l be better for seein' ye," the nurse answered with a knowing
look. Then in a louder and more positive tone, "Oh, ye needn't stare so
with them big brown eyes o' yourn. Ye can't fool old Martha, none o'
you young people kin. Ye think I go round with my eyelids sewed up.
Miss Jane knows what she wants--she's proud, and so are you; I never
knew a Cobden nor a Cavendish that warn't. I haven't a word to
say--it'll be a good match when it comes off. Where's that Meg?
Good-by, doctor. I won't keep ye a minute longer from MISS Gossaway.
I'm sorry it ain't her tongue, but if it's only her throat she may get
over it. Go 'long, Meg!"

Dr. Cavendish laughed one of his quiet laughs--a laugh that wrinkled
the lines about his eyes, with only a low gurgle in his throat for
accompaniment, picked up his whip, lifted his hat in mock courtesy to
the old nurse, and calling to Rex, who, bored by Meg's attentions, had
at last retreated under the gig, chirruped to his horse, and drove on.

Martha watched the doctor and Rex until they were out of sight, walked
on to the top of the low hill, and finding a seat by the roadside--her
breath came short these warm spring days--sat down to rest, the dog
stretched out in her lap. The little outcast had come to her the day
Lucy left Warehold for school, and the old nurse had always regarded
him with a certain superstitious feeling, persuading herself that
nothing would happen to her bairn as long as this miserable dog was
well cared for.

"Ye heard what Doctor John said about her bein' a woman, Meg?" she
crooned, when she had caught her breath. "And she with her petticoats
up to her knees! That's all he knows about her. Ye'd know better than
that, Meg, wouldn't ye--if ye'd seen her grow up like he's done? But
grown up or not, Meg"--here she lifted the dog's nose to get a clearer
view of his sleepy eyes--"she's my blessed baby and she's comin' home
this very day, Meg, darlin'; d'ye hear that, ye little ruffian? And
she's not goin' away ag'in, never, never. There'll be nobody drivin'
round in a gig lookin' after her--nor nobody else as long as I kin help
it. Now git up and come along; I'm that restless I can't sit still,"
and sliding the dog from her lap, she again resumed her walk toward
Warehold.

Soon the village loomed in sight, and later on the open gateway of
"Yardley," the old Cobden Manor, with its two high brick posts topped
with white balls and shaded by two tall hemlocks, through which cou