fearing to commit himself, asked time to reflect,
and Mr. Heath rode off, pretty well satisfied.

You may suppose all the pros and cons that
followed, and what work I had to keep the
former in view, without appearing too anxious
in the matter. However, the upshot of it all
was that Willie consented to accept the
proposition on one condition; namely, that Grimwold
should still be our home. We would let the
farm, but keep the house and grounds, and he
would ride or drive over to Rockminster and
back every day. I saw much to object to in
this plan; especially I feared the fatigue, and
the risks of bad weather. Still it was something
gained, and as Willie had been used to
occasional riding from his childhood, and was all
the better for it, and that now the summer was
set in, and the weather was not likely to cause
much uneasiness, I made up my mind to eat my
half-loaf with as much contentment as I could.

And soon I saw good reason for contentment.
Willie was less tired than I expected, and he
ate and slept far better. He got quite a nice
brown over his dear pretty face, and of an evening,
instead of smoking in silence, he used to
tell me about his day, what he had done, and
who he had seen, and about Mr. and Mrs.
Heath and their children; and sometimes he
used to be quite in spirits, and tell me funny
things that made us both laugh as we had not
laughed since we were children.

I found it very lonely, the long day, at first.
But then I used to make myself as busy as I
could about the house and in the garden, and
contriving nice dinners for him, and then when
the time drew near for his arrival, I made
myself quite smart—he got to notice my dress now,
and how I did my hair, and told me how the
Miss Heaths wore theirs—and was ready at the
gate, to open it for him and welcome him home,
and hear and tell all the events of the day.

Very kind the Heaths were; they often
asked me to go and spend some days with them,
and invited me to their parties, of which they
gave a good many. I could not always refuse;
but ah, I found it but weary work! I was so
unused to strangers, and to dress, and somehow
or other I always felt so much more bereaved
and lonely among that gay, healthy, loving
family, than in my own quiet old home, where
the memories of those who were gone kept me
far more congenial company. I suppose my
youth had died out of me when they died, and I
was no longer able to take my place among the
living. Not that at home I was unhappy, or
even uncheerful; far from it, now that my
precious boy was getting to what I wanted him
to be.

So two years went by, and Willie was made
a man of. His figure, though still slight, was
no longer of that excessive slenderness and
suppleness. His face had brightened and lost its
soft girlishness; he moved about actively; he
took to cricket and football with the young
men of the village, and played in the matches,
for Mr. Heath was always ready to give him a
holiday, especially for such purposes.

As time went on, Willie got to enjoy his new
life more and more; he became fond of society,
instead of hating and shrinking from it, as he
used to do, and not unfrequently he stayed a
night at Rockminster for dinners and dances.
He was vexed, dear boy, that I could not follow
his example, and used to urge me to do so.
But where was the use? it was no pleasure to
me, and I felt it would be no credit to him, for
me to be there, lost in the solitude my own
sadness and loneliness made around me, in the
midst of strangers. Whereas, when he came
home and told me all about it, I could
thoroughly enjoy it all, and asked him as many
questions about his partners and their looks and
dresses, and the dances and the music and the
supper, as if I had longed to be there myself.

He had often talked to me of his greatest
friend in Rockminster, Walter Ray. Such a
fine fellow, he said, so good looking and bright
and good tempered; such a shot, and such a
rider and such a cricketer, a fellow who could
do anything. I knew Walter Ray quite well
from Willie's constant accounts of him, yet I
was somewhat startled when one day Willie told
me that he meant next evening to bring his
friend home with him, to play at the cricket
match that was to take place the day
following.

"O, Willie," I said, "how can we entertain
strangers?"

"Nonsense!" Willie replied; "Walter's no
stranger to me, and therefore he mustn't be to
you; and what does he want more than we have
ourselves every day? He's delighted at the
thought of coming, and he'll cheer you up, you
old goosy girl, as you haven't been for many a
long day."

Of course I said no more, and as soon as
Willie was off I went to see about getting a
room ready for him. Rooms enough there were,
Heaven knows! all sad rooms, never inhabited
since the corpses of those who had dwelt in
them had been carried out. But it would not
do to think of that now; so I chose the sunniest,
and had a fire lit in it, for even though it was
June, it struck damp and chilly when I opened
the door. By-and-by, however, when it was
well aired, and the roses and honeysuckles
peeped curiously in at the long unopened
windows, as though they were astonished to see
preparations for anybody's coming to make the
room alive again, and when I had put flowers on
the mantel-piece, and arranged everything in
apple-pie order, it did look cheery enough. And
then I had to go and see what we could do
about having a nice dinner, and the plate well
polished up, and getting out the silver candle-
sticks and teapot, and the beautiful old
Worcester china breakfast-set, and the scarlet and
gold dessert service. Then I had to be off to
the village to see if I couldn't beg, borrow, or
steal some strawberries and cherries to put into
it, for none of ours, hardly, were ripe yet.

And so the day passed away I didn't know
how, till I found I had only just time, after I
had shown Eliza how to set out the table, to