ly serviceable in
that way to the interests of his friend.

Leaving Midwinter reading and re-reading the rector's cheering letter,
as if he was bent on getting every sentence in it by heart, Allan
went out rather earlier than usual, to make his daily inquiry at the
cottage--or, in plainer words, to make a fourth attempt at improving
his acquaintance with Miss Milroy. The day had begun encouragingly, and
encouragingly it seemed destined to go on. When Allan turned the corner
of the second shrubbery, and entered the little paddock where he and the
major's daughter had first met, there was Miss Milroy herself loitering
to and fro on the grass, to all appearance on the watch for somebody.

She gave a little start when Allan appeared, and came forward without
hesitation to meet him. She was not in her best looks. Her rosy
complexion had suffered under confinement to the house, and a marked
expression of embarrassment clouded her pretty face.

"I hardly know how to confess it, Mr. Armadale," she said, speaking
eagerly, before Allan could utter a word, "but I certainly ventured
here this morning in the hope of meeting with you. I have been very much
distressed; I have only just heard, by accident, of the manner in which
mamma received the present of fruit you so kindly sent to her. Will you
try to excuse her? She has been miserably ill for years, and she is not
always quite herself. After your being so very, very kind to me (and to
papa), I really could not help stealing out here in the hope of seeing
you, and telling you how sorry I was. Pray forgive and forget, Mr.
Armadale--pray do!" her voice faltered over the last words, and, in her
eagerness to make her mother's peace with him, she laid her hand on his
arm.

Allan was himself a little confused. Her earnestness took him by
surprise, and her evident conviction that he had been offended honestly
distressed him. Not knowing what else to do, he followed his instincts,
and possessed himself of her hand to begin with.

"My dear Miss Milroy, if you say a word more you will distress _me_
next," he rejoined, unconsciously pressing her hand closer and closer,
in the embarrassment of the moment. "I never was in the least offended;
I made allowances--upon my honor I did--for poor Mrs. Milroy's illness.
Offended!" cried Allan, reverting energetically to the old complimentary
strain. "I should like to have my basket of fruit sent back every
day--if I could only be sure of its brin