summer, and shut in winter, without knocker
or bell to summon a servant. The closed fist
or the knob of the stick did this office for him,
if he found the door locked. He despised every
refinement which had not its root deep down
in humanity. If people were not ill, he saw no
necessity for moderating his voice. He spoke
the dialect of the country in perfection, and
constantly used it in conversation; although
Miss Pole (who gave me these particulars)
added, that he read aloud more beautifully
and with more feeling than any one she had
ever heard, except the late Rector.

"And how came Miss Matilda not to
marry him?" asked I.

"Oh, I don't know. She was willing
enough, I think; but you know Cousin Thomas
would not have been enough of a gentleman
for the Rector, and Mrs. and Miss Jenkyns."

"Well! but they were not to marry him,"
said I, impatiently.

"No; but they did not like Miss Matey to
marry below her rank. You know she was
the Rector's daughter, and somehow they are
related to Sir Peter Arley: Miss Jenkyns
thought a deal of that."

"Poor Miss Matey!" said I.

"Nay, now, I don't know anything more
than that he offered and was refused. Miss
Matey might not like him—and Miss Jenkyns
might never have said a word—it is only a
guess of mine."

"Has she never seen him since?" I
inquired.

"No, I think not. You see, Woodley,
Cousin Thomas's house, lies half-way between
Cranford and Misselton; and I know he
made Misselton his market-town very soon
after he had offered to Miss Matey; and
I don't think he has been into Cranford above
once or twice since—once, when I was walking
with Miss Matey in High Street; and
suddenly she darted from me, and went up
Shire Lane. A few minutes after I was
startled by meeting Cousin Thomas."

"How old is he?" I asked, after a pause
of castle-building.

"He must be about seventy, I think, my
dear," said Miss Pole, blowing up my castle,
as if by gunpowder, into small fragments.

Very soon after—at least during my long
visit to Miss Matilda—I had the opportunity
of seeing Mr. Holbrook; seeing, too, his first
encounter with his former love, after thirty
or forty years' separation. I was helping to
decide whether any of the new assortment
of coloured silks which they had just received
at the shop, would help to match a grey and
black mousseline-de-laine that wanted a new
breadth, when a tall, thin, Don Quixote-
looking old man came into the shop for some
woollen gloves. I had never seen the person,
(who was rather striking) before, and I watched
him rather attentively, while Miss Matey
listened to the shopman. The stranger wore
a blue coat with brass buttons, drab breeches,
and gaiters, and drummed with his fingers on
the counter until he was attended to. When
he answered the shop-boy's question, "What
can I have the pleasure of showing you to-
day, Sir?" I saw Miss Matilda start, and
then suddenly sit down; and instantly I
guessed who it was. She had made some
inquiry which had to be carried round to the
other shopman.

"Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarcenet
two-and-twopence the yard;" and Mr.
Holbrook had caught the name, and was across
the shop in two strides.

"Matey—Miss Matilda—Miss Jenkyns!
God bless my soul! I should not have known
you. How are you? how are you?" He
kept shaking her hand in a way which proved
the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated
so often, as if to himself, "I should not have
known you!" that any sentimental romance
which I might be inclined to build, was quite
done away with by his manner.

However, he kept talking to us all the
time we were in the shop; and then waving
the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on
one side, with "Another time, Sir! another
time!" he walked home with us. I am
happy to say my client, Miss Matilda, also
left the shop in an equally bewildered state,
not having purchased either green or red silk.
Mr. Holbrook was evidently full with honest,
loud-spoken joy at meeting his old love again;
he touched on the changes that had taken
place; he even spoke of Miss Jenkyns as
"Your poor sister! Well, well! we have all
our faults;" and bade us good-bye with many
a hope that he should soon see Miss Matey
again. She went straight to her room; and
never came back till our early tea-time, when
I thought she looked as if she had been
crying.

A few days after, a note came from Mr.
Holbrook, asking us—impartially asking both
of us—in a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend
a day at his house—a long June day—for it
was June now. He named that he had also
invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we
might join in a fly, which could be put up at
his house.

I expected Miss Matey to jump at this
invitation; but, no! Miss Pole and I had the
greatest difficulty in persuading her to go.
She thought it was improper; and was even
half annoyed when we utterly ignored the
idea of any impropriety in her going with two
other ladies to see her old lover. Then came
a more serious difficulty. She did not think
Deborah would have liked her to go. This
took us half a day's good hard talking to get
over; but, at the first sentence of relenting, I
seized the opportunity, and wrote and
despatched an acceptance in her name—fixing
day and hour, that all might be decided and
done with.

The next morning she asked me if I would
go down to the shop with her; and there,
after much hesitation, we chose out three