rse spirit, it
was well that they two should see as little of each other as possible.
Every evening found Mr. Whitelaw a punctual visitor in the snug panelled
parlour, and at such times the bailiff insisted upon his daughter's
presence; she was obliged to sit there night after night, stitching
monotonously at some unknown calico garment--which might well from the
state of mind of the worker have been her winding-sheet; or darning one
of an inexhaustible basket of woollen stockings belonging to her father.
It was her irksome duty to be there, ready to receive any awkward
compliment of her silent lover's, ready to acquiesce meekly in his talk
of their approaching wedding. But at all other times Mr. Carley was more
than content with her absence.

At first the bailiff had made a feeble attempt to reconcile his daughter
to her position by the common bribe of fine clothes. He had extorted a
sum of money from Stephen Whitelaw for this purpose, and had given that
sum, or a considerable part of it, to his daughter, bidding her expend it
upon her wedding finery. The girl took the money, and spent a few pounds
upon the furbishing-up of her wardrobe, which was by no means an
extensive one; but the remaining ten-pound note she laid by in a secret
place, determined on no account to break in upon it.

"The time may come when all my life will depend upon the possession of a
few pounds," she said to herself; "when I may have some chance of setting
myself free from that man."

She had begun to contemplate such a possibility already, before her
wedding-day. It was for her father's sake she was going to sell her
liberty, to take upon herself a bondage most odious to her. The time
might come when her father would be beyond the reach of shame and
disgrace, when she might find some manner of escape from her slavery.

In the meantime the days hurried on, and Providence offered her no
present means of rescue. The day of doom came nearer and nearer; for the
bailiff took part with his future son-in-law, and would hear of no
reasons which Ellen could offer for delay. He was eager to squeeze the
farmer's well-filled purse a little tighter, and he fancied he might do
this when his daughter was Stephen Whitelaw's wife. So suitor and father
were alike pitiless, and the wedding was fixed for the 10th of March.
There were no preparations to be made at Wyncomb Farmhouse. Mr. Whitelaw
did not mean to waste so much as a five-pound note upon the embellis