he early light of a summer's morning. The county, one of
the midlands, was justly celebrated for its scenery; its rich woods and
smiling plains, its river and gentler streams. The harvest was nearly
gathered in--it had been a late season--but a few fields of golden grain,
in process of reaping, gave their warm tints to the landscape. In no part
of the country had the beauties of nature been bestowed more lavishly
than on this, the village of Calne, situated about seven miles from the
county town.

It was an aristocratic village, on the whole. The fine seat of the Earl
of Hartledon, rising near it, had caused a few families of note to settle
there, and the nest of white villas gave the place a prosperous and
picturesque appearance. But it contained a full proportion of the poor or
labouring class; and these people were falling very much into the habit
of writing the village "Cawn," in accordance with its pronunciation.
Phonetic spelling was more in their line than Johnson's Dictionary. Of
what may be called the middle class the village held few, if any: there
were the gentry, the small shopkeepers, and the poor.

Calne had recently been exalted into importance. A year or two before
this bright August morning some good genius had brought a railway to
it--a railway and a station, with all its accompanying work and bustle.
Many trains passed it in the course of the day; for it was in the direct
line of route from the county town, Garchester, to London, and the
traffic was increasing. People wondered what travellers had done, and
what sort of a round they traversed, before this direct line was made.

The village itself lay somewhat in a hollow, the ground rising to a
gentle eminence on either side. On the one eminence, to the west, was
situated the station; on the other, eastward, rose the large stone
mansion, Hartledon House. The railway took a slight _detour_ outside
Calne, and was a conspicuous feature to any who chose to look at it; for
the line had been raised above the village hollow to correspond with the
height at either end.

Six o'clock was close at hand, and the station began to show signs of
life. The station-master came out of his cottage, and opened one or two
doors on the platform. He had held the office scarcely a year yet; and
had come a stranger to Calne. Sitting down in his little bureau of a
place, on the door of which was inscribed "Station-master--Private," he
began sorting papers on the desk before