t was her pleasure to produce.

CHAPTER VI: INTO TEMPTATION

The day was done, and Fancy was again in the school-house. About five
o'clock it began to rain, and in rather a dull frame of mind she wandered
into the schoolroom, for want of something better to do. She was
thinking--of her lover Dick Dewy? Not precisely. Of how weary she was
of living alone: how unbearable it would be to return to Yalbury under
the rule of her strange-tempered step-mother; that it was far better to
be married to anybody than do that; that eight or nine long months had
yet to be lived through ere the wedding could take place.

At the side of the room were high windows of Ham-hill stone, upon either
sill of which she could sit by first mounting a desk and using it as a
footstool. As the evening advanced here she perched herself, as was her
custom on such wet and gloomy occasions, put on a light shawl and bonnet,
opened the window, and looked out at the rain.

The window overlooked a field called the Grove, and it was the position
from which she used to survey the crown of Dick's passing hat in the
early days of their acquaintance and meetings. Not a living soul was now
visible anywhere; the rain kept all people indoors who were not forced
abroad by necessity, and necessity was less importunate on Sundays than
during the week.

Sitting here and thinking again--of her lover, or of the sensation she
had created at church that day?--well, it is unknown--thinking and
thinking she saw a dark masculine figure arising into distinctness at the
further end of the Grove--a man without an umbrella. Nearer and nearer
he came, and she perceived that he was in deep mourning, and then that it
was Dick. Yes, in the fondness and foolishness of his young heart, after
walking four miles, in a drizzling rain without overcoat or umbrella, and
in face of a remark from his love that he was not to come because he
would be tired, he had made it his business to wander this mile out of
his way again, from sheer wish of spending ten minutes in her presence.

"O Dick, how wet you are!" she said, as he drew up under the window.
"Why, your coat shines as if it had been varnished, and your hat--my
goodness, there's a streaming hat!"

"O, I don't mind, darling!" said Dick cheerfully. "Wet never hurts me,
though I am rather sorry for my best clothes. However, it couldn't be
helped; we lent all the umbrellas to the women. I don't know when I
shall get mi