break through the calm exterior, and she believed
that what had happened once might occur again.

Of course, while all eyes were directed on the
new canon, he had to learn who the possessors of
those eyes were one by one; and it was probably
some time before the idea came into his mind
that Miss Wilkins, the lady in black, with the
sad pale face, so constant an attendant, at service,
so regular a visitor at the school, was the same
Miss Wilkins as the bright vision of his youth.
It was her sweet smile at a painstaking child
that betrayed her—if, indeed, betrayal it might
be called—where there was no wish or effort to
conceal anything. Canon Livingstone left the
schoolroom almost directly, and, after being for
an hour or so in his house, went out to call on
Mrs. Randall, the person who knew more of her
neighbours' affairs than any one in East Chester.

The next day he called on Miss Wilkins herself.
She would have been very glad if he had kept
on in his ignorance; it was so keenly painful to
be in the company of one the sight of whom,
even at a distance, had brought her such a keen
remembrance of past misery; and when told of
his call, as she was sitting at her sewing in the
dining-room, she had to nerve herself for the
interview before going up-stairs into the drawing-room,
where he was being entertained by Miss
Monro with warm demonstrations of welcome.
A little contraction of the brow, a little compression
of the lips, an increased pallor on Ellinor's
part, was all that Miss Monro could see in her,
though she had put on her glasses with foresight
and intention to observe. She turned to the
canon; his colour had certainly deepened as he
went forwards with outstretched hand to meet
Ellinor. That was all that was to be seen; but
on the slight foundation of that blush, Miss
Monro built many castles: and when they faded
away, one after one, she recognised that they
were only baseless visions. She used to put the
disappointment of her hopes down to Ellinor's
unvaried calmness of demeanour, which might
be taken for coldness of disposition; and to her
steady refusal to allow Miss Monro to invite Canon
Livingstone to the small teas they were in the
habit of occasionally giving. Yet he persevered
in his calls; about once every fortnight he came,
and would sit an hour or more, looking covertly
at his watch, as if, as Miss Monro shrewdly
observed to herself, he did not go away at last
because he wished to do so, but because he
ought. Sometimes Ellinor was present, sometimes
she was away; in this latter case Miss
Monro thought she could detect a certain wistful
watching of the door every time a noise was heard
outside the room. He always avoided any
reference to former days at Hamley, and that, Miss
Monro feared, was a bad sign.

After this long uniformity of years without any
event closely touching on Ellinor's own individual
life, with the one great exception of Mr. Corbet's
marriage, something happened which much
affected her. Mr. Ness died suddenly at his
parsonage, and Ellinor learnt it first from Mr.
Brown, a clergyman, whose living was near
Hamley, and had been sent for by the parsonage
servants as soon as they discovered that it was
not sleep, but death, that made their master so
late of rising.

Mr. Brown had been appointed executor by
his late friend, and wrote to tell Ellinor that
after a few legacies were paid, she was to have a
life-interest in the remainder of the small property
that Mr. Ness had left, and that it would
be necessary for her, as the residuary legatee, to
come to Hamley parsonage as soon as convenient,
to decide upon certain courses of action with regard
to furniture, books, &c.

Ellinor shrank from this journey, which her
love and duty towards her dead friend rendered
necessary. She had scarcely left East Chester
since she first arrived there, sixteen or seventeen
years ago, and she was timorous about the very
mode of travelling; and then, to go back to
Hamley, which she thought never to have seen
again! She never spoke much about any feelings
of her own, but Miss Monro could always
read her silence, and interpreted it into pretty
just and forcible words that afternoon when
Canon Livingstone called. She liked to talk
about Ellinor to him, and suspected that he liked
to hear. She was almost annoyed this time by
the comfort he would keep giving her; there
was no greater danger in travelling by railroad
than by coach, a little care about certain things
was required, that was all, and the average number
of deaths by accidents on railroads were not
greater than the average number when people
travelled by coach, if you took into consideration
the far greater number of travellers. Yes!
returning to the deserted scenes of one's youth
was very painful.   .   .   .   .   Had Miss Wilkins
made any provision for another lady to take her
place as visitor at the school? He believed it
was her week. Miss Monro was out of all patience
at his entire calmness and reasonableness.
Later in the day she became more at peace with
him, when she received a kind little note from
Mrs. Forbes, a great friend of hers, and the
mother of the family she was now teaching,
saying that Canon Livingstone had called and
told her that Ellinor had to go on a very painful
journey, and that Mrs. Forbes was quite sure
Miss Monro's companionship upon it would be
a great comfort to both, and that she could perfectly
be set at liberty for a fortnight or so, for
it would fall in admirably with the fact that
"Jeanie was growing tall, and the doctor had
advised sea-air this spring; so a month's holiday
would suit them now even better than later on."
Was this going straight to Mrs. Forbes, to whom
she should herself scarcely have liked to name it,
the act of a good thoughtful man, or of a lover?
questioned Miss Monro; but she could not answer
her own inquiry, and had to be very grateful for
the deed, without accounting for the motives.

A coach met the train at a station about ten
miles from Hamley, and Dixon was at the inn
where the coach stopped, ready to receive them.