untruths; and, honest themselves, they saw nothing inconsistent in Mrs. Palthorpe's proceedings.

They left her to settle matters with her husband when he came back; meanwhile they were perhaps glad she elected to relieve them of her presence.

Ever since she grew up her ways had not been their ways; and as her grand father grew older grandfather and more infirm he cared less for young people and their restless habits than of old.

'Miry tires me,' he complained to his daughter. He had always been fond of and proud of her; but while she was about the place there seemed a shadow on it, which lightened when her visit ended and she was travelling back to town.

In good truth 'Miry,' as the old man called her, was enough to tire any one. Nothing about the farm satisfied her; she could not find a pleasant word to speak concerning house or furniture, bird or beast. The country held no charm for her. The peace and silence of the quiet homestead made her wretched and discontented. Nothing looked well; nothing was done right.

'Miry has got London ways,' said her grandfather-which, indeed, was a most unfair reflection upon London; but Mr. Aggles knew no better-and we can't please her now.'

No, they could not please herMiss Aggles knew they had never been able to compass that; and accordingly, when she saw her niece, arrayed in the deepest mourning, cross their threshold, the sight filled her with the gravest apprehensions.

'She is surely not coming to live with us,' thought Miss Aggles, in terror; but Mrs. Palthorpe soon reassured her.

'No; I am going back again

the day after to-morrow,' she said, in answer to her aunt's inquiry. 'I thought as we were not very busy I would come down and see how you were getting on and talk things over.'

Father has taken it sorely to heart,' remarked Miss Aggles, referring to Mr. Palthorpe's death of course, and not to any other fact which he might have been more disposed to take to heart had he chanced to be acquainted with it.

'It was about the last thing we expected to hear, wasn't it? said Mrs. Palthorpe, with admirable composure. 'Where is grandfather -in the water-meadow? I'll go and find him.'

'Well, you do take it cool,' observed Miss Aggles, looking after the retreating figure as it went sweeping over the grassy path leading away to the calm meandering river.

In the evening, when they were seated in the dark parlour, dimly lighted by two heavy-framed windows almost covered with roses and creepers, talking low and softly about the dead man, the same idea was once again forced upon Miss Aggles' understanding.

'I can't believe it real,' the old farmer was saying. 'It seems to me just impossible to believe that I am here, and he is lying drowned in that waste of waters. I never am able to get the thought of him out of my mind.'

Mrs. Palthorpe carefully smoothed out the creases in her crape and remained silent.

'It was an ill day for him, my lass, when he took up with your pretty face,' went on Mr. Aggles (framed in a widow's cap that face looked at the speaker with a certain degree of interest); 'for you were a pretty girl then—'

'Mira thinks she is pretty still,' interposed Miss Aggles;

who had never been beautiful, and was, perhaps, not sorry to deal her niece this backhanded blow.

Mrs. Palthorpe spoke.

'Have I lost my looks, then?' she asked, with a show of feeling she never displayed when her lost husband was the topic of conversation.

'No, no; you are a good-looking woman still,' answered her grandfather, with cruel candour, and a deprecatory sort of kindness more terrible to the subject than any criticism could have proved, no matter how severe; but you are not a girl any more, and you have not got the colour you used to have, and you are peaked a bit with fretting.'

There was an awkward pause. Mrs. Palthorpe had looked at the speaker for a moment in dismay; then she recommenced smoothing out those folds in her crape. Miss Aggles watched her carefully.

And it is right you should fret, my dear,' went on the old man, pursuing his old train of thought, perfectly unconscious of the fire and fury his granddaughter was smothering, as she sat idly passing her hands continually over the crape she wore ;' for it is not often a girl is taken to by a man like that, and has not cause to rue it; quite right the face that cost him so much should look worn and changed now he cannot come back any more to fetch the colour to the cheeks and the smiles to the mouth. I would not have liked you to be less sorry, though it has changed you, Miry; for he was a gallant gentleman and an honest

man.'

She did not answer; she never lifted her head. Still that busy, busy hand kept smoothing, smoothing the crape which was worn for him.

'I can't believe it,' mused the

farmer; it seems to me impossible. When I think of him, it's not so many years ago, Miry, coming along the path through the plantations, with his gun and his dogs and his handsome face and pleasant manner. "A happy new year to you, Mr. Aggles," he said. "And many of them to you, Master Tom," I answered. "And many of them to you," he rattled back quick as shot. "Ah, sir," I said, "I can't look for many more. "Don't talk in that absurd way," he answered; "you'll outlive me most likely." When I think of that, as I began with remarking, I can't bring it home to myself that he is dead, that I shall never hear his cheery voice any more.'

