That baby was nursed and petted, and
played with, and glorified by generation
after generation of school-boys and school-
girls, until it grew into a tall, slim girl with
an exceedingly pretty face, an unimpeachably
good temper, and a decidedly firm will of its
own; at which date, it was sent apprentice
to Mrs. Bohn, milliner and dressmaker, in the
High Street. The apprenticeship over, it
took up its station in the Oriel window with
professional tools on a table three hundred
years old, and became milliner and dressmaker
on its own account.

ll.

On a fine summer evening there was not in
all Broughton so picturesque a room as that
over the gateway of Saint Ann's. It was full
of light without glare: light mysteriously
softened and tinted by the many-lined panes
it had to shine through before it got into the
room. Alice Garnet's bright, youthful figure
in a high-backed chair, seemed to draw the
sunbeams about it, and away from the lean,
ascetic frame of her father, bending over a
book, with his thin hand supporting his thinner
chin. It would have been strange if the
sunbeams had not loved her best: such a
tangle of golden curls as she had for them to
play at hide and seek in; such a pair of dark
blue eyes for them to mirror their warmth
in; such a sweet white brow for them to kiss;
such a rosy cheek for them to trifle with, as
if it were a blooming garden-flower! Old
Peter wanted none of them in his Rembrandt
corner. Leave him in the shade—and his dark
high features, scanty locks, and old brown
coat, made a companion picture to the
sunshiny-maiden in the window; but, draw him
out into the light, and all the mellow lines
and sepia-tints were gone. You had only a
stooping, narrow-shouldered man, with a
worn expression of face, and innumerable
crows' feet about his eyes. Peter's person,
like his genius, looked all the more dignified
and imposing for a little mystery.

Such a fine summer evening it was, when
my story of Old St. Ann's opens. There was
Alice in the window, curls, dimples, roses and
all, sewing diligently at a gay-coloured silk
dress; and there was Peter at his books,
looking as lean and hungry, as if he might
be tempted soon to make a substantial meal
of them. Alice had the sash open opposite
to her, and occasionally she refreshed her
eyes by looking up at the green elms of Saint
Paul's, which were quivering in the fresh
breeze; and suggesting, by their depths of
shadow, massive groves beyond. But it was
not only the elms she could see: the pavement
of the High Street and all its moving groups
and single figures challenged her watchfulness
—and Alice was evidently watching.
Presently, there gloomed over her face something
nearly akin to a frown, and the deft needle
flew faster than ever. A minute or two
after a foot was heard mounting the stairs.
Peter took off his spectacles, shut them up in
the book to keep his place, and said:

"Here comes Mark Liversedge;" and
accordingly, that individual came; and, as if he
were quite at-home, deposited himself on a
chair opposite to Alice; thereby shutting out
her view of the church-yard elms, or
anything else she might desire to see, and causing
the frown to become very decided on her
pretty brow.

Alice had two suitors. This Mark Liversedge
was one, and Richard Preston was the
other. They had both been St. Ann's boys
in their time, and had passed from under her
tutelage; the former to sweep out the office of
Lawyer Hartop, the latter to help at Fordham's
Mills. Mark was on the highway to
become a gentleman, for he had gradually
risen from the humble position of office-boy
to the dignity of a desk. Lawyer Hartop,
having seen in him a ready wit and shrewdness
far beyond his years, had articled him to
himself without a premium; and, after he
had served his time, engaged him as clerk
with a very moderate salary, and took
a good deal of change out of him under the
name of gratitude, but in the shape of long
hours of overwork. Mark submitted to
these impositions with singular grace and
meekness, and talked much of what he owed
to Lawyer Hartop; but he was a far-sighted
young man, and no doubt had the main chance
in view; which main chance, in the present
instance, was the possibility of succeeding
his patron in the best business in Broughton,—
Lawyer Hartop having no son to bequeath it
to, but only one spare, shrewish daughter; for
whose personal embellishment pretty Alice
Garnet did a very considerable amount of
millinery and dressmaking. But Richard
Preston had no chance of becoming a gentleman,
dusty miller that he was; and, when
the two suitors presented themselves in the
Gate-room at Saint Ann's, it was not hard to
guess which of them Peter Garnet, with his
old-world notions of gentility, would choose.
He favoured Mark Liversedge: Alice
favoured Richard Preston.

There must have been some special reason
for her preference; although women are often
caught by the eyes. Perhaps it might have
been that Richard was by far the properer man
of the two. Mark's lank, well-dressed,
awkward figure, with its queer sideways gait, could
by no means compare with Richard Preston's
athletic six feet two in his stocking feet (I
believe Richard's bigness was one of the
elements of Alice's pride in him); neither
could his sallow face, intensified in expression
by a slight obliquity of vision, gain any
favourable criticism beside Richard's handsome
brown visage and bright gipsy eyes.

Mark would trim himself at the office, and
come straight to the gateway room, full of confidence
and hope, nearly every evening in the
week, and pester Alice with his stilted talk, until
she would have liked to run her needle into