could open my hand at any minute and see that
it was there. No! my own little missy will let
me come and see her now and again, and I know
as I can allays ask her for what I want: and if
it please God to lay me by, I shall tell her so, and
she will see that I want for nothing. But somehow
I could ne'er bear the leaving of Hamley.
You shall come and follow me to my grave when
my time comes."

"Don't talk so, please, Dixon," said she.

"Nay, it'll be a mercy when I can lay me
down and sleep in peace: though I sometimes
fear as peace will not come to me even there."
He was going out of the room, and was now
more talking to himself than to her. "They say
blood will out, and if it wern't for her part in it,
I could wish for a clear breast before I die."

She did not hear the latter part of this mumbled
sentence. She was looking at a letter just
brought in and requiring an immediate answer.
It was from Mr. Brown. Notes from him were
of daily occurrence, but this contained an open
letter the writing of which was strangely familiar
to her—it did not need the signature, "Ralph
Corbet," to tell her whom the letter was from.
For some moments she could not read the words.
They expressed a simple enough request, and
was addressed to the auctioneer who was to dispose
of the rather valuable library of the late
Mr. Ness, and whose name had been advertised
in connexion with the sale, in the Athenæum,
and other similar papers. To him Mr. Corbet
wrote, saying that he should be unable to be
present when the books were sold, but wishing to
be allowed to buy in at any price decided upon a
certain rare folio edition of Virgil, bound in parchment,
and with notes in Italian. The book was
fully described. Though no Latin scholar, Ellinor
knew the book well—remembered its look
from old times, and could instantly have laid her
hand upon it. The auctioneer had sent the
request on to his employer, Mr. Brown. That
gentleman applied to Ellinor for her consent.
She saw that the facts of the intended sale must
be all that Mr. Corbet was aware of, and that he
could not know to whom the books belonged.
She chose out the book, and wrapped and tied it
up with trembling hands. He might be the
person to untie the knot. It was strangely
familiar to her love, after so many years, to be
brought into thus much contact with him. She
wrote a short note to Mr. Brown, in which she
requested him to say, as though from himself,
and without any mention of her name, that he, as
executor, requested Mr. Corbet's acceptance of
the Virgil, as a remembrance of his former
friend and tutor. Then she rang the bell, and
gave the letter and parcel to the servant.

Again alone, and Mr. Corbet's open letter
on the table. She took it up and looked at it
till the letters dazzled crimson on the white
paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a
girl again. At last she roused herself; but instead
of destroying the note—it was long years since
all her love-letters from him had been returned to
the writer—she unlocked her little writing-case
again, and placed this letter carefully down at
the bottom, among the dead rose-leaves which
embalmed the note from her father, found after
his death under his pillow, the little golden curl,
the half-finished sewing of her mother.

The shabby writing-case itself was given her
by her father long ago, and had since been taken
with her everywhere. To be sure her changes of
places had been but few; but if she had gone to
Nova Zembla, the sight of that little leather
box on awaking from her first sleep, would have
given her a sense of home. She locked the case
up again, and felt all the richer for that morning.

A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before
she went she compelled herself to go round
the gardens and grounds of Ford Bank. She had
made Mrs. Osbaldistone understand that it would
be painful to her to re-enter the house; but Mr.
Osbaldistone accompanied her in her walk.

"You see how literally we have obeyed the
clause in the lease which ties us out from any
alterations," said he, smiling. "We are living in
a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I
should have liked to cut down a good deal; but
we do not do even the requisite thinnings without
making the proper application for leave to Mr.
Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous
of every pea-stick the gardener cuts. I never
met with so faithful a fellow. A good enough
servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too
old-fashioned for my wife and daughters, who
complain of his being surly now and then."

"You are not thinking of parting with him,"
said Ellinor, jealous for Dixon.

"Oh no; he and I are capital friends. And I
believe Mrs. Osbaldistone herself would never
consent to his leaving us. But some ladies, you
know, like a little more subserviency in manner
than our friend Dixon can boast."

Ellinor made no reply. They were entering
the painted flower-garden, hiding the ghastly
memory. She could not speak. She felt as if,
with all her striving, she could not move—just as
one does in a nightmare—but she was past the
place even as this terror came to its acme; and
when she came to herself, Mr. Osbaldistone was
still blandly talking, and saying:

"It is now a reward for our obedience to your
wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway
passes through the Ash-field yonder, we should
have been perpetually troubled with the sight of
the trains; indeed, the sound would have been
much more distinct than it will be now, coming
through the interlacing branches. Then you will
not go in, Miss Wilkins? Mrs. Osbaldistone
desired me to say how happy—Ah! I can
understand such feelings—Certainly, certainly;
it is so much the shortest way to the town, that
we elder ones always go through the stable-yard;
for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable.
Ha! Dixon," he continued, "on the watch
for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This
old man," he continued to Ellinor, "is never
satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always