re particularly handsome myself, I should like to be
told so."

"I am sorry I cannot tell you so."

"Oh! Ha! ha! What a retort, Miss Lindsay! You are not sorry either; you
are rather glad."

Gertrude knew it, and was angry with herself, not because her retort
was false, but because she thought it unladylike. "You have no right to
annoy me," she exclaimed, in spite of herself.

"None whatever," he said, humbly. "If I have done so, forgive me before
we part. I will go no further with you; Max will give the alarm if you
faint in the avenue, which I don't think you are likely to do, as you
have forgotten all about the hemlock."

"Oh, how maddening!" she cried. "I have left my basket behind."

"Never mind; I will find it and have it filled and sent to you."

"Thank you. I am sorry to trouble you."

"Not at all. I hope you do not want the hemlock to help you to get rid
of the burden of life."

"Nonsense. I want it for my father, who uses it for medicine."

"I will bring it myself to-morrow. Is that soon enough?"

"Quite. I am in no hurry. Thank you, Mr. Trefusis. Good-bye."

She gave him her hand, and even smiled a little, and then hurried away.
He stood watching her as she passed along the avenue under the beeches.
Once, when she came into a band of sunlight at a gap in the trees, she
made so pretty a figure in her spring dress of violet and white that
his eyes kindled as he gazed. He took out his note-book, and entered her
name and the date, with a brief memorandum.

"I have thawed her," he said to himself as he put up his book. "She
shall learn a lesson or two to hand on to her children before I have
done with her. A trifle underbred, too, or she would not insist so much
on her breeding. Henrietta used to wear a dress like that. I am glad to
see that there is no danger of her taking to me personally."

He turned away, and saw a crone passing, bending beneath a bundle of
sticks. He eyed it curiously; and she scowled at him and hurried on.

"Hallo," he said.

She continued for a few steps, but her courage failed her and she
stopped.

"You are Mrs. Hickling, I think?"

"Yes, please your worship."

"You are the woman who carried away an old wooden gate that lay on Sir
Charles Brandon's land last winter and used it for firewood. You were
imprisoned for seven days for it."

"You may send me there again if you like," she retorted, in a cracked
voice, as she turned at bay. "But the Lord will make me even w