r which the road passed. "It is Edward!"
cried Hester. "I had no idea we should meet him on this road." And she
quickened her pace, and her countenance brightened as if she had not
seen him for a month. Before they met him, however, the gig with the
black footman, now containing also a gentleman driving, overtook and
slowly passed them--the gentleman looking round him, as if in search of
some dwelling hereabouts. On approaching Hope, the stranger drew up,
touched his hat, and asked a question; and on receiving the answer,
bowed, turned round, and repassed Hester and Margaret. Hope joined his
wife and sister, and walked his horse beside the path.

"Who is that gentleman, Edward?"

"I believe it is Mr Foster, the surgeon at Blickley."

"What did he want with you?"

"He wanted to know whether he was in the right road to the Russell
Taylors."

"The Russell Taylors! Your patients!"

"Once my patients, but no longer so. It seems they are Mr Foster's
patients now."

Hester made no reply.

"Can you see from your pathway what is going on below there in the
meadow? I see the skaters very busy on the ponds. Why do not you go
there, instead of walking here every day?"

Margaret had to explain the case about the snow-boots, for Hester's face
was bathed in tears. Edward rallied her gently; but it would not do.
She motioned to him to ride on, and he thought it best to do so. The
sisters proceeded in silence, Hester's tears flowing faster and faster.
Instead of walking through Deerbrook, she took a back road homewards,
and drew down her veil. As ill luck would have it, however, they met
Sophia Grey and her sisters, and Sophia would stop. She was about to
turn back with them, when she saw that something was the matter, and
then she checked herself awkwardly, and wished her cousins good morning,
while Fanny and Mary were staring at Hester.

"One ought not to mind," said Margaret, half laughing: "there are so
many causes for grown people's tears! but I always feel now as I did
when I was a child--a shame at being seen in tears, and an excessive
desire to tell people that I have not been naughty."

"You could not have told Sophia so of me, I am sure," said Hester.

"Yes, I could; you are not crying because you have been naughty, but you
are naughty because you cry; and that may be cured presently."

It was not presently cured, however. During the whole of dinner-time,
Hester's tears continued to flow; and she