all
about him, and Sir Arthur Noble was a heavy loser. Sir Arthur is very
vindictive, I must say. I do not think his son is of the same temper,
but it might be unpleasant, their meeting. Mr. Hill, who is quite
bewitched about young Hollingford, will say, 'Pooh pooh! let the lads
meet and be friends;' but I am not at all so sure that there will not be
an awkwardness. I declare I am quite at my wits' end."

I professed myself unable to give advice on this subject; and, indeed, I
felt that I ought now to regard myself as a dying person, who has no
further concern with the interests and people around me. I saw a reason
why John Hollingford and Mr. Noble were not likely to be friends, even
if their fathers had been brothers. And the little lady's petty
grievance worried me. And all things troubled me, for in three days I
was to leave Hillsbro' for London with the Tyrrells.

CHAPTER XII.

The next morning I set off for a solitary walk to the farm. I was going
to ask of Mrs. Hollingford formal permission for my visit to London, and
to say good-bye to her and the girls. I cried sadly to myself walking
over the happy moor and through the wood. I felt unutterably lonely and
wobegone. I was going to part from my only friends, and the separation
was at hand. I knew that Mrs. Hollingford would blame me, and I felt it
hardly worth my while to defend myself. I had quarrelled with John, and
broken our engagement. I was going to London with gayer friends.
Everything was against me; all the wrong seemed mine. I knew that the
dear old lady would say little, only look sad and disappointed, thinking
in her heart that things were turning out as she had prophesied; would
give me full permission to go where I pleased, and do what I pleased;
would kiss and bless me; and then I should have the wide world before
me.

It was a radiant May day. A saint has said that "peace is the
tranquillity of order;" and such a peace brooded over the happy farm as
I crossed its sunny meadows, heard the bleating of its lambs, the lowing
of its kine, met its labourers coming and going. An idler was piping
somewhere in the fields, the rooks were cawing, the leaves on the boughs
just winked in the breeze, the Hall door lay open as usual. I did not
see a soul about, and I walked in without summoning anyone. I opened the
parlour door; the place smelt of May and myrtle, and there were fresh
roses in the jars, but there was no one there. No one in the kitche