made a bad bargain, i' takin' up wi' that
wench," said a townswoman to Grace. "She's noan one o' th' soart as
'll keep straight. She's as shallow as a brook i' midsummer. What's she
doin' leavin' th' young un to Joan, and gaddin' about wi' ribbons i' her
bonnet? Some lasses would na ha' th' heart to show theirsens."

The truth was that the poor weak child was struggling feebly in deep
water again. She had not thought of danger. She had only been tired of
the monotony of her existence, and had longed for a change. If she had
seen the end she would have shrunk from it before she had taken her
first step. She wanted no more trouble and shame, she only wanted
variety and excitement.

She was going down a by-lane leading to the Maxy's cottage, and was
hurrying through the twilight, when she brushed against a man who was
lounging carelessly along the path, smoking a cigar, and evidently
enjoying the balmy coolness of the summer evening. It was just light
enough for her to see that this person was well-dressed, and young,
and with a certain lazily graceful way of moving, and it was just light
enough for the man to see that the half-frightened face she lifted was
pretty and youthful. But, having seen this much, he must surely have
recognized more, for he made a quick backward step. "Liz!" he said.
"Why, Liz, my girl!" And Liz stood still. She stood still, because, for
the moment, she lost the power of motion. Her heart gave a great wild
leap, and, in a minute more, she was trembling all over with a strange,
dreadful emotion. It seemed as if long, terrible months were blotted
out, and she was looking into her cruel lover's face, as she had looked
at it last. It was the man who had brought her to her greatest happiness
and her deepest pain and misery. She could not speak at first; but
soon she broke into a passion of tears. It evidently made the young man
uncomfortable--perhaps it touched him a little. Ralph Landsell's nature
was not unlike Liz's own. He was invariably swayed by the passing
circumstance,--only, perhaps, he was a trifle more easily moved by an
evil impulse than a good one. The beauty of the girl's tearful face,
too, overbalanced his first feeling of irritation at seeing her and
finding that he was in a difficult position. Then he did not want her
to run away and per-haps betray him in her agitation, so he put out his
hand and laid it on her shoulder.

"Hush," he said. "Don't cry. What a poor little goose you ar