ing one afternoon.
Mother and daughter were in the lean-to. Diana looked out, and saw with
a pang of various feelings what waggon it was.

"Ain't that the Elmfield folks?"

"I think so."

"I know so. I thought Mrs. Reverdy and the rest had run away from the
cold."

"Didn't you know Miss Masters had been sick?"

"How should I know it?"

"I heard so. I didn't know but you had heard it."

"I can't hear things without somebody tells me. Go along up-stairs,
Diana, and put on something."

Diana obeyed, but she was very quick about it; she was nervously afraid
lest while she was absent some word should be said that she would not
have lost for the whole world. What had they come for, these people?
Was the secret out, perhaps, and had they come to bring her a letter?
Or to say why Evan had not written? Could he have been sick? A feverish
whirlwind of thoughts rushed through Diana's head while she was
fastening her dress; and she went down and came into the parlour with
two beautiful spots of rose colour upon her cheeks. They were
fever-spots. Diana had been pale of late; but she looked gloriously
handsome as she entered the room. Bad for her. A common-looking woman
might have heard news from Evan; the instant resolve in the hearts of
the two ladies who had come to visit her was, that this girl should
hear none.

They were, however, exceedingly gracious and agreeable. Mrs. Reverdy
entered with flattering interest into all the matters of household and
farm detail respecting which Mrs. Starling chose to be communicative;
responded with details of her own. How it was impossible to get good
butter made, unless you made it yourself. How servants were
unsatisfactory, even in Pleasant Valley; and how delightful it was to
be able to do without them, as Mrs. Starling did and Diana.

"I should like it of all things," said Mrs. Reverdy with her unfailing
laugh; a little, well-bred, low murmur of a laugh. "It must be so
delightful to have your biscuits always light and never tasting of
soda; and your butter always as if it was made of cowslips; and your
eggs always fresh. We never have fresh eggs," continued Mrs. Reverdy,
shaking her head solemnly;--"never. I never dare to have them boiled."

"What becomes of them?" said a new voice; and Mr. Masters entered the
field--in other words, the room. Diana's heart contracted with a pang;
was this another hindrance in the way of her hearing what she wanted?
But the rest of the ladies