f you had seen a ghost, Miss Palmer.' Then, with a laugh,
'Ah! I remember it was at Easter you were to make your decision. Well,
well, don't take it too much to heart. Good-bye, mother. Don't expect me
till you see me,' and then the little lawyer, bristling with importance,
was gone.

It was a long and weary day--cold and stormy; and after Bryda had
finished her domestic duties she could only sit in the parlour with Mrs
Lambert, listening for the sound of every step upon the pavement,
starting when the door bell rang, and relieved when Sam appeared in the
parlour with some message or note for Mr Lambert, which was to be
delivered to him on his return.

Even if Chatterton had still been at the office Bryda might have gained
some news. She wondered if the story of the fray had reached Bristol,
for birds of the air do carry a matter even from the loneliness of the
upward path to the table-land of the Mendips. But the day dragged
wearily on to evening, and still no news. Mrs Lambert was very fractious
and fault-finding, and complained that a hole in a bit of lace had been
so ill mended that she must have every thread unpicked. Then the water
for the tea was smoked, and the 'muffin' too much buttered, with a dozen
more grievances of a like character, which were simple torture to poor
Bryda's heavy, anxious heart.

Just as the twilight of the spring evening was deepening, and Mrs
Lambert ordered Bryda to fetch the candles and lay the cloth for supper,
a very gentle ring at the bell was heard--so gentle this time that it
did not attract Mrs Lambert's attention, and Bryda was in the hall
before Sam had time to appear.

As he opened the door Bryda heard a voice she knew to be Chatterton's.

'I must see Miss Palmer,' he said. 'Let me in, you little fool.'

Sam made a grimace and said,--

'You ain't wanted here. They say you are a bad 'un--so be off.'

Then Bryda sprang forward.

'Let me speak to Mr Chatterton,' she said; and in another moment she was
standing on the doorstep with him.

'I have brought you a message, Miss Palmer. I saw Jack Henderson aboard
ship for America last night. He bid me say you need never trouble about
him again, but that, wherever he goes, he will hold you in remembrance.
Poor fellow! he seemed in frightful misery about killing the man; but
if, as he says, in fair fight, there is nothing so extraordinary in
it--it happens every day--only last week, in Bath, a man was killed in a
duel.'

'Bu