yet they could not account for their fatigue by
the length of their walk; and Miss Monro,
forgetting Autolycus's song, kept fidgeting about
Ellinor, and wondering how it was she looked so
pale, if she had only been as far as the Ash
meadow. To escape from this wonder, Ellinor
went early to bed. Mr. Wilkins was gone, no
one knew where, and Ralph and Miss Monro
were left to a half-hour's tete-a-tete. He thought
he could easily account for Ellinor's languor, if,
indeed, she had perceived as much as he had done
of her father's state, when they had come into
the library after dinner. But there were many
details which he was anxious to hear of from
a comparatively indifferent person, and as soon
as he could he passed on from the conversation
about Ellinor's health, to inquiries as to the
whole affair of Mr. Dunster's disappearance.

Next to her anxiety about Ellinor, Miss Monro
liked to dilate on the mystery connected with
Mr. Dunster's flight; for that was the word she
employed without hesitation, as she gave him the
account of the event universally received and
believed in by the people of Hamley. How Mr.
Dunster had never been liked by any one; how
everybody remembered that he could never look
them straight in the face; how he always seemed
to be hiding something that he did not want to
have known; how he had drawn a large sum
(exact quantity unknown) out of the county
bank, only the day before he left Hamley, doubtless
in preparation for his escape; how some one
had told Mr. Wilkins he had seen a man just like
Dunster lurking about the docks at Liverpool,
about two days after he had left his lodgings;
but that this some one being in a hurry had not
cared to stop and speak to the man, now that the
affairs in the office were discovered to be in such
a sad state; that it was no wonder that Mr.
Dunster had absconded — he that had been so
trusted by poor dear Mr. Wilkins. Money gone no
one knew how or where."

"But has he no friends who can explain his
proceedings, and account for the missing money,
in some way?" asked Mr. Corbet.

"No, none. Mr. Wilkins has written everywhere,
right and left, I believe. I know he had
a letter from Mr. Dunster's nearest relation — a
tradesman in the City — a cousin, I think, and he
could give no information in any way. He knew
that about ten years ago Mr. Dunster had had a
great fancy for going to America, and had read a
great many travels — all just what a man would
do before going off to a country."

"Ten years is a long time beforehand," said
Mr. Corbet, half smiling; " shows malice
prepense with a vengeance." But then, turning
grave, he said: "Did he leave Hamley in
debt?"

"No; I never heard of that," said Miss
Monro, rather unwillingly, for she considered it
as a piece of loyalty to the Wilkinses, whom Mr.
Dunster had injured (as she thought), to blacken
his character as much as was consistent with any
degree of truth.

"It is a strange story," said Mr. Corbet,
musing.

"Not at all," she replied, quickly; " I am
sure, if you had seen the man, with one or two
side-locks of hair combed over his baldness, as if
he were ashamed of it, and his eyes that never
looked at you, and his way of eating with his
knife when he thought he was not observed —
oh, and numbers of things! — you would not
think it strange."

Mr. Corbet smiled.

"I only meant that he seems to have had no
extravagant or vicious habits which would
account for his embezzlement of the money that is
missing — but, to be sure, money in itself is a
temptation — only he, being a partner, was in a
fair way of making it without risk to himself.
Has Mr. Wilkins taken any steps to have him
arrested in America? He might easily do
that."

"Oh, my dear Mr. Ralph, you don't know our
good Mr. Wilkins! He would rather bear the
loss, I am sure, and all this trouble and care
which it has brought upon him, than be revenged
upon Mr. Dunster."

"Revenged! What nonsense! It is simple
justice — justice to himself and to others — to see
that villany is so sufficiently punished as to deter
others from entering upon such courses. But I
have little doubt Mr. Wilkins has taken the
right steps: he is not the man to sit down
quietly under such a loss."

"No, indeed! He had him advertised in the
Times and in the county papers, and offered a
reward of twenty pounds for information
concerning him."

"Twenty pounds was too little."

"So I said. I told Ellinor that I would give
twenty pounds myself to have him apprehended,
and she, poor darling! fell a-trembling, and said,
' I would give all I have — I would give my life.'
And then she was in such distress, and sobbed
so, I promised her I would never name it to her
again."

"Poor child — poor child! she wants change
of scene. Her nerves have been sadly shaken by
her illness."

The next day was Sunday: Ellinor was to go
to church for the first time since her illness.
Her father had decided it for her, or else she
would fain have stayed away — she would
hardly acknowledge why, even to herself, but
it seemed to her as if the very words and
presence of God must there search her and find
her out.

She went early, leaning on the arm of her
lover, and trying to forget the past in the
present. They walked slowly along between the
rows of waving golden corn ripe for the harvest.
Mr. Corbet gathered blue and scarlet flowers,
and made up a little rustic nosegay for her. She
took it and stuck it in her girdle, smiling faintly
as she did so.

Hamley Church had, in former days, been
collegiate, and was, in consequence, much larger