me four weeks ago, you would have
hardly said the same, for it's nothing as I can do myself; and
my son as comes home from a Saturday to a Monday, it's not
much that he can do either; but last month a man from London,
what lives at the Crown, he came here and asked me to show him
the house, and when he see'd the garden and the condition it
was in, he asked me to let him set to work in it and put it to
rights; and a deal he has done in it to be sure for the time.
He got Madge, the washerwoman, to come over one day and tell
him how it all was when them people as lived in it last were
here. And a power of work he did to put up that arbour there,
as she told him it was afore the neighbour's boys had got in
and pulled it to pieces."

"But what is that man doing here? What is he?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Sir; he does jobs for the carpenter
sometimes, and turns a penny may be that way."

"You should not let people into the house whom you know
nothing about."

"Lord, Sir! what harm can he do? There's nothing to take in
the place, and sure he has made the garden look gay to what it
did."

Mr. Middleton went to look at the cow-shed; and the old woman,
turning to Alice and myself, continued, "Madge says as how he
has written a name with them flowers out in that corner; but I
can't say I reads it myself--it's a queer sort of print
enough."

We both moved in that direction, and saw at the same time,
under the wall, traced in the delicate lilac flowers of the
Virginian Stock, the name of _Alice_. She looked steadily on
the spot for a few seconds, and then turning to the woman,
asked her the name of the man whom she had spoken of.

"Robert Harding, Ma'am."

Alice only said, "Poor fellow! I understand it all."

She turned away and walked into the house. I leant against the
wall, and remained buried in thought till my uncle returned.
He was in a hurry to go, and desired me to look for Alice. Not
finding her in the rooms below, I went up the narrow
staircase, opened the door of what had once been her bed-room,
and looked into the closet within. There was the view of the
church, such as she had once shown it me from that window: she
was on her knees, and her head was resting on her hands; the
sound of a deep sigh caught my ear. I looked at her kneeling
in that bare and empty room where I had seen her once before
with her books and her flowers, her sweet and pleasant
thoughts, her bright and quiet smiles. I looked on thi