haps, however, he spared a moment to exchange a word or a glance with
his companion now and then--at any rate, she did not appear at all
resentful of his conduct; for her homely features wore an expression of
unusual cheerfulness and serenity, and she was studying his pale,
thoughtful face with great complacency when we arrived.

The journey homeward was by no means so agreeable to me as the former
part of the day: for now Mrs. Graham was in the carriage, and Eliza
Millward was the companion of my walk. She had observed my preference
for the young widow, and evidently felt herself neglected. She did not
manifest her chagrin by keen reproaches, bitter sarcasms, or pouting
sullen silence--any or all of these I could easily have endured, or
lightly laughed away; but she showed it by a kind of gentle melancholy, a
mild, reproachful sadness that cut me to the heart. I tried to cheer her
up, and apparently succeeded in some degree, before the walk was over;
but in the very act my conscience reproved me, knowing, as I did, that,
sooner or later, the tie must be broken, and this was only nourishing
false hopes and putting off the evil day.

When the pony-carriage had approached as near Wildfell Hall as the road
would permit--unless, indeed, it proceeded up the long rough lane, which
Mrs. Graham would not allow--the young widow and her son alighted,
relinquishing the driver's seat to Rose; and I persuaded Eliza to take
the latter's place. Having put her comfortably in, bid her take care of
the evening air, and wished her a kind good-night, I felt considerably
relieved, and hastened to offer my services to Mrs. Graham to carry her
apparatus up the fields, but she had already hung her camp-stool on her
arm and taken her sketch-book in her hand, and insisted upon bidding me
adieu then and there, with the rest of the company. But this time she
declined my proffered aid in so kind and friendly a manner that I almost
forgave her.

CHAPTER VIII

Six weeks had passed away. It was a splendid morning about the close of
June. Most of the hay was cut, but the last week had been very
unfavourable; and now that fine weather was come at last, being
determined to make the most of it, I had gathered all hands together into
the hay-field, and was working away myself, in the midst of them, in my
shirt-sleeves, with a light, shady straw hat on my head, catching up
armfuls of moist, reeking grass, and shaking it out to the four win