not till after Maria had recovered, as far as
recovery was possible,--not till she had fallen into the habit of
earning her bread, that Philip reappeared, and shook hands with her, and
told her with how much concern he had heard of her sufferings. This
interview gave her entire possession of herself:--so she believed. She
got through it calmly, and it left her with one subject at least of
intense thankfulness,--that her mind was known only to herself.
Whatever might be her solitary struggles, she might look without shame
into the face of every human being. She could bear being pitied for her
poverty, for her lameness, for her change of prospects, when the
recollection of this came across any of her acquaintance. If it had
been necessary, she could probably have borne to be pitied for having
loved without return; but she could not be too thankful that it was not
necessary.

Maria was right in her supposition that the village was speculating upon
the newly-arrived young ladies. The parish clerk had for some years,
indeed ever since the death of the late stationer and dispenser of
letters, carried on a flirtation with the widow, notwithstanding the
rumours which were current, as to the cause to which her late husband
owed his death. It was believed that poor Harry Plumstead died of
exhaustion from his wife's voice; for she was no other than the village
scold, of whose existence Margaret had been warned by Mr Enderby. Some
thought that Owen was acting a politic part in protracting this
flirtation,--keeping her temper in check by his hold upon her
expectations; and such had little doubt that the affair would linger on
to the end, without any other result than Owen's exemption meanwhile
from the inflictions of her tongue, to which, in the discharge of his
office, he might otherwise become frequently liable. Others wished to
see them married, believing that in Owen, a Welshman sufficiently
irascible, Mrs Plumstead would at last meet her match. This afternoon,
an observer would have thought the affair was proceeding to this point.
Mrs Plumstead, looking particularly comely and gracious, was putting up
an unclaimed letter at the window for display, when Owen stopped to ask
if she had seen the pretty young ladies who had come to Deerbrook. He
remarked that, to be sure, they might have gone to some place where they
were more wanted, for Deerbrook was not without pretty faces of its own
before: and, as he said so, he smil