e, after what has passed, we
should hardly be agreeable inmates for some days.'

Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty from the first, broke out
upon this into an inarticulate noise, and raised one hand with an
appearance of real dismay, as if he were about to interfere and
contradict. But she checked him at once looking up at him with a swift
glance and an angry flush upon her cheek.

'You will perhaps have the good grace,' she said, 'to let me explain
these matters for myself.'

Will was put entirely out of countenance by her expression and the ring
of her voice. He held his peace, concluding that there were some things
about this girl beyond his comprehension, in which he was exactly right.

The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to prove that this was
no more than a true lovers' tiff, which would pass off before night; and
when he was dislodged from that position, he went on to argue that where
there was no quarrel there could be no call for a separation; for the
good man liked both his entertainment and his host. It was curious to
see how the girl managed them, saying little all the time, and that very
quietly, and yet twisting them round her finger and insensibly leading
them wherever she would by feminine tact and generalship. It scarcely
seemed to have been her doing--it seemed as if things had merely so
fallen out--that she and her father took their departure that same
afternoon in a farm-cart, and went farther down the valley, to wait,
until their own house was ready for them, in another hamlet. But Will
had been observing closely, and was well aware of her dexterity and
resolution. When he found himself alone he had a great many curious
matters to turn over in his mind. He was very sad and solitary, to begin
with. All the interest had gone out of his life, and he might look up at
the stars as long as he pleased, he somehow failed to find support or
consolation. And then he was in such a turmoil of spirit about Marjory.
He had been puzzled and irritated at her behaviour, and yet he could not
keep himself from admiring it. He thought he recognised a fine, perverse
angel in that still soul which he had never hitherto suspected; and
though he saw it was an influence that would fit but ill with his own
life of artificial calm, he could not keep himself from ardently desiring
to possess it. Like a man who has lived among shadows and now meets the
sun, he was both pained and delight