come about my place no more, Sir
Gamekeeper,—d'ye hear?"

Alick feigned obedience; but he and Katie
met in the green lane on Sundays. There
was a little gate from the pasture where
Kester's cows were, into the wood; and often,
at milking time, you might have seen Alick
leaning over the gate, talking to Katie at her
task; but, as the evenings grew cold and the
cattle were brought up to the house, these
meetings were less frequent; for Kester
began to watch his daughter as a cat watches
a mouse. He suspected her.

The neighbours noticed Katie become
graver and paler, and shook their heads
portentously. "She's fading, like the rest of
them," they said; "she'll not see the spring.
Kester's smitten her, poor man!"

And, by-and-by, Kester saw the change
himself. When he did see it, his heart
stopped beating. "Why, Katie, my bairn!"
cried he, with fully awakened love and fear;
"Katie, my bairn!' Thou's not going off in a
waste, like thy brothers and sisters?"

Katie was knitting by the firelight; and,
as her needles went, her tears fell. "I don't
know, father; but the neighbours say I look
like it. I'm sick and ill—" And her tears
flowed faster.

Kester kissed her, and went out in a black
mood.

"Oh, what'll I do? What'll I do for thee,
Katie, my bairn?" said he, aloud. "I'm fit
to tear my eyes out o' my head! What have
I done, that all goes ill with me?"

It happened that Alick was loitering about
in the hope of a chance word with Katie, and
he overheard Kester's lamentation.

"What's the matter, Master Pateman?
Katie's not ill, is she?" he ventured to ask.
Glad to unfold his misery to anybody, Kester
told Alick of his daughter's changed looks,
and what everybody attributed them to.

"Go to the wise man, 'Bram Rex, at Swinford,
to-morrow: he's got a charm agen the
Evil Eye," suggested Alick, in haste. "He'll
tell you what to do: you may trust him."

Somewhat comforted, Kester re-entered
the house. Alick went off to Swinford to
prepare the sage for his visitor the next day.

VI.

"WHERE are you going, father?" Katie
asked, the following morning, as her father
came to breakfast dressed as if for church or
market.

"I'm going to 'Bram Rex, Katie, to hear
what he says about something. He's a
wonderful wise man."

"Is it about the stacks, father? I'd fear
none: all's right so far. Them Irish reapers
brought you luck, I'm thinking."

"It's not about the corn, Katie,—but thee.
I maun't lose thee, my bairn. Alick says
'Bram has a charm, and I'm going to get it
for thee. I don't like thy white looks and
thy crying."

Katie dropped her spoon, and smiled to
herself as she stooped to pick it up again,
with a face like a rose, which she was fain to
hide by looking away through the window
for ever so long.

After breakfast, Kester mounted his old
grey mare, and went slowly to Swinford, very
mournful, and much troubled in his mind.
The village of Swinford was, by the river,
seven miles from Harwood, and the high
road ran along the bank, with a steep fall to
the water, which was covered with hazel and
low shrubs. "Wherefore shouldn't I fling
myself in there, and save the poor bairn?"
he said to himself, as he saw the river shining
and glancing through the bushes. "But,
after all," he added, "it will be as well to see
old 'Bram Rex first, and hear what he's got
to say to her. My poor bairn! Poor Katie!"

"Come in," said a rough voice. Kester
fastened his bridle to the paling of the
garden, and entered.

The wise man was sitting in a large chair
by the fireside, stirring a composition in a pan
which had far more of the perfume of a
poached hare than hell-broth, which the
gossips said he was in the habit of making.
'Bram was an old man with a long beard, and
the subtlest and most wily of smiles. He
looked up at his visitor from under his brows
cunningly and shrewdly, then motioned him
to be seated by a wave of his hand. Kester
was not here for the first time; many a half-
crown had he paid 'Bram for prognostics
touching the weather, information about lost
articles, and charms for his cattle against
disease, and his crops against blight; but he
had never before felt such a perfect submission
to the awful sage in the chair covered
with cat's skins.

"I know your errand, Kester Pateman,"
said 'Bram, solemnly. "I have been working
out the horoscope all night. It is a case of
difficulty."

Kester was profoundly impressed by this
prescience, and his poor old hands shook as
he drew out his leathern purse, and said:

"'Bram, it's not money nor corn this time,
it's my bairn Katie."

The sage nodded and echoed,
"Katie! I knew it."

"What must I give you? This?"

And Kester took out a gold piece, and laid
it on the seemingly unconscious palm of
'Bram.

"Enough, Kester Pateman," replied he;
"enough. Tell me what you want—your
daughter is smitten—"

"Yes, 'Bram; but there was one told me
you had a charm agen the Evil Eye. Would
it save her? Will you sell it?" asked Kester,
trembling all over with anxiety, and stretching
out his feeble hands with the purse to 'Bram.

'Bram took the purse, but said severely;