ance of a purplish colour. Its wearer was standing in the
gateway and exchanging a word with the Rector, who had reined up his
horse in the road.

"M. Benest walked home and made inquiries; but his landlady could only
tell him that the cottage was rented by two ladies, sisters,--she had
heard that they came from the West Indies,--who saw nobody, but
wished only to be let alone. One of them, who suffered from an
incurable complaint, was never seen; the other could be seen on fine
days in her garden, where she worked vigorously; and what the pair
lived on was a mystery, for they bought nothing in the town or of
their neighbours.

"On learning this, M. Benest became very cunning indeed. He bought a
fishing rod.

"For I ought to have told you that a stream ran down the valley beside
the road, and it contained trout--perhaps as many as a dozen.
M. Benest had no desire to catch them; but, you see, he was forced to
acquire some show of expertness in order to deceive the wayfarers who
paused and watched him; and in time (I am told) the fish, after being
unhooked once or twice and restored apologetically to the water, came
to enjoy disconcerting him. You must understand that he had no foolish
illusions concerning the white cap and purplish ribbons--the
Mademoiselle Henriette, as he discovered she was called. He only knew
that here were two women, his compatriots, poor certainly, often hungry
perhaps, shipwrecked so close to him upon this corner of (pardon me,
Miss Dorothea) an unfriendly land, yet divided from any comfort he
could bring by fifty yards of road and his word of honour. She must be
of the true blood of France who quavered out _Vive Henri Quatre_ so
resolutely over her digging and hoeing: but the sound of a French voice
might hearten her as hers had heartened him. Therefore he sang lustily
while he angled--which is not good for sport; and when he caught a
fish, broke into paeans addressed less to the captive--with which,
between you and me, he was secretly annoyed--than to an ear unseen,
perhaps a quarter of a mile away.

"But there came a day--how shall I tell it?--when calamity fell upon
the cottage. For some time the farmers up the valley had been missing
sheep. What so easy now as to suspect the two women who were never
known to buy either bread or butcher's meat? You can guess! A rabble
marched up from the town and broke in upon them. It found nothing, of
course; and I am told that at sight of the face of t