the heir of the Hobbs's honours, losing, in contempt at the girl's
ignorance, his first impression of sympathy.

"And--and--Mr. Butler, is he gone too?"

Poor child! she spoke as if the cottage was gone, not improved; the
Ionic portico had no charm for her!

"Butler!--no such person lives here. Pa, do you know where Mr. Butler
lives?"

Pa was now moving up to the place of conference the slow artillery of
his fair round belly and portly calves. "Butler, no--I know nothing
of such a name--no Mr. Butler lives here. Go along with you--ain't you
ashamed to beg?"

"No Mr. Butler!" said the girl, gasping for breath, and clinging to the
gate for support. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Sure, yes!--what do you want with him?"

"Oh, papa, she looks faint!" said one of the _girls_ deprecatingly--"do
let her have something to eat; I'm sure she's hungry."

Mr. Hobbs looked angry; he had often been taken in, and no rich man
likes beggars. Generally speaking, the rich man is in the right. But
then Mr. Hobbs turned to the suspected tramper's sorrowful face and then
to his fair pretty child--and his good angel whispered something to Mr.
Hobbs's heart--and he said, after a pause, "Heaven forbid that we should
not feel for a poor fellow-creature not so well to do as ourselves. Come
in, my lass, and have a morsel to eat."

The girl did not seem to hear him, and he repeated the invitation,
approaching to unlock the gate.

"No, sir," said she, then; "no, I thank you. I could not come in now.
I could not eat here. But tell me, sir, I implore you, can you not even
guess where I may find Mr. Butler?"

"Butler!" said Mrs. Hobbs, whom curiosity had now drawn to the spot. "I
remember that was the name of the gentleman who hired the place, and was
robbed."

"Robbed!" said Mr. Hobbs, falling back and relocking the gate--"and the
new tea-pot just come home," he muttered inly. "Come, be off, child--be
off; we know nothing of your Mr. Butlers."

The young woman looked wildly in his face, cast a hurried glance over
the altered spot, and then, with a kind of shiver, as if the wind had
smitten her delicate form too rudely, she drew her cloak more closely
round her shoulders, and without saying another word, moved away. The
party looked after her as, with trembling steps, she passed down the
road, and all felt that pang of shame which is common to the human heart
at the sight of a distress it has not sought to soothe. But this feeling
vanished at o