'I wouldn't think of it, father,' said Miss Aggles.

'How can I help thinking of it?' answered the old man. 'Since the news came have I ever had him out of my head day or night, waking or sleeping? Why, it was only this afternoon, not an hour before Miry came down to the water-meadow, that I could have sworn I saw him on the other bank with his creel and fishingtackle. I had to rub my eyes to make sure there was nobody; and yesterday morning I thought I saw somebody skirt the hawthorn hedge beside the paddock, and I thought, "For certain that's Master Tom," and again it was no human being. Strange, isn't it?'

He made this appeal to his daughter, and for answer she only put her handkerchief to her eyes. Then he turned slowly to Mrs. Palthorpe. She answered by rising from her chair and leaving the room.

'I wouldn't talk about him before her, father,' remarked Miss Aggles, struggling with tears.

'Poor soul! she takes on, doesn't she, Jane? It was wrong

of me, but I felt I must speak out the things I had seen.'

'You did not see them, father ; it all came from over-thinking,' answered Miss Aggles.

'Poor young gentleman!' said the farmer, who had been more shaken by the news than his daughter imagined. It was an evil day for him when he was caught by Miry's pretty face.'

Ay, that it was,' answered Miss Aggles heartily, with more reason than even she conceived.

It is curious, but true, that whereas while the man was living these honest and perfectly nonconventional people had clearly understood the change in his worldly position wrought by his uncle's will, now they reverted to the days gone by, and, utterly ignoring the period of his struggling clerkship, the time when he, born, according to their ideas, in the purple,' lay between life and death, helped forward to recovery by the little money which could be sent up from Hampshire, thought and spoke of him only as Mr. Tom, as the future squire, as the blue-eyed open-faced young chap who used to come, gun in hand, dogs at heel, down to the farm, where one of the inmates, at all events, was far too pretty. As the future squire, as the gracious and graceful blue-eyed young gentleman with ready tongue and smooth face and pleasant manners, he could return no more; but— death is very merciful-without a blot or blemish, without the smallest decadence in the social scale, without loss of fortune, or the faintest struggle of any kind, the waters gave back the memory of this man, whose only fault had been loving too much and trusting as he loved.

Perfectly the old man saw the young Squire walking through the wood, as if he were present; Miss

Aggles gave him once more the glass of milk he asked for, with that winsome smile on his face; but from out their recollection was blotted the time during which he struggled for daily bread, when he lay in the poor mean room, looking out upon the Romford-road, fighting hard for life.

We know he is better off,' said Miss Aggles, in a voice broken by tears.

'He would not thank us to bring him back, I feel sure of that,' answered the farmer; but it seems cruel hard for him to be drowned just when he stood a chance of having some comfort in his life. I don't know that I ever thought so much about his losing the old place as I did this morning, when I stood looking up at the plantation, with the sun shining down on the trees and the birds singing in the woods.'

'It does not signify to him father.'

now,

'I know it does not; but I can't help my thoughts and feelings. I should not have minded so much if I could have seen him buried.'

Miss Aggles did not speak.

'And I have been thinking, too, Jane, that perhaps we might have done more for him when he was so ill. If I had sold Fury, and not grudged parting with him then, he could have had the cheque Mr. Sinton offered me for him. When the brute kicked himself lame and made himself of no account, as one may say, I felt it served me right for my greed and covetousness. If we had sent him that money, perhaps he would have got stronger, and need not have left the country and died without a friend near him.'

'Father, father,' entreated Miss Aggles, as the old man broke down fairly, don't take on in this way. You did all for the best; you

spared all you could, and never grudged a penny of it. If no one had more to reproach himself with than you, this world would be a different place. He understood, and he was grateful for the help you gave. Don't you recollect what he said before he went away? don't you remember the beautiful letter he wrote when he enclosed the money?

'Yes; I was looking at it this morning,' said Mr. Aggles.

'I am sure if you had been his father he could not have used more feeling language.'

'No; and that is why I fret, and why I can't get over his death. If he had been different, forgetful, light-minded, ungrateful, I should not have felt it as I do; but he was so true and so good, I can't get over the loss.'

You will in time,' she said gently, and with more feeling than the words themselves might seem to imply.

'You are right,' he answered; 'we get over everything in time; it is wonderful what it does-wonderful that the coming and going of days and nights should cure grief, and make us forget troubles as we do.'

