often impatiently asked her father
to forbid them to come, or take away the
bridge altogether. The guest heard many
a discussion at the breakfast or dinner
table, which he himself had innocently
started by his question, " Who are all those
people in the grounds?"

"There, papa," Miss Laura would
exclaim. " There is the result of your
bridge. You should build them houses.
They begin to think that our lands belong
to them. Do get rid of this bridge, and
let us have our place to ourselves like other
people." Another unjust speech caused deep
indignation. " That they were not going
to collect all the beggars of the country in
their garden." And by the curious process
by which events make themselves known
even without the agency of persons, it
became reported that Miss Panton intended to
abolish the bridge, and to shut herself up in
her own fortress, excluding the canaille for
ever. Then it was that Jessica's deep and
burning protest was heard all over the
place. There was true oppression,
depriving the poor and the labouring of their
innocent recreation! Such behaviour was
cruel, scandalous, barbarous. Talk of the
feudal times, of the serfs indeed. But she
did not believe it still, she could not.

This spoken in the open places, at the
market cross, as it were, flew to the heiress's
ears, and at once determined her, that the
bridge should go down. The low, mean,
pitiful herd should not disgrace their
grounds any more. It was a matter of
favour, as they should find. She was not
going to be put down by them, or by any
one."

Her father looked at her with wonder.

"They put you down, the poor rustics;