unced the
approach of the sun, the birds began to sing in full chorus. A lark
soared high above Jack's head, and lost itself in the blue ether in an
ecstasy of rejoicing.

The sleepy cows raised their clumsy forms and began to chew the grass. A
company of rooks, in a black line, winged their way, cawing as they
went, to seek a breakfast for their young ones, yet in their nests in
the mass of elms which stood dark against the sky in the direction of
Binegar.

From afar came the gentle coo of the wood-pigeon, and the bleating of
the lambs in a fold, awaiting the shepherd's voice to go forth with
their mothers to try their newly acquired strength on the soft turf of
the uplands.

Jack's honest heart was filled with an emotion he could not have put
into words. He only knew that Bryda reigned there supreme. All these
sights and sounds of beauty, and the youth of the day and of the year,
were in harmony with his love for her, though he was only conscious that
it was a fine morning and he was glad to be astir early to serve her.

When Jack Henderson reached the Bishop's Farm no one seemed to be
stirring. He approached the wall which skirted the farmyard very
cautiously, and lifting the loose stone of the coping, found the letter.
He placed it carefully in the large pocket of his long buff waistcoat,
which reached far below the waist of his blue coat, and hid the upper
part of the short corduroys, which were met at the knee by coarse
stockings, and fastened by large metal buttons.

For a moment Jack paused. He looked up at the old farm, and at the open
casement of the room where he knew Bryda and Betty slept.

His heart beat with mingled feelings of hope and fear.

'If any harm should come to her from going to Bristol I shall have had a
hand in it. Yet it's what she wants, and I have done it for her sake.
Oh, bless her!' he continued, taking off his hat and gazing at the
window. 'I say, God bless her, and keep her safe!'

And Bryda, all unconscious of this benediction, murmured in her sleep
the last lines of the stanza of her elegy on the lamb which she had
composed the night before, and which was interrupted by the vain hunt
for a rhyme to 'won.'

'When all the battle's o'er, the victory won,
Ah! whither are they flown?'

Bryda awoke with the question on her lips to which she could find no
rhyme and no answer.

Jack Henderson knew his way about Bristol, and found himself in Dowry
Square just as the dee