tain.

"I hope the poor things are not in any trouble," she thought. "They were
afraid the young man in the sitting-room was engaged. If he got married
and left them, I don't know what they would do; he has been so regular."

Though the day was hot, the weather was perfect, and Emily, having
exchanged her easy slippers for an almost equally easy pair of tan
shoes, found her tired feet might still be used. Her disposition to make
the very best of things inspired her to regard even an eight-mile walk
with courage. The moorland air was so sweet, the sound of the bees
droning as they stumbled about in the heather was such a comfortable,
peaceful thing, that she convinced herself that she should find the four
miles to Maundell quite agreeable.

She had so many nice things to think of that she temporarily forgot that
she had put Mrs. Cupp's letter in her pocket, and was half-way across
the moor before she remembered it.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed when she recalled it. "I must see what has
happened."

She opened the envelope and began to read as she walked; but she had not
taken many steps before she uttered an exclamation and stopped.

"How very nice for them!" she said, but she turned rather pale.

From a worldly point of view the news the letter contained was indeed
very nice for the Cupps, but it put a painful aspect upon the simple
affairs of poor Miss Fox-Seton.

"It is a great piece of news, in one way," wrote Mrs. Cupp, "and yet me
and Jane can't help feeling a bit low at the thought of the changes it
will make, and us living where you won't be with us, if I may take the
liberty, miss. My brother William made a good bit of money in Australia,
but he has always been homesick for the old country, as he always calls
England. His wife was a Colonial, and when she died a year ago he made
up his mind to come home to settle in Chichester, where he was born. He
says there's nothing like the feeling of a Cathedral town. He's bought
such a nice house a bit out, with a big garden, and he wants me and Jane
to come and make a home with him. He says he has worked hard all his
life, and now he means to be comfortable, and he can't be bothered with
housekeeping. He promises to provide well for us both, and he wants us
to sell up Mortimer Street, and come as quick as possible. But we
_shall_ miss you, miss, and though her Uncle William keeps a trap and
everything according, and Jane is grateful for his kindness, she broke
down