our Mrs. Grey,' as Raby
called her. Scarcely a day passed without seeing her at the Grange,
and very often, as I knew, Raby called at the cottage.

"When I was with him their conversation was always about Pierrepoint,
about the workmen's club Raby had started, and the mothers' meeting
that was Mrs. Grey's hobby; she was certainly, in spite of her weak
health, a most active creature; Raby always seemed to defer to her
opinion. He told Margaret that Mrs. Grey was one of the most
clear-headed women he had ever met, that her large-minded views were
always surprising him. I used to listen in silence to all this. I
liked Mrs. Grey, but I began to be jealous of her influence; I thought
Raby was too much guided by her judgment--perhaps he was fascinated by
her sweet looks.

"'Small beginnings make large endings.' 'Behold how great a matter a
little fire kindleth.' Even in a small country place like Sandycliffe
there are busy and mischievous tongues. Presently a whisper reached my
ears that fanned the smoldering embers of discontent within me to a
scorching flame.

"Raby was a young unmarried man, and Mrs. Grey was young and
attractive. What if people declared that her heart was buried in her
husband's grave, and that she would, never marry again; they knew
young widows always said those sort of things. Perhaps the vicar would
induce her to change her mind some day. It would be such an excellent
match, they went on; they were evidently cut out for each other, both
so good; and then she was rich, it would be such a fortunate thing for
Mr. Ferrers, especially when his sister left him; and then, looking at
me, they supposed I should go to Redmond Hall with my cousin when she
married. People talked like this to us both. Margaret used to laugh as
though she were amused at the notion, and she seemed to expect me to
laugh too; then she got a little indignant, and contradicted the
report gravely. Nothing of the kind could ever happen, she said--she
wished those busybodies would leave Raby and Mona alone; Mona was her
friend, not his. But somehow I did not believe her. Fern, you look at
me reproachfully, you think I ought to have been wiser; but how could
I know; I was Raby's adopted child, his pet, but Mrs. Grey was more
his equal in age, and she was very pretty. Her fair delicate style of
beauty, and her extreme softness and gentleness might be dangerously
attractive to a man like Raby, and I feared--I distrusted her.

"Alas! in a