and more springy step, with features and colouring recalling
those of his niece, as did the bright sunny playful sweetness of his
manner; his dark handsome eyes only betraying their want of sight by
a certain glassy immobility that contrasted with the play of the
expressive mouth. It was hard to guess why Bessie should have shunned
such an uncle. Alick took Rachel to the bedroom above the library,
and, like it, with two windows--one overlooking churchyard, river, and
hay-fields, the other commanding, over the peacock hedge, a view of the
playground, where Mr. Clare was seen surrounded by boys, appealing to
him on some disputed matter of cricket. There was a wonderful sense of
serenity, freshness, and fragrance, inexpressibly grateful to Rachel's
wearied feelings, and far more comfortable than the fine scenery through
which she had been carried, because no effort to look and admire was
incumbent on her--nay, not even an effort to talk all the evening. Mr.
Clare seemed to have perfectly imbibed the idea that rest was what she
wanted, and did not try to make small talk with her, though she sat
listening with pleased interest to the conversation between him and his
nephew--so home like, so full of perfect understanding of one another.

"Is there anything to be read aloud?" presently asked Alick.

"You have not by chance got 'Framley Parsonage?'"

"I wish I had. I did pick up 'Silas Marner,' at a station, thinking you
might like it," and he glanced at Rachel, who had, he suspected, thought
his purchase an act of weakness. "Have you met with it?"

"I have met with nothing of the sort since you were here last;" then
turning to Rachel, "Alick indulges me with novels, for my good curate
had rather read the catalogue of a sale any day than meddle with one,
and I can't set on my pupil teacher in a book where I don't know what is
coming."

"We will get 'Framley,'" said Alick.

"Bessie has it. She read me a very clever scene about a weak young
parson bent on pleasing himself; and offered to lend me the book, but I
thought it would not edify Will Walker. But, no doubt, you have read it
long ago."

"No," said Rachel; and something withheld her from disclaiming such
empty employments. Indeed, she was presently much interested in the
admirable portraiture of "Silas Marner," and still more by the keen,
vivid enjoyment, critical, droll, and moralizing, displayed by a man who
heard works of fiction so rarely that they were always fr