But there was a great change in Mr. Tillotson.

He was in what, with him, approached nearest
to spirits. He talked to Miss Augusta with a
"light" manner that seemed quite strange in him.
His face cleared a little.

They came on the ground together in splendid
procession. It was happily chosen as the
gayest moment of the day. The white men
were still dotted about, with their hands on
their knees, and going through their other
masonic movements; but no one took much
interest in them now. The band was playing
a selection from Faust, arranged by H. Hartzmann,
the courteous and skilful conductor, who,
disdaining a uniform, was wearing a broad-
brimmed hat and frock, and conducting with
wicked and angry glances at his men; and close
to the band was the chief attraction. For here
were chairs and white parasols, and fresh faces
under the parasols, and gallant gentlemen leaning
over and talking down to the sitting ladies,
without the least sense of being under the sun
that was shining, and of the smooth grass under
their feet, and of the pleasant breezes, and of
the pretty view that was all round. As the
little procession, whom we have accompanied
part of the way, debouched, gallant gentlemen,
with the natural craving for novelty, abandoned
the ladies in the chairs, and flocked round the new
comers. Among these deserters were Messrs.
Still and Canby. This was the moment when an
artificial excitement was created by the news
that Pitcher was bowling, or going to bowl, and
that Daffy was just "going in."

"Wait until you see what Daffy can do," said
Mr. Still confidentially to the ladies. "He has
the finest hand. He'll show 'em."

Here, too, was young Ross lounging about.
It was he who cried "Bravo!" with marked
derision when Mr. Daffy was bowled out, and
ironically congratulated him. "At any rate," he
said, " we could see by the way you held your
bat what you would have done." He had looked
on very sourly as he saw the little procession
draw near, and when a young lady asked him who
that gentleman was with the Tilneys, he had
answered brusquely, "Some fellow that's come
down here out of a counting-house, I believe—and
don't he look like one? No, I don't mean that.
But he is a sort of banking man. You understand.
Brass shovel—'How will you have it?'
and all that sort of thing."

The young lady laughed. "But he seems pale
and gentlemanly——"

He looked at her impatiently. "That's just
it. The young men up at Trimmer's shop in the
town there, don't they seem gentlemanly enough?
Everybody is, or ought to look, gentlemanly
now-a-days."

To Mr. Tillotson he gave his old scowl and
rude rough nod, and a rougher "How d'ye do?"
then walked brusquely up to Ada, who kept
timidly in the background. He spoke to her in
a low voice, which, by his face, seemed to be a
harsh one. He had a bat in his hand, with which
he beat the grass as he spoke. Major Canby and
his friends were now so amusing that Mr. Tillotson
found himself neglected. He was watching,
and saw her shrink away, almost in alarm,
from his unkind attack. Mr. Tillotson came
round a little closer, drawn by some attraction,
and then the girl, seeing him a little suddenly,
came closer to him, and it had all the look of
coming to him for protection. Ensign Ross
followed, still swinging his bat. "Would you
like to see a heorine," he asked him, "a regular
suffering heroine, with a sad face, and suffering
persecution? Look here! I hate victims!  I
have no patience with them. Not treated with
respect enough at home—cruel sisters, eh? Life
a burden? What has put you out?"

She looked sadly distressed—more vexed than
distressed, perhaps—at this public attack. Mr.
Tillotson felt the colour coming to his cheeks.

Mr. Ross saw this colour coming and resented
it. "Well, what do you say? Am I not right?
Can't you speak, Mr. Tillotson?"

"Well, I merely say that if you hate, I pity
victims, as you call them."

"Oh, indeed!" said the other, with mock
respect; "this is getting charming. Something in
the champion way. I see! Well, you won't be
angry, but I dislike champions also. It's far too
melodramatic a business for me."

She moved away impatiently. He followed,
still with his bat, and with the same sarcastic
smile, kept whispering something rapidly. She
turned back as quickly, and with a kind of
harassed fretfulness, and in a soft imploring voice,
said, and her words reached to Mr. Tillotson,

Do, do leave me in peace!"

Mr. Tillotson was next her in a moment.
"Come round here, Miss Millwood," he said;
"you will see the cricket better; round to this
side." And he had quickly led her away, leaving
Mr. Ross looking after them half astonished, half
disgusted.

"That rude unkind man," said Mr. Tillotson,
a little excitedly, "how can you bear with him?
Forgive me, but I heard what he said, and what
you said."

"I suppose he does not mean it," said she,
sadly; "the old excuse."

"The charitable excuse, if you will," he
answered. "But I have seen many faces, and
am obliged to see many; and from what his face
tells me there can be no such excuse. Dear
Miss Ada," he added, with a little fervour,
"believe that I know, or can guess, at something of
your life, and perhaps something of what you are
perhaps forced to suffer here——"

She started.

"And I think it hard—cruel even—that a man
should venture to behave as he does. It is
unworthy—unmanly."

She only answered, without lifting her eyes
from the ground, "You know what I told you
yesterday."

"Ah!" he answered, warmly, "but he does
not mean well! This delicacy and indulgence