She knew what he meant: she understood he was thinking of the vacant places round his hearth, of the empty seats once filled, of the faces that could look on him no more, of the grass-grown graves across which the shadow of the church-tower fell softly when the sun was westering. She was not young or pretty, or winning in manner; but she loved the old man tenderly, and the kiss she laid on his furrowed cheek was as touching in its womanly sympathy and filial affection as if she had been endowed with every personal grace.

"You have been a good daughter to me; your mother said you

would. God bless you, Jane;' and having so spoken the old man rose, and remarking, 'I think I'll go to bed now; I am very tired,' walked more feebly than his wont across the parlour and up the wide easy staircase to his room.

For a few minutes after he went Miss Aggles remained standing by the window and looking out into the gathering twilight; then tying a handkerchief over her head she crossed the hall, and stepping out of doors went to seek her niece.

CHAPTER XV.

MRS. PALTHORPE IS FRANK.

MRS. PALTHORPE was walking up and down beside the quick clear river that flowed through Mr. Aggles' farm. She looked ghostly and mysterious in her trailing black garments, pacing restlessly close to the margin of the water, which seemed white by reason of the chalk over which it

ran.

At a botanical garden in a country town, where a few monkeys and other animals were kept to lure shillings into the exchequer, Miss Aggles had once seen the 'restless Cavey' walking up and down at the length of its chain. She had not thought of the creature for years and years, but as she approached her niece the whole scene seemed to start up out of the depths of memory: the monkeys grinning behind the wires, the houses where the other beasts were kept, the trees standing so still and quiet in the sultry noontime, the scent of flowers, the smell of the animals, the sound of music-for it chanced to be a fête-day, and a band was playing in the distance.

It all came back to her, not as a recollection, but as a present

fact, with the Cavey in the foreground walking up and down without a moment's stop or pause.

Then the illusion vanished, and beside the clear swift river she beheld her niece pacing up and down just like a creature on the chain, and she knew it was that sight which had recalled the Cavey to her recollection.

'That looks as if she was miserable,' thought Miss Aggles, pausing for an instant to watch that restless pacing to and fro. "I must have wronged her; and indeed how could she help feeling it?'

Mrs. Palthorpe could have answered that question, could have told how very easy it is for some people to feel nothing under heaven, save that which affects their own comfort and their own convenience.

'Aren't you afraid of catching cold, Mira, with nothing on your head?' asked Miss Aggles, drawing near her niece, who had stopped suddenly at sight of her.

'No,' answered Mrs. Palthorpe shortly (never specially remarkable for courtesy, in the abandon of family life she entirely dispensed with ceremony).

I should not care to run the risk myself,' said Miss Aggles meekly. 'I dread so much being ill.'

'I am never ill,' returned Mrs. Palthorpe.

Miss Aggles stood silent for an instant; then she inquired whether her niece would rather be alone.

'Some,' she hinted, 'preferred to bear their trouble by themselves.'

'I don't,' was the reply: 'I am sick of being alone; besides, I want to ask you something. Do you think grandfather was right when he said what he did a while ago?'

About seeing your husband, dear?' questioned Miss Aggles,

with a timorous glance towards the opposite bank; it was a lonely place and an eerie uncanny sort of light. 'O no! the dead can't come back; it was only his fancy.'

'I did not mean that nonsense,' explained Mrs. Palthorpe, in a tone of the most withering contempt; 'you remember what he said about my having lost my looks. Do you think I have?'

A child might have knocked Miss Aggles down at that moment. Never was woman more utterly astounded. Her good looks! She was thinking about looks, and her mourning so new the creases were not yet out of it! Pacing up and down, she had been considering whether she was as handsome as ever, instead of mourning for the husband who lay in no one could tell how many fathoms deep of water.

'Why do you ask?' she at length managed to say.

"Because I want to know,' was the answer.

'You are as good-looking as ever you were,' declared Miss Aggles, and as hard. If it is any comfort for you to be told so, you are handsomer. You have not got so much colour, and you are somewhat thinner, and father is fond of colour and likes to see women plump; but that is nothing. Any change I notice in your face is for the better. I can't say as much either for your manners or your heart.'

Mrs. Palthorpe did not retort; she only walked on a few steps slowly and thoughtfully, her aunt keeping beside her.

Anybody but yourself, Mira,' continued Miss Aggles, emboldened perhaps by her niece's silence, 'would have been almost out of her mind with grief. When we feel the death as we do, how you can take it so calmly is past my comprehension. A stranger or a