comparing their way of riding with that of a
certain missy——"

"I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different
style of hand, and sit all lumpish-like. Now,
Miss Ellinor, there——"

"Hush, Dixon," she said, suddenly aware of
why the old servant was not popular with his
mistress. "I suppose I may be allowed to ask
for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have
something to do together before we leave?"

The consent given, the two walked away, as by
previous appointment to Hamley churchyard,
where he was to point out to her the exact spot
where he wished to be buried. Trampling over
the long rank grass, but avoiding the passing
directly over any of the thickly-strewn graves, he
made straight for one spot,—a little space of
unoccupied ground close by, where Molly, the pretty
scullery-maid, lay:

Sacred to the Memory of
MARY GREAVES.
Born 1797.  Died 1818.
"We part to meet again."

"I put this stone up over her with my first
savings," said he, looking at it; and then pulling
out his knife he began to clean out the letters.
"I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be
a comfort to think you'll see me laid here. I
trust no one will be so crabbed as to take a fancy
to this here spot of ground."

Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure
that her money enabled her to give to the old
man; and promised him that she would take care
and buy the right to that particular piece of
ground. This was evidently a gratification Dixon
had frequently yearned after; he kept saying,
"I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I
may say I'm truly obleeged." And when he saw
them off by the coach the next day, his last words
were, "I cannot justly say how greatly I'm
obleeged to you for that matter o' the church-yard."
It was a much more easy affair to give
Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was
as cheerful as ever; still working away at her
languages at any spare time, but confessing that
she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which
her life had been spent during the last thirty
years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at
liberty from this, and she accepted the kindness
from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude
as that with which a mother receives a favour
from a child. "If Ellinor were but married to
Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I
have ever been since my father died," she used
to say to herself in the solitude of her bed-chamber,
for talking aloud had become her wont
in the early years of her isolated life as a governess.
"And yet," she went on, "I don't know
what I should do without her; it is lucky for me
that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess
I should make of them, one way or another.
Dear! how old Mrs. Cadogan used to hate that
word "mess," and correct her granddaughters
for using it right before my face, when I knew
I had said it myself only the moment before!
Well! those days are all over now. God be
thanked!"

In spite of being glad that "things were not
in her hands," Miss Monro tried to take affairs
into her charge by doing all she could to persuade
Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their
"little sociable teas." The most provoking part
was, that she was sure he would have come if he
had been asked; but she could never get leave to
do so. " Of course no man could go on for ever
and ever without encouragement," as she confided
to herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and
by-and-by many people were led to suppose that
the bachelor canon was paying attention to Miss
Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to
which the delicate Jeanie belonged. It was,
perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro
and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the
families in East Chester. Mrs. Forbes was a
widow lady of good means, with a large family of
pretty delicate daughters. She herself belonged
to one of the great houses in——shire, but had
married into Scotland; so, after her husband's
death, it was the most natural thing in the world
that she should settle in East Chester; and one
after another of her daughters had become first
Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend.
Mrs. Forbes herself had always been strongly
attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she
could conquer the timid reserve by which Miss
Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro,
who was herself incapable of jealousy, who
persevered in praising one to another, and in
bringing them together; and now Ellinor was as
intimate and familiar in Mrs. Forbes's household as
she ever could be with any family not her own.

Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little
fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder,
remembering how many sisters she had lost by
consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled
at the manner in which her pupils were made
irregular for very trifling causes. But no one
so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn
succeeding Mr. Ness's death, Mrs. Forbes
remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy
of appearance, and shortness of breathing.
From that time forwards she worried Ellinor
(if any one so sweet and patient could ever
have been worried) with respirators and
precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's
wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious,
and remained a prisoner in the house through
November. Then Miss Monro's anxiety took
another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits
failed her—not at all an unnatural consequence
of so many weeks' confinement to the house.
A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning
in December, that met with approval from
every one but Ellinor, who was, however, by this
time too languid to make much resistance.

Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to
Rome for three or four mouths, so as to avoid
the trying east winds of spring; why should
not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged
it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little
private sinking of the heart at the idea of the