one sister, when they had shut him
in.

'What a loss she will be!'

'She deserves any good fortune.'

'She does. Is it not twenty years?'

'Twenty-two next August, sister.'

Yes, it was twenty-two years since Mary Marshall had been passed from the
Clergy Orphan Asylum to be English governess at Miss Lang's excellent
school at Hurminster. In that town resided, with her two sons, Mrs.
Morton, the widow of a horse-dealing farmer in the late Mr. Marshall's
parish. On discovering the identity of the English governess with the
little girl who had admired the foals, lambs, and chickens in past times,
Mrs. Morton gave invitations to tea. She was ladylike, the sons
unexceptionable, and no objection could reasonably be made by the Misses
Lang, though the acquaintance was regretted by them.

Mr. Morton, the father, had died in debt and distress, and the eldest son
had been thankful for a clerkship in the office of Mr. Burford, a
solicitor in considerable practice, and man of business to several of the
county magnates. Frank Morton was not remarkable for talent or
enterprise, but he was plodding and trustworthy, methodical and accurate,
and he had continued in the same position, except that time had made him
senior instead of junior clerk. Partly from natural disposition, partly
from weight of responsibility, he had always been a grave, steady youth,
one of those whom their contemporaries rank as sticks and muffs, because
not exalted by youthful spirits or love of daring. His mother and
brother had always been his primary thought; and his recreations were of
the sober-sided sort--the chess club, the institute, the choral society.
He was a useful, though not a distinguished, member of the choir of St.
Basil's Church, and a punctual and diligent Sunday-school teacher of the
least interesting boys. To most of the world of Hurminster he was almost
invisible, to the rest utterly insignificant. Even his mother was far
less occupied with him than with his brother Charles, who was much
handsomer, more amusing and spirited, as well as far less contented or
easy to be reckoned upon. But there was one person to whom he was
everything, namely, little brown-eyed, soft-voiced Mary Marshall.

She felt herself the happiest of creatures when, after two years of
occasional evening teas and walks to Evensong at St. Basil's, it was
settled that she should become his wife as soon as his salary should be
increased, and Charlie be in co