him; but Richard, if he only went along the
High Street with his wagon, and glanced up
at the window, and just whistled, O how the
colour came! It was enough to make damask
roses jealous, if there had been any damask
roses to experience the wicked passion at Old
Saint Ann's. It was a new version of the old
song, Let father and mother be ever so mad,
Whistle, and I'll come to thee my lad. She
would spring from her chair and give him a
shower of little nods and smiles from the open
window; and often, that was all they had
to live on in the way of love for a week
together; for Richard could only come on
Sunday nights, and even then, Peter Garnet
austerely demonstrated that he was not
welcome.

There Mark Liversedge sat, with his crooked
black legs crossed one over the other, his
crooked black shoulders twisted insinuatingly
forward, and his crooked black head dropped
humbly between them, while his eyes
followed the swift movements of Alice's needle,
and his tongue detailed a scene at the court-
house that day. Mark was clever, and he
told his story amusingly; but Alice would not
laugh, no, that she would not. She looked as
solemn as if he had been reciting a funeral
oration; but old Peter enjoyed it, and made
the most of every point. Mark rarely became
flat after these rebuffs, or felt resentful. He
did not know much of women; but he had
heard that they were freakish, and wanted a
good deal of humouring; so he humoured
pretty Alice, and thought he was making
immense progress in his suit.

On this particular evening, however, he
attempted to make a bold step in advance;
and, after remarking that he felt musty with
sitting in the office all day, he invited Alice
to take a walk with him down by the river
side to Fordham Mills.

"No thank you, I have something else to
do," replied Alice, "but perhaps my father
will go with you."

Mark squeezed his hands together and
laughed nervously for the first time since he
began his courtship—there was no mistaking
her meaning this time; but, as he knew no
reason why she should not fall in love with
him, if he only persevered long enough, he
went on talking again.

He fancied he had made an impression
on her one time, for she coloured beautifully;
but, if he had taken the trouble to turn his
head he might have seen the Fordham wagon,
with its fine team of horses all gay in their
scarlet trappings and tinkling bells, coming
up the High Street, and his old schoolfellow,
Richard Preston, marching at the head of the
leader. But Mark laid the blush to his own
account; and, on the strength of it, again
mentioned a walk by the waterside.

"Come, Alice, drop that stitch work and
go," said her father; "it is very polite in
Mark to ask you."

"I don't think so, father, when he sees I
don't want to go," she replied quietly. Mark
begged pardon: he had hoped it would be
agreeable; and Peter Garnet hastened to
excuse her lack of urbanity by suggesting
that she was overworked, and tired, and
cross.

"No, father, I am not," she interposed,
rejecting his plea, "but Mark is so tiresome."

"Come, Mark, she is out of humour
clearly!" said her father, laughing at her
very awkward candour; which made the
suitor feel hot all over: "let us take a turn
by the river together, she'll be in a better
mood to-morrow night perhaps." Mark took
his leave with a reproachful countenance
which did not touch Alice one bit: she was
only too glad to see him go, and would have
been twice as glad, if there was any chance
of his taking offence and not coming again
in a hurry.

When the master returned it was almost
dark, and Alice was setting out their frugal
supper on the table in the window: he
pulled one of her curls as she came near him
in going to the cupboard for the bread loaf,
and asked, "Why did you treat Mark so
badly to-night, Alice?"

"Because he almost teases me to death. I
wish he would stop away!" she replied, with
pretty vehemence.

"But, Alice, I have set my heart on his
marrying you;" said Peter in a conclusive
tone.

Alice, however, was not daunted: "And I
have set my heart on his not marrying me,"
she rejoined.

"That is all nonsense; he will make a lady
of you," said Peter, slily appealing to her
vanity.

"Not he! He would only make me a miserable
woman! And I tell you, once for all,
father, I'll have nothing to do with him!"

"You like some one else, perhaps?" said
Peter, more harshly than he had ever spoken
to his motherless girl before: "you like some
one else—that's where it is—but if it is that
Richard Preston, put him out of your mind,
for he will never get my good word."

Alice did not speak; but, when she went to
the cupboard for the salt, she stayed a minute
behind the shelter of its open door and
winked away a few tears. She felt very
rebellious and firm notwithstanding; and, to
keep up her wrath against Mark, she
invented a sort of roll-call of all his disagreeable
points mental and physical, and said
them over to herself all through supper.

Peter Garnet set great store by Alice, and
loved her most devotedly; but he had taken
the poor ambition into his head that he
should like to see her made a lady, and the
possibility that her happiness might be
sacrificed in the process, had not dawned upon his
scholastic mind: so, when she came as usual
to kiss him good-night before she went to
bed, he thought it only right to reject the
caress coldly, and pushed her away; but