there early one morning about a month
back, and selling the only costly garments
upon her, while she bought others of a
simple kind, together with a bag full of
linen which had been carried for her to
the station by the shop-boy. The lad, being
questioned, could not tell for what station
the young woman had taken a ticket, nor
were porters or station-master able to throw
any light on the subject; but here the
post-office stepped in. Out of all the
houses whose bags were sent direct to the
Salisbury office, a certain number only
were on this line of rail. Their names
were submitted to John: he selected, after
some hesitation, four or five, and among
these Beckworth House happened to be
the only one that sent out envelopes
stamped in blue on the back. After this,
the description of Mrs. Cartaret's
handwriting, which was well known at the post,
removed any further doubt; and the
information, furnished by those tradesmen
who served her, as to the constant changes
that took place in her maids, pointed
at once to the direction which John's
search must first take. Early the following
morning he put himself into the train for
Beckworth; and, after an interview with
the station-master, who not only remembered
the fact of Maud's arrival, but,
being a friend of Mr. Dapper's, had heard
that gentleman's jealous sneers touching
his master's admiration for the young
woman, and the " pretty way " in which
they "carried it on" together, after
obtaining, in short, more information than he
had bargained for, John Miles walked
slowly up to the house, heavy at heart,
awkward, and ill-at-ease. Now, that the
difficulties of his undertaking were apparently
overcome, he felt that they were, in
reality, only beginning. What should he
say to the sheep who had wandered from
his fold?

CHAPTER XI.

"COME! off with you, young man!"
cried Mrs. Rouse, taking a rapid survey of
the stranger, from the crown of his soaked
hat over a well- splashed " Inverness,"
down to the muddy boots that encased his
huge feet. " Don't be a-bringing of your
dirt in here. We don't allow no followers.
We've trouble enough with Mary Hind,
without that."

"May I speak with you a minute,
ma'am '? I am the clergyman of her parish,
through whose recommendation – I believe
– she got this place."

"Oh! Is that it? Well, I beg your
pardon, sir – I didn't – please to walk this
way. I can't say as the young woman's
much credit to the parish. I'm just
worried out o' my life by her. I wish to
goodness," she continued, as they reached the
housekeeper's room, and she shut the door,
"I wish to goodness she had never set her
foot here; and – meaning no disrepect to
you, sir – I can't say as she's a bit fit for
service, though she may have done well
enough in your school. But we don't
want no schollards here," added Mrs.
Rouse, with a lively sense of the injury
which Maud's accomplishments in this line
had wrought.

"I can quite understand – I am afraid
that she made a mistake in entering
service," said Miles; (and had he been the
oldest diplomatist, he could have said
nothing better calculated to mollify Mrs.
Rouse). "It is to try and induce her to
return to her friends that I am come
here."

"You'll find it precious hard work I
expect, sir, but I only hope you'll succeed.
The girl is an artful hussy, that's what
she is, sir, who turns all the men's heads,
and the sooner she's packed off, the better.
If I'd had my way, she'd ha' been off
before now, in double-quick time; but
Mrs. Cartaret is that taken with her
parleyvousing, she can't see the plain
truth, nor won't, till it's too late – that's
my belief."

"You are mistaken," said John,
hurriedly, and he felt himself colouring, as
he spoke, which made him worse. " The
girl is not what you believe her to be.
She is not artful: believe me – I know her
well. But you cannot be more anxious
than I am that she should quit a situation
for which she is altogether unfit."

"Then, may I be so bold as to ask why
you recommended her, sir?" said Mrs.
Rouse, sharply; and she enjoyed the
triumph of witnessing the curate's inability
to parry this home-thrust. He fidgeted
about on the black horsehair chair, and
looked uncomfortable. Then, with a sort
of sublime pity, she continued: " But Lor'
bless you, sir, I don't blame you. How
was you to know? I suppose, now, you
thought in the school that butter wouldn't
melt in her mouth? She's not a young
woman, now, as you'd expect to be
encouraging a young gentleman, as his
intentions can't, in course, be honourable –
a-kissing in passages, and a-carrying on
shameful – you wouldn't expect it? No;