other apology, and hit this time on the
conventional form. "I beg your pardon, sir. Welcome back to your own
country, sir. I wish you good-night, sir."

She attempted to escape into the cottage; I followed her to the threshold
of the door. "Surely it's not time to go to bed yet," I ventured to say.

She was still on her good behavior to her landlord. "Not if you object to
it, sir," she answered.

This recognition of my authority was irresistible. Cristel had laid me
under an obligation to her good influence for which I felt sincerely
grateful--she had made me laugh, for the first time since my return to
England.

"We needn't say good-night just yet," I suggested; "I want to hear a
little more about you. Shall I come in?"

She stepped out of the doorway even more rapidly than she had stepped
into it. I might have been mistaken, but I thought Cristel seemed to be
actually alarmed by my proposal. We walked up and down the river-bank. On
every occasion when we approached the cottage, I detected her in stealing
a look at the ugly modern part of it. There could be no mistake this
time; I saw doubt, I saw anxiety in her face. What was going on at the
mill? I made some domestic inquiries, beginning with her father. Was the
miller alive and well?

"Oh yes, sir. Father gets thinner as he gets older--that's all."

"Did he send you out by yourself, at this late hour, in the boat?"

"They were waiting for a sack of flour down there," she replied, pointing
in the direction of the river-side village. "Father isn't as quick as he
used to be. He's often late over his work now."

Was there no one to give Giles Toller the help that he must need at his
age? "Do you and your father really live alone in this solitary place?" I
said.

A change of expression appeared in her bright brown eyes which roused my
curiosity. I also observed that she evaded a direct reply. "What makes
you doubt, sir, if father and I live alone?" she asked.

I pointed to the new cottage. "That ugly building," I answered, "seems to
give you more room than you want--unless there is somebody else living at
the mill."

I had no intention of trying to force the reply from her which she had
hitherto withheld; but she appeared to put that interpretation on what I
had said. "If you will have it," she burst out, "there is somebody else
living with us."

"A man who helps your father?"

"No. A man who pays my father's rent."

I was quite unprepared for such a r