ion, and impressed as the utterance of a large and strong nature.
'You are tired, too, with travel; I can see that. When did you reach
Dunfield?'

'Half an hour ago.'

'And you came here at once. Beatrice and I were on the point of going to
Hebsworth this afternoon; I rejoice that we did not. I'm continually
afraid lest she should find the house dull. My husband and myself are
alone. My eldest girl was married three months ago, my younger one is
just gone to Germany, and my son is spending half a year in the United
States; the mother finds herself a little forsaken. It was really more
than kind of Beatrice to come and bury herself with me for a week or
two.'

She passed by tactful transition to the matter in hand.

'Wasn't it a strange link that she should meet Miss Hood at your house!
She has been so saddened. I never yet knew any one who could talk with
Emily without feeling deep interest in her. My daughter Louisa, I am
convinced, will never forget what she owes to her teacher She and my
youngest child used to be Miss Hood's pupils--perhaps you have heard?
My own Emily--she is dead--was passionately fond of her namesake; she
talked of her among the last words she ever spoke, poor little mite.'

'Miss Redwing tells me you saw her yesterday,' Wilfrid said.

'Yes, for the first time.'

'Was she conscious?'

'Quite. But I was afraid to talk to her more than a minute or two; even
that excited her too much. I fear you must not let her know yet of your
presence.'

'I am glad I knew nothing of this till the worst was over. From the way
in which she spoke of her father I should have feared horrible things.
Did you know him with any intimacy?'

'Only slightly, I am sorry to say. The poor man seems to have had a very
hard life; it is clear to me that sheer difficulty in making ends meet
drove him out of his senses. Are you a student of political economy?'
she asked suddenly, looking into Wilfrid's face with a peculiar smile.

'I am not. Why do you ask?'

'It is the one subject on which my husband and I hold no truce. Mr.
Baxendale makes it one of his pet studies, whilst I should like to make
a bonfire of every volume containing such cruel nonsense. You must know,
Mr. Athel, that I have an evil reputation in Dunfield; my views are held
dangerous; they call me a socialist. Mr. Baxendale, when particularly
angry, offers to hire the hall in the Corn Exchange, that I may say my
say and henceforth spare him at home. No