ersion in the deep transparent water beneath. They
clambered the little hill, not yet fully shaded by the overarching
elms; and then Ruth checked Mr Bellingham, by a slight motion of
the hand which lay within his arm, and glanced up into his face to
see what that face should express as it looked on Milham Grange,
now lying still and peaceful in its afternoon shadows. It was a
house of after-thoughts; building materials were plentiful in the
neighbourhood, and every successive owner had found a necessity
for some addition or projection, till it was a picturesque mass of
irregularity--of broken light and shadow--which, as a whole, gave a
full and complete idea of a "Home." All its gables and nooks were
blended and held together by the tender green of the climbing roses
and young creepers. An old couple were living in the house until it
should be let, but they dwelt in the back part, and never used the
front door; so the little birds had grown tame and familiar, and
perched upon the window-sills and porch, and on the old stone cistern
which caught the water from the roof.

They went silently through the untrimmed garden, full of the
pale-coloured flowers of spring. A spider had spread her web over
the front door. The sight of this conveyed a sense of desolation to
Ruth's heart; she thought it was possible the state entrance had
never been used since her father's dead body had been borne forth,
and, without speaking a word, she turned abruptly away, and went
round the house to another door. Mr Bellingham followed without
questioning, little understanding her feelings, but full of
admiration for the varying expression called out upon her face.

The old woman had not yet returned from church, or from the weekly
gossip or neighbourly tea which succeeded. The husband sat in the
kitchen, spelling the psalms for the day in his Prayer-book, and
reading the words out aloud--a habit he had acquired from the double
solitude of his life, for he was deaf. He did not hear the quiet
entrance of the pair, and they were struck with the sort of ghostly
echo which seems to haunt half-furnished and uninhabited houses. The
verses he was reading were the following:

Why art thou so vexed, O my soul: and why art thou so
disquieted within me?

O put thy trust in God: for I will yet thank him, which is
the help of my countenance, and my God.

And when he had finished he shut the book, and sighed with the
satisfaction of havi