st few
days she appeared to grow lighter in mind; she talked more freely with
those who came to see her, and gladly accepted friendly aid in little
practical matters which had to be seen to. Half-way between Banbrigg and
Dunfield lay the cemetery; there she passed a part of every morning,
sometimes in grief which opened all the old wounds, more often in
concentration of thought such as made her unaware of the passage of
time. The winter weather was not severe; not seldom a thin gleam of
sunshine would pass from grave to grave, and give promise of spring in
the said reign of the year's first month. Emily was almost the only
visitor at the hour she chose. She had given directions for the raising
of a stone at the grave-head; as yet there was only the newly-sodded
hillock. Close at hand was a grave on which friends placed hot-house
flowers, sheltering them beneath glass. Emily had no desire to express
her mourning in that way; the flower of her love was planted where it
would not die.

But she longed to bring her time of waiting to an end. The steps she had
as yet taken had led to nothing. She had not requested Mrs. Baxendale to
make inquiries for her, and her friend, thinking she understood the
reason, did not volunteer assistance, nor did she hear any particulars
of the correspondence that went on. Ultimately, Emily communicated with
her acquaintances in Liverpool, who were at once anxious to serve her.
She told them that she would by preference find a place in a school. And
at length they drew her attention to an advertisement which seemed
promising; it was for a teacher in a girls' school near Liverpool. A
brief correspondence led to her being engaged.

She was in perfect readiness to depart. For a day or two she had not
seen Mrs. Baxendale, and, on the afternoon before the day of her leaving
Banbrigg, she went to take leave of her friends. It was her intention to
visit Mrs. Baxendale first, then to go on to the Cartwrights'. As it
rained, she walked to Pendal and took train for Dunfield.

At Dunfield station she was delayed for some moments in leaving the
carriage by travellers who got out before her with complexities of
baggage. To reach the exit of the station she had to cross the line by a
bridge, and at the foot of this bridge stood the porter who collected
tickets. As she drew near to him her eyes fell upon a figure moving
before her, that of a young man, wearing thick travelling apparel and
carrying a bag. Sh