the windows, she asked him to stop, forcing
herself to speak to him.

"Dixon, you look very poorly," she said,
trembling as she spoke.

"Ay!" said he. "We did na' think much
of it at the time, did we, Miss Nelly? But it
will be the death of us, I'm thinking. It has
aged me about a bit. All my fifty years afore
were but as a forenoon of child's play to that
night. Measter, too. I could abear a good deal,
but measter cuts through the stable-yard, and
past me, wi'out a word, as if I was poison, or a
stinking toumart. It is that as is worst, Miss
Nelly, it is."

And the poor man brushed some tears from his
eyes with the back of his withered furrowed
hand. Ellinor caught the infection, and cried
outright, sobbed like a child, even while she held
out her little white thin hand to his grasp. For
as soon as he saw her emotion, he was penitent for
what he had said.

"Don't now — don't," was all he could think
of to say.

"Dixon!" said she at length, "you must not
mind it. You must try not to mind it. I see he
does not like to be reminded of that, even by
seeing me. He tries never to be alone with
me. My poor old Dixon, it has spoilt my life
for me; for I don't think he loves me any
more."

She sobbed as if her heart would break; and
now it was Dixon's turn to be comforter.

"Ah, dear, my blessing, he loves you above
everything. It's only he can't abear the sight of
us, as is but natural. And if he dunnot fancy
being alone with you, there's always one as does,
and that is a comfort at the worst of times. And
don't ye fret about what I said a minute ago. I
were put out because measter all but pushed me
out of his way this morning, without never a
word. But I were an old fool for telling ye.
And I've really forgotten why I told Fletcher I'd
drag ye a bit about to-day. The gardener is beginning
for to wonder as you don't want to see the
annuals and bedding-out things as you were so
particular about in May. And I thought I'd
just have a word wi' ye, and then if you'd let me,
we'd go together just once round the flower-
garden, just to say you've been, you know, and
to give them chaps a bit of praise. You'll only
have to look on the beds, my pretty, and it must
be done some time. So come along!"

He began to pull resolutely in the direction of
the flower-garden. Ellinor bit her lips to keep
in the cry of repugnance that rose to them. As
Dixon stopped to unlock the door, he said:

"It's not hardness, nothing like it; I have
waited till I heerd you were better; but it's in
for a penny in for a pound wi' us all; and folk
may talk; and bless your little brave heart, you'll
stand a deal for your father's sake, and so will I,
though I do feel it above a bit, when he puts out
his hand as if to keep me off, and I only going to
speak to him about Clipper's knees; though I'll
own I had wondered many a day when I was to
have the good-morrow master never missed sin'
he were a boy till — Well! and now you've seen
the beds, and can say they looked mighty pretty,
and is done all as you wished; and we're got
out again, and breathing fresher air than yon
sun-baked hole, with its smelling flowers, not
half so wholesome to snuff at as good stable-
dung."

So the good man chattered on; not without the
purpose of giving Ellinor time to recover herself;
and partly also to drown his own cares, which
lay heavier on his heart than he could say. But
he thought himself rewarded by Ellinor's thanks,
and warm pressure of his hard hand as she
got out at the front-door, and bade him good-
by.

The break to her days of weary monotony was
the letters she constantly received from Mr.
Corbet. And yet, here again lurked the sting.
He was all astonishment and indignation at
Mr. Dunster's disappearance, or rather flight to
America. And now that she was growing
stronger, he did not scruple to express curiosity
respecting the details, never doubting but that
she was perfectly acquainted with much that he
wanted to know; although he had too much
delicacy to question her on the point which was
most important of all in his eyes, namely, how
far it had affected Mr. Wilkins's worldly
prospects; for the report prevalent in Hamley had
reached London, that Mr. Dunster had made
away with, or carried off, trust-property to a
considerable extent, for all which Mr. Wilkins
would of course be liable.

It was hard work for Ralph Corbet to keep
from seeking direct information on this head from
Mr. Ness, or, indeed, from Mr. Wilkins himself.
But he restrained himself, knowing that in
August he should be able to make all these
inquiries personally. Before the end of the Long
Vacation he had hoped to marry Ellinor; that
was the time which had been planned by them
when they had met in the early spring before her
illness and all this misfortune happened. But
now, as he wrote to his father, nothing could be
definitively arranged until he had paid his visit
to Hamley, and seen the state of affairs.

Accordingly, one Saturday in August, he came
to Ford Bank, this time as a visitor to Ellinor's
home, instead of to his old quarters at Mr.
Ness's.

The house was still as if asleep in the full heat
of the afternoon sun, as Mr. Corbet drove up.
The window-blinds were down; the front door
wide open, great stands of heliotrope and roses
and geraniums stood just within the shadow of
the hall; but through all the silence his approach
seemed to excite no commotion. He thought it
strange that he had not been watched for, that
Ellinor did not come running out to meet him,
that she allowed Fletcher to come and attend to
his luggage, and usher him into the library just
like any common visitor, any morning-caller. He
stiffened himself up into a moment's indignant
coldness of manner. But it vanished in an in-