ason, to which she could not say nonsense. At each step we trod
on souvenirs, innocent in themselves, had they recurred to childish
minds. The whisper, 'Hark! it's sunset, Mabel, Martha Thresher calls,'
clouded her face with stormy sunset colours. I respected Martha even
then for boldly speaking to me on the girl's behalf. Mrs. Waddy's
courage failed. John Thresher and Mark Sweetwinter were overcome by my
father's princely prodigality; their heads were turned, they appeared
to have assumed that I could do no wrong. To cut short the episode, some
one wrote to the squire in uncouth English, telling him I was courting
a country lass, and he at once started me for the Continent. We had some
conversation on money before parting. The squire allowed me a thousand
a year, independent of my own income. He counselled prudence, warned me
that I was on my trial, and giving me his word of honour that he should
not spy into my Bank accounts, desired me to be worthy of the trust
reposed in me. Speculation he forbade. I left him satisfied with the
assurance that I meant to make my grand tour neither as a merchant, a
gambler, nor a rake, but simply as a plain English gentleman.

'There's nothing better in the world than that,' said he.

Arrived in London, I left my travelling companion, the Rev. Ambrose
Peterborough, sipping his Port at the hotel, and rushed down to Dipwell,
shot a pebble at Mabel's window by morning twilight, and soon had her
face at the casement. But it was a cloudy and rainbeaten face. She
pointed toward the farm, saying that my father was there.

'Has he grieved you, Mabel?' I asked softly.

'Oh, no, not he! he wouldn't, he couldn't; he talked right. Oh, go,
go: for I haven't a foot to move. And don't speak so soft; I can't bear
kindness.'

My father in admonishing her had done it tenderly, I was sure.
Tenderness was the weapon which had wounded her, and so she shrank from
it; and if I had reproached and abused her she might, perhaps, have
obeyed me by coming out, not to return. She was deaf. I kissed my hand
to her regretfully; a condition of spirit gradually dissolved by the
haunting phantom of her forehead and mouth crumpling up for fresh floods
of tears. Had she concealed that vision with her handkerchief, I might
have waited to see her before I saw my father. He soon changed the set
of the current.

'Our little Mabel here,' he said, 'is an inflammable puss, I fear. By
the way, talking of girls, I have a s