after thee!"

"The Lord, mother, makes us different for purposes of his own. Of all
the lasses I ever see, to my eyes she was the comeliest." The old
woman couldn't speak now, but rubbed her moist cheeks with her raised
apron. "I'll ask Mr. Toffy to-morrow, mother," continued Fanny, "and
if she be still at that place in Salisbury where Mr. Fenwick put her,
I'll just go to her. Father won't turn me out of the house along of
it."

"Turn thee out, Fan! He'll never turn thee out. What 'd a do, or what
'd I do if thee was to go away from us? If thou dost go, Fan, take
her a few bits of things that are lying there in the big press, and
'll never be used other gait. I warrant the poor child 'll be but
badly off for under-clothing."

And then they planned how the journey on the morrow should be
made,--after the constable should have been questioned, and the Vicar
should have been consulted. Fanny would leave home immediately after
breakfast, and when the miller should ask after her at dinner his
wife should tell him that his daughter had gone to Salisbury. If
further question should be asked,--and it was thought possible that
no further question would be asked, as the father would then guess
the errand on which his daughter would have gone,--but if the subject
were further mooted, Mrs. Brattle, with such courage as she might be
able to assume, should acknowledge the business that had taken Fanny
to Salisbury. Then there arose questions about money. Mr. Fenwick had
owned, thinking that he might thereby ease the mother's heart, that
for the present Carry was maintained by him. To take this task upon
themselves the mother and daughter were unable. The money which they
had in hand, very small in amount, was, they knew, the property of
the head of the family. That they could do no permanent good to Carry
was a great grief. But it might be something if they could comfort
her for awhile.

"I don't think but what her heart 'll still be soft to thee, Fan; and
who knows but what it may bring her round to see thy face, and hear
thy voice."

At that moment Fanny heard a sound in the garden, and stretched her
head and shoulders quickly out of the window. They had been late at
the mill that evening, and it was now eleven o'clock. It had been
still daylight when the miller had left them at tea; but the night
had crept on them as they had sat there. There was no moon, but there
was still something left of the reflection of the last col