slipped out of the party, and was at
home the first, and when this recurred in the afternoon Ethel began
to understand his motive. The High Street led past the spot where the
accident had taken place, though neither she nor any of the others knew
exactly where it was, except Norman, on whose mind the scene was branded
indelibly; she guessed that it was to avoid it that he went along what
was called Randall's Alley, his usual short cut to school.

The Sunday brought back to the children that there was no one to hear
their hymns; but Richard was a great comfort, watching over the little
ones more like a sister than a brother. Ethel was ashamed of herself
when she saw him taking thought for them, tying Blanche's bonnet,
putting Aubrey's gloves on, teaching them to put away their Sunday toys,
as if he meant them to be as neat and precise as himself.

Dr. May did not encounter the family dinner, nor attempt a second going
to church; but Blanche was very glorious as she led him down to drink
tea, and, before going up again, he had a conversation with Alan
Ernescliffe, who felt himself obliged to leave Stoneborough early on the
morrow.

"I can endure better to go now," said he, "and I shall hear of you
often; Hector will let me know, and Richard has promised to write."

"Ay, you must let us often have a line. I should guess you were a
letter-writing man."

"I have hitherto had too few friends who cared to hear of me to write
much, but the pleasure of knowing that any interest is taken in me
here--"

"Well," said the doctor, "mind that a letter will always be welcome, and
when you are coming southwards, here are your old quarters. We cannot
lose sight of you anyway, especially"--and his voice quivered--"after
the help you gave my poor boys and girls in their distress."

"It would be the utmost satisfaction to think I had been of the smallest
use," said Alan, hiding much under these commonplace words.

"More than I know," said Dr. May; "too much to speak of. Well, we shall
see you again, though it is a changed place, and you must come and see
your god-daughter--poor child--may she only be brought up as her sisters
were! They will do their best, poor things, and so must I, but it is sad
work!"

Both were too much overcome for words, but the doctor was the first to
continue, as he took off his dimmed spectacles. He seemed to wish to
excuse himself for giving way; saying, with a look that would fain have
been a smile, "