done upstairs; and then catching hold of her
nephew, and insisting that he should dance a
minuet with her until the carriage came,
which proposal made him very angry, as it
was an insult to his manhood (at nine years
old) to suppose he could dance. "It was all
very well for girls to make fools of themselves,"
he said, "but it did not do for
men." And Ethelinda and I thought we
had never heard so fine a speech before.
But the carnage came before we had half
feasted our eyes enough; and the Squire
came from his wife's room to order the
little master to bed, and hand his sister to
the carriage.

I remember a good deal of talk about royal
dukes and unequal marriages that night. I
believe Miss Phillis did dance with Prince
William; and I have often heard that she
bore away the bell at the ball, and that no
one came near her for beauty and pretty
merry ways. In a day or two after I saw her
scampering through the village, looking just
as she did before she had danced with a royal
duke. We all thought she would marry some
one great, and used to look out for the lord
who was to take her away. But poor Madam
died, and there was no one but Miss Phillis
to comfort her brother, for the young Squire
was gone away to some great school down
south; and Miss Phillis grew grave, and
reined in her pony to keep by the Squire's
side, when he rode out on his steady old mare
in his lazy careless way.

We did not hear so much of the doings at
the Hall now Mrs. Dawson was dead; so I
cannot tell how it was; but by and bye
there was talk of bills that were once paid
weekly, being now allowed to run to quarter
day; and then instead of being settled every
quarter day, they were put off to Christmas;
and many said they had hard enough work
to get their money then. A buzz went
through the village that the young squire
played high at college, and that he made
away with more money than his father could
afford. But when he came down to Morton,
he was as handsome as ever; and I, for one,
never believed evil of him; though I'll allow
others might cheat him, and he never suspect
it. His aunt was as fond of him as ever;
and he of her. Many is the time I have seen
them out walking together, sometimes sad
enough, sometimes merry as ever. By and
bye, my father heard of sales of small pieces
of land, not included in the entail; and at
last, things got so bad, that the very crops
were sold yet green upon the ground, for any
price folks would give, so that there was but
ready money paid. The Squire at length
gave way entirely, and never left the house;
and the young master in London; and poor
Miss Phillis used to go about trying to see
after the workmen and labourers, and save
what; she could. By this time she would be
above thirty; Ethelinda and I were nine-teen
and twenty-one when my mother died,
and that was some years before this. Well,
at last the Squire died; they do say of a
broken heart at his son's extravagance; and,
though the lawyers kept it very close, it
began to be rumoured that Miss Phillis's
fortune had gone too. Any way the creditors
came down on the estate like wolves. It was
entailed and it could not be sold; but they
put it into the hands of a lawyer who was to
get what he could out of it, and have no pity
for the poor young Squire who had not a roof
for his head. Miss Phillis went to live by
herself in a little cottage in the village, at
the end of the property, which the lawyer
allowed her to have because he could not let
it to any one, it was so tumble-down and
old. We never knew what she lived on,
poor lady, but she said she was well in
health, which was all we durst ask about
She came to see my father just before he
died; and he seemed made bold with the
feeling that he was a dying man; so he
asked, what I had longed to know for many
a year, where was the young squire? He
had never been seen in Morton since his
father's funeral. Miss Phillis said he was
gone abroad; but in what part he was then,
she herself hardly knew; only she had a
feeling that, sooner or later, he would come
back to the old place; where she should
strive to keep a home for him whenever he
was tired of wandering about, and trying to
make his fortune.

"Trying to make his fortune still?" asked
my father, his questioning eyes saying more
than his words. Miss Phillis shook her head
with a sad meaning in her face; and we understood
it all. He was at some French
gaming-table, if he was not at an English
one.

Miss Phillis was right. It might be a year
after my father's death when he came back,
looking old and grey and worn. He came to
our door just after we had barred it one
winter's evenmg. Ethelinda and I still lived
at the farm, trying to keep it up and make it
pay; but it was hard work. We heard a
step coming up the straight pebble walk;
and then it stopped right at our door, under
the very porch, and we heard a man's breathing,
quick and short.

"Shall I open the door?" said I.

"No, wait!" said Ethelinda; for we lived
alone, and there was no cottage near us. We
held our breaths. There came a knock.

"Who's there?" I cried.

"Where does Miss Morton live—Miss
Phillis?"

We were not sure if we would answer him ;
for she, like us, lived alone.

"Who's there?" again said I.

"Your master," he answered, proud and
angry. "My name is John Morton. Where
does Miss Phillis live?"

We had the door unbarred in a trice, and
begged him to come in; to pardon our rudeness.
We would have given him of our best