the old lady an arm to the altar.

Bryda sank down on her knees, and all unbidden tears forced their way
through her fingers. She felt outside, poor child, and uncared for, and
so sorely in need of some help in what was likely to be a crisis in her
life.

If the Squire persisted, what should she do? Then, with a great longing
of prayer, she asked for wisdom to do what was best and right--and to
marry the Squire could never be best and right. Better let everything at
the farm be sold. Better let her grandfather suffer than consent to what
would be a sin. Then the remembrance of Mrs Lambert's words the day
before made her cheeks burn, and she rose up at last determined to let
Betty know that immediate steps must be taken and the large sum raised
to pay off the debt.

That afternoon Jack Henderson was not disappointed of his walk. He
appeared dressed in his best, with a large bunch of primroses, bought in
the market the day before in his hand, and two or three in his
buttonhole.

The bunch he presented to Bryda, who returned with them, for a minute,
to the parlour, and filling a vase with water, placed them on the little
table where the volume of sermons lay.

'Mr Henderson brought them for me, madam,' she said. 'It is too large a
posy to carry, so I will beg you to accept them.'

Mrs Lambert was pleased to sniff the flowers and say,--

'I am much obleeged to you, my dear. Mr Lambert considers Mr Henderson's
nephew a very respectable young man. I have no objections to your
keeping his company--he is, of course, in your own class of life,' she
said significantly.

'What have you done with the posy, Bryda,' Jack asked.

'It was far too big to carry with me, so I put the poor flowers in
water. Now let us go up on the Downs. I am in the mood for a long
stroll. Don't be cross about the posy, Jack.'

'I am not cross that I know of,' was the reply.

Then there was a long climb to the heights above the Hot Wells, and at
last, on the vantage ground where the old snuff-mill stood, now the
well-known observatory, the two sat down on a boulder of limestone to
rest. There were no houses near, thus nothing interrupted the view in
any direction. The budding woods on the other side of the great gorge,
now spanned by the famous Suspension Bridge, were just wearing their
first delicate veil of emerald. Away, far away, the blue mountains of
the Welsh coast stood out against the clear sky, and the sloping sides
of the Mendips, w