after we had lost sight of the old house among
the trees, her sentiments towards the master
of it, were gradually absorbed into a distressing
wonder as to whether Martha had broken
her word, and seized on the opportunity of
her mistress's absence to have a "follower."
Martha looked good, and steady, and
composed enough, as she came to help us out;
she was always careful of Miss Matey, and
tonight she made use of this unlucky speech:—

"Eh! dear ma'am, to think of your going
out in an evening in such a thin shawl! It is
no better than muslin. At your age, ma'am,
you should be careful."

"My age!" said Miss Matey, almost speaking
crossly, for her; for she was usually gentle.
My age! Why, how old do you think I am,
that you talk about my age?"

"Well, ma'am! I should say you were not
far short of sixty; but folks' looks is often
against them—and I'm sure I meant no
harm."

"Martha, I'm not yet fifty-two!" said
Miss Matey, with grave emphasis; for
probably the remembrance of her youth had
come very vividly before her this day, and
she was annoyed at finding that golden time
so far away in the past.

But she never spoke of any former and
more intimate acquaintance with Mr.
Holbrook. She had probably met with so little
sympathy in her early love, that she had shut
it up close in her heart; and it was only by a
sort of watching, which I could hardly avoid,
since Miss Pole's confidence, that I saw how
faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow
and its silence.

She gave me some good reason for wearing
her best cap every day, and sate near the
window, in spite of her rheumatism, in order
to see, without being seen, down into the
street.

He came. He put his open palms upon his
knees, which were far apart, as he sate with
his head bent down, whistling, after we had
replied to his inquiries about our safe return.
Suddenly, he jumped up.

"Well, madam! have you any commands
for Paris? I'm going there in a week or
two."

"To Paris!" we both exclaimed.

"Yes, ma'am! I've never been there, and
always had a wish to go; and I think if I
don't go soon, I mayn't go at all; so as soon
as the hay is got in I shall go, before harvest-
time."

We were so much astonished, that we had
no commissions.

Just as he was going out of the room, he
turned back, with his favourite exclamation:

"God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly
forgot half my errand. Here are the poems
for you, you admired so much the other
evening at my house." He tugged away at
a parcel in his coat-pocket. "Good-bye,
miss," said he; "good-bye, Matey! take
care of yourself." And he was gone. But he
had given her a book, and he had called
her Matey, just as he used to do thirty years
ago.

"I wish he would not go to Paris," said
Miss Matilda, anxiously. "I don't believe
frogs will agree with him; he used to have to
be very careful what he ate, which was
curious in so strong-looking a young man."

Soon after this I took my leave, giving
many an injunction to Martha to look after
her mistress, and to let me know if she
thought that Miss Matilda was not so well;
in which case I would volunteer a visit to
my old friend, without noticing Martha's
intelligence to her.

Accordingly I received a line or two from
Martha every now and then; and, about
November, I had a note to say her mistress
was "very low and sadly off her food;" and
the account made me so uneasy, that, although
Martha did not decidedly summon me, I
packed up my things and went.

I received a warm welcome, in spite of the
little flurry produced by my impromptu visit,
for I had only been able to give a day's
notice. Miss Matilda looked miserably ill;
and I prepared to comfort and cosset her.

I went down to have a private talk with
Martha.

"How long has your mistress been so
poorly?" I asked, as I stood by the kitchen
fire.

"Well! I think it's better than a fortnight;
it is, I know: it was one Tuesday after Miss
Pole had been that she went into this moping
way. I thought she was tired, and it would
go off with a night's rest; but, no! she has
gone on and on ever since, till I thought it
my duty to write to you, ma'am."

"You did quite right, Martha. It is a
comfort to think she has so faithful a servant
about her. And I hope you find your place
comfortable?"

"Well, ma'am, missus is very kind, and
there's plenty to eat and drink, and no more
work but what I can do easily,—but"—
Martha hesitated.

"But what, Martha?"

"Why, it seems so hard of missus not to
let me have any followers; there's such lots
of young fellows in the town; and many a one
has as much as offered to keep company with
me; and I may never be in such a likely
place again, and it's like wasting an
opportunity. Many a girl as I know would have
'em unbeknownst to missus; but I've given
my word, and I'll stick to it; or else this is
just the house for missus never to be the
wiser if they did come: and it's such a
capable kitchen—there's such good dark
corners in it—I'd be bound to hide any one.
I counted up last Sunday night—for I'll not
deny I was crying because I had to shut the
door in Jem Hearn's face; and he's a steady
young man, fit for any girl; only I had given
missus my word." Martha was all but crying
again; and I had little comfort to give