golden idol, and call upon all men to bow
down and worship it.

Maud had not one friend among all these
neighbours. Perhaps this was her fault;
no doubt, some of them were better girls
than herself, but she wondered why they
ever came to Mortlands, and, with her
independent habits of thought, she found
nothing in any of them to encourage
intimacy. Hers was a quick, strong nature,
loving life, and all real human interests in
a hearty way. She felt a slow fire
consuming her, under the snow of those
altitudes in which her lot was now cast. She
would have worked her fingers to the bone
in any cause which she felt keenly; and
Fate had ordained that she was to sit with
her hands before her, and consume the
feverish restlessness of youth in inaction.
One of her few pleasures was riding. Hunting
would have been good for her, by
letting off some of the steam in her nature,
which was always threatening to explode;
but Sir Andrew objected to this, so she
took long solitary gallops on the downs,
followed by her groom, and her deer-hound
Oscar.

As to her looks, some pronounced her
beautiful, others could find nothing to
admire but her figure. She was straight
as an arrow, her limbs well hung, her
carriage very erect, a bust like that of the
Venus of Milo, and smaller ancles than the
Greeks ever recognised as admirable. She
had, moreover, to complete the picture of
her person, finely-shaped, capable hands,
that looked better out of gloves than in
them, a clear complexion, a swift, keen
glance; and a charming mouth when she
smiled.

She was now twenty-two, and it was
just seven years since she first came to
Mortlands, a raw girl, emerging from childhood,
sanguine, joyous, and impatient of
control. Those seven years had formed her
character, not altogether to its advantage.
They had nipped it, as cold winds and an
uncongenial soil nip the tender shoots of a
flower transplanted from a warmer climate.

The village of Mortlands is very small;
it begins just outside the park-gates (the
curate, Mr. Miles's, being the first cottage),
and straggles up a steep hill which closes
in the valley at the end, some two miles
from the great house. It is inhabited
chiefly by the families of the farm-labourers
on the Herriesson estate, and these
labourers, with few exceptions, are well off.
The aspect of their cottages shows it, and
not less so the cleanly, well-ordered aspect
of their children, as you see them trooping
into the village school. Maud went
occasionally to the village, and would gladly
have gone every morning if she could have
thought that her going did any good. But
what was there for her to do? Temporal
wants there were none; spiritual ones were
fully and ably supplied by the Reverend
John Miles. Some young ladies, for lack
of other sustenance, would have gathered
the village gossip, from cottage to cottage,
and gone home heavy laden with it, fondly
imagining all the time that they were
performing deeds of charity and usefulness.
But of such was not Maud Pomeroy. For
some of these wives and mothers she had a
strong personal respect and liking, and
when she went to see them she felt that
she gained, or ought to gain, far more than
she was capable of giving. She listened to
their small troubles and trials, and saw how
bravely they bore them, and knew that she
ought to bear hers as bravely, and that
she did not. She murmured at Providence,
which had placed her in idleness and luxury
when she would have preferred the lot of
one of these anxious, hard-working women.
She visited them, therefore, because she
liked it; the sight of their honest toil was
as a tonic to her; she would never permit
them to leave off scrubbing or cooking
when she came in, and in the cottages
which she thus visited it need hardly be
said Miss Pomeroy was adored. She and
Mr. Miles often came across each other on
these occasions, and he studied her
character very closely. With what results it
remains to be seen.

John Miles was eight-and-twenty. A
more earnest, zealous man in his vocation
it would be hard to find, or one better
adapted to win his way to the hearts of a
country parish. There was nothing
dictatorial or interfering in his manner of
dealing with the poor. His clear good
sense, both in the pulpit, where he had it
all his own way, and out of the pulpit, where
he was open to argument, recommended
him especially to the men, who often came
to consult him upon some mundane
question. His ready sympathy, and the
absence of perpetual fault-finding (that snare
of zealous parish priests which, more than
anything, wearies out the patience and
neutralises the effect of an occasional well-
merited reproof), caused him to be a
welcome visitor among the women. It was
more than respect; they had a positive
love for John Miles. And, while in matters
spiritual they looked up to him, in matters