id not trust me. It was well therefore to let you understand I
could keep a secret. I let you know now only because I see you are
troubled about her. I fear you have not got her to take any comfort,
poor lady!"

Dorothy stood silent, gazing down with big, frightened eyes at the
strange creature who looked steadfastly up at her from under what seemed
a huge hat--for his head was as large as that of a tall man. He seemed
to be reading her very thoughts.

"I can trust you, Miss Drake," he resumed. "If I did not, I should have
at once acquainted the authorities with my suspicions; for, you will
observe, you are hiding from a community a fact which it has a right to
know. But I have faith enough in you to believe that you are only
waiting a fit time, and have good reasons for what you do. If I can give
you any help, I am at your service."

He took off his big hat, and turned away into the house.

Dorothy stood fixed for a moment or two longer, then walked slowly away,
with her eyes on the ground. Before she reached the Old House, she had
made up her mind to tell Polwarth as much as she could without betraying
Juliet's secret, and to ask him to talk to her, for which she would
contrive an opportunity.

For some time she had been growing more anxious every day. No sign of
change showed in any quarter; no way opened through the difficulties
that surrounded them, while these were greatly added to by the
likelihood appearing that another life was on its way into them. What
was to be done? How was she in her ignorance so to guard the hopeless
wife that motherhood might do something to console her? She had two
lives upon her hands, and did indeed want counsel. The man who knew
their secret already--the minor prophet, she had heard the curate call
him--might at least help her to the next step she must take.

Juliet's mental condition was not at all encouraging. She was often
ailing and peevish, behaving as if she owed Dorothy grudge instead of
gratitude. And indeed to herself Dorothy would remark that if nothing
more came out of it than seemed likely now, Juliet would be under no
very ponderous obligation to her. She found it more and more difficult
to interest her in any thing. After Othello she did not read another
play. Nothing pleased her but to talk about her husband. If Dorothy had
seen him, Juliet had endless questions to put to her about him; and when
she had answered as many of them as she could, she would put them al