'You know who he is, of course?' said Mr. Torkingham, as they resumed

their journey.

'No,' said Swithin.

'Oh, I thought you did. Yet how should you? It is Lady Constantine's

boy--her only child. His fond mother little thinks he is so far away

from home.' 'Dear me!--Lady Constantine's--ah, how interesting!' Swithin paused

abstractedly for a moment, then stepped back again to the stile, while he

stood watching the little boy out of sight.

'I can never venture out of doors now without sweets in my pocket,'

continued the good-natured vicar: 'and the result is that I meet that

young man more frequently on my rounds than any other of my

parishioners.' St. Cleeve was silent, and they turned into Welland Lane, where their

paths presently diverged, and Swithin was left to pursue his way alone.

He might have accompanied the vicar yet further, and gone straight to

Welland House; but it would have been difficult to do so then without

provoking inquiry. It was easy to go there now: by a cross path he could

be at the mansion almost as soon as by the direct road. And yet Swithin

did not turn; he felt an indescribable reluctance to see Viviette. He

could not exactly say why. True, before he knew how the land lay it

might be awkward to attempt to call: and this was a sufficient excuse for

postponement.

In this mood he went on, following the direct way to his grandmother's

homestead. He reached the garden-gate, and, looking into the bosky basin

where the old house stood, saw a graceful female form moving before the

porch, bidding adieu to some one within the door.

He wondered what creature of that mould his grandmother could know, and

went forward with some hesitation. At his approach the apparition

turned, and he beheld, developed into blushing womanhood, one who had

once been known to him as the village maiden Tabitha Lark. Seeing

Swithin, and apparently from an instinct that her presence would not be

desirable just then, she moved quickly round into the garden.

The returned traveller entered the house, where he found awaiting him

poor old Mrs. Martin, to whose earthly course death stood rather as the

asymptote than as the end. She was perceptibly smaller in form than when

he had left her, and she could see less distinctly.

A rather affecting greeting followed, in which his grandmother murmured

the words of Israel: '"Now let me die, since I have seen thy face,

because thou art yet alive."' The form of Hannah had disappeared from the kitchen, that ancient servant having been gathered to her fathers about six months before, her place

being filled by a young girl who knew not Joseph. They presently chatted

with much cheerfulness, and his grandmother said, 'Have you heard what a

wonderful young woman Miss Lark has become?--a mere fleet-footed,

slittering maid when you were last home.' St. Cleeve had not heard, but he had partly seen, and he was informed that Tabitha had left Welland shortly after his own departure, and had

studied music with great success in London, where she had resided ever

since till quite recently; that she played at concerts, oratorios--had,

in short, joined the phalanx of Wonderful Women who had resolved to

eclipse masculine genius altogether, and humiliate the brutal sex to the

dust.




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