under a thousand a-year. And where
was that sum to come from? The extent
of Lucy's expectations was fifty,—his own, a
hundred and yet he sneered at the
Warleighs as if they had been paupers; although
in that cheap country, and at that cheap
time, a revenue of three hundred pounds
enabled them to live in comfort, almost in
luxury.

Winnington took no thought of to-morrow,
but loved Ellen Warleigh, with no consideration
of whether she was rich or poor. It is
probable that Ellen had no more calculating
disposition than Wilmington; for it is certain
her sentiments towards him were not
regulated by the extent of his worldly wealth,—
perhaps she did not even know what her
sentiments towards him were—but she thought
him delightful, and wandered over the solitary
heaths with him, in search, of specimens.
They very often found none, in the course of
their four hours' ramble, and yet came home
as contented as if they had discovered an
Emperor of Morocco on every bush. Baulked
in their natural history studies by the
peverse absence of moth and butterfly, they
began,—by way of having something to do—
to take up the science of botany. The searches
they made for heath of a particular kind!
The joy that filled them when they came on a
group of wild flowers, and gathered them
into a little basket they carried with them,
and took them back to the manor, and
astonished Mr. Warleigh with the sound of their
Latin names! What new dignity the
commonest things took under that sonorous
nomenclature! How respectable a nettle
grew when called an urtica, and how
suggestive of happiness and Gretna Green when
a flower could be declared to be cryptogamic.

"See what a curious root this piece of
broom has," said Winnington, one night, on
his return from the Manor, and laid his
specimen on the table.

Arthur hardly looked up from his book,
and made some short reply.

"It took Ellen and me ten minutes, with
all our force, to pull it up by the roots. We
had no knife, or I should merely have cut
off the stalk; but see, now that the light
falls on it, what curious shining earth it
grows in; with odd little stones twisted
up between the fibres! Did you ever see
anything like it?" Arthur had fixed his
eyes on the shrub during this speech—
He stretched forth his hand and touched
the soil still clinging to the roots—he put
a small portion to his lips—his face grew
deadly pale.

"Where did you get this?" he said.

"Down near the waterfall—not a hundred
yards from this."

"On whose land?—on the glebe? " said
Arthur, speaking with parched mouth, and
still gazing on the broom.

"Does Warleigh know of this?" he went
on, "or the clergyman? Winnington! no
one must be to told, tell Ellen to be silent;
but she is not aware perhaps. Does she
suspect?"

"What? what is there to suspect, my dear
Arthur? Don't you think you work too
much," he added, looking compassionately
on the dilated eye and pale cheek of his
companion. "You must give up your studies
for a day or two. Come with us on an
exploring expedition to the Outer fell
tomorrow; Mr. Warleigh is going."

"And give him the fruits of all my reading,"
Arthur muttered angrily, "of all I
learned at the Hartz; tell him how to
proceed, and leave myself a beggar. No!" he
said, "I will never see him. As to this
miserable little weed," he continued, tearing
the broom to pieces, and casting the
fragments contemptuously into the fire; "it is
nothing; you are mad to have given up
your butterflies to betake yourself to such a
ridiculous pursuit as this. Don't go there
any more—there!" (here he stamped on it
with his foot) "How damp it is! the fire has
little power."

"You never take any interest, Arthur, in
anything I do. I don't know, I'm sure, how
I've offended you. As to the broom, I know
it's a poor common thing, but I thought the
way its roots were loaded rather odd. Ellen
will perhaps be disappointed, for we intended
to plant it in her garden, and I only asked
her to let me show it to you, it struck me
as being so very curious. Come, give up
your books and learning for a day. We
must leave this for Oxford in a week, and I
wish you to know more of the Warleighs
before we go."

"I am not going back to Oxford," said
Arthur, "I shall take my name off the
books."

Winnington was astonished. He was
also displeased. "We promised to visit
my aunt," he said, "on our way back to
college—Lucy will be grieved and
disappointed."

"I will send a letter by you—I shall
explain it all—I owe her a letter already."

"Have you not answered that letter yet?
it came a month ago," said Winnington.
"Oh! if Ellen Warleigh would write a note
to me, and let me write to her, how I would
wait for her letters! how I would answer
them from morn to night."

"She would find you a rather troublesome
correspondent," said Arthur, watching the
disappearance of the last particle of the
broom as it leaped merrily in sparkles up the
chimney. "Lucy knows that I am better
employed than telling her ten times over,
that I love her better than anything else—
and that I long for wealth principally that
it may enable me to call her mine. I shall
have it soon. Tell her to be sure of that.
I shall be of age in three days, then the
wretched driblet my guardian now has charge