ay to her.'

'Your honour,' pleaded the butler, rubbing his hands, and putting on an
additional coating of humility, 'the poor woman's dreadful overcome, and
says she can't sleep a wink this blessed night without seeing your
honour, and she begs you to pardon the great freedom she's took to come
at this time. She cries fit to break her heart.'

'Ay, ay; water pays no tax. Well, show her into the library.'

Coffee despatched, the two young men walked out through the open window,
and joined the ladies on the lawn, while Sir Christopher made his way to
the library, solemnly followed by Rupert, his pet bloodhound, who, in his
habitual place at the Baronet's right hand, behaved with great urbanity
during dinner; but when the cloth was drawn, invariably disappeared under
the table, apparently regarding the claret-jug as a mere human weakness,
which he winked at, but refused to sanction.

The library lay but three steps from the dining-room, on the other side
of a cloistered and matted passage. The oriel window was overshadowed by
the great beech, and this, with the flat heavily-carved ceiling and the
dark hue of the old books that lined the walls, made the room look
sombre, especially on entering it from the dining-room, with its aerial
curves and cream-coloured fretwork touched with gold. As Sir Christopher
opened the door, a jet of brighter light fell on a woman in a widow's
dress, who stood in the middle of the room, and made the deepest of
curtsies as he entered. She was a buxom woman approaching forty, her eyes
red with the tears which had evidently been absorbed by the handkerchief
gathered into a damp ball in her right hand.

'Now. Mrs. Hartopp,' said Sir Christopher, taking out his gold snuff-box
and tapping the lid, 'what have you to say to me? Markham has delivered
you a notice to quit, I suppose?'

'O yis, your honour, an' that's the reason why I've come. I hope your
honour 'll think better on it, an' not turn me an' my poor children out
o' the farm, where my husband al'ys paid his rent as reglar as the day
come.'

'Nonsense! I should like to know what good it will do you and your
children to stay on a farm and lose every farthing your husband has left
you, instead of selling your stock and going into some little place where
you can keep your money together. It is very well known to every tenant
of mine that I never allow widows to stay on their husbands' farms.'

'O, Sir Christifer, if you _would_ consider