reply on the return of the carrier on Saturday, and she
knew that if the letter was left at the office in Corn Street she would
be sure to get it on Saturday evening.

But no reply had come. Bryda had spoken to Mr Lambert that morning about
the affairs at Bishop's Farm, and he had advised that before the Squire
could take any decided steps an appraiser, in the old man's interests,
should be dispatched to the farm to value the stock and the furniture,
and find out how far it would cover the debt and the expenses.

'I must wait till I hear from my sister,' Bryda had said. 'I dare not
take them by surprise; it would frighten poor grandfather, and upset him
again. I hope Betty will soon answer my letter.'

'Well,' Mr Lambert had replied, 'young ladies must please themselves, as
they take care to do; but if I might presume to advise, I should say
accept the Squire's proposal. I should have thought he was a likely
fellow to gain a fair maiden's favour.'

Bryda had no reply to make to this, and now, as she stood looking out on
the square, she saw a boy crossing it and looking at the houses, as if
uncertain at which to stop. Presently he came up to the door and rang
the bell, giving also a great thud with the knocker. The footboy
hastened up to open the door, and Bryda, going into the passage, heard
her name.

'Does Miss Palmer live here?'

Bryda advanced and said,--

'Yes; I am Miss Palmer.'

'This is for you, miss,' the boy said. 'I was to say it was _urgent_.'

Bryda took from the boy's hand a crumpled bit of paper, on which was
written,--

'Come at once to the old thorn tree half-way up the
hill--great distress, I must see you. I will be there at three
o'clock.

BETTY.'

The paper was so crumpled that it was hard to decipher the writing, but
it was Betty's, of that Bryda felt sure. She went hastily to the
parlour.

'Madam Lambert,' she said, 'I am come to ask leave to start at once to
meet my sister. She is in great trouble--give me leave--'

'To meet her--where? You agitate me, Miss Palmer.'

'Oh! I pray you let me go,' and Bryda, scarcely waiting for an answer,
ran upstairs, threw on her cloak and covered her head with its hood, and
then was out of the house and on her way towards Rownham Ferry.

'The shortest way, oh! which is the shortest way. Shall I be able to get
to the thorn tree by three o'clock. I know the tree, and the road when
I am once out of Bristol.'

At this moment