f you, say what you mean. Now,
Monica, dear cousin, won't you tell me?'

'You see, dear, it is so lonely; it's a strange place, and he so odd. I
don't like the place, and I don't like him. I've tried, but I can't, and I
think I never shall. He may be a very--what was it that good little silly
curate at Knowl used to call him?--a very advanced Christian--that is it,
and I hope he is; but if he is only what he used to be, his utter seclusion
from society removes the only check, except personal fear--and he never had
much of that--upon a very bad man. And you must know, my dear Maud, what a
prize you are, and what an immense trust it is.'

Suddenly Cousin Monica stopped short, and looked at me as if she had gone
too far.

'But, you know, Silas may be very good _now_, although he was wild and
selfish in his young days. Indeed I don't know what to make of him; but I
am sure when you have thought it over, you will agree with me and Doctor
Bryerly, that you must not stay here.'

It was vain trying to induce my cousin to be more explicit.

'I hope to see you at Elverston in a very few days. I will _shame_ Silas
into letting you come. I don't like his reluctance.'

'But don't you think he must know that Milly would require some little
outfit before her visit?'

'Well, I can't say. I hope that is all; but be it what it may, I'll
_make_ him let you come, and _immediately_, too.' After she had gone, I
experienced a repetition of those undefined doubts which had tortured me
for some time after my conversation with Dr. Bryerly. I had truly said,
however, I was well enough contented with my mode of life here, for I had
been trained at Knowl to a solitude very nearly as profound.

CHAPTER XL

_IN WHICH I MAKE ANOTHER COUSIN'S ACQUAINTANCE_

My correspondence about this time was not very extensive. About once a
fortnight a letter from honest Mrs. Rusk conveyed to me how the dogs and
ponies were, in queer English, oddly spelt; some village gossip, a critique
upon Doctor Clay's or the Curate's last sermon, and some severities
generally upon the Dissenters' doings, with loves to Mary Quince, and all
good wishes to me. Sometimes a welcome letter from cheerful Cousin Monica;
and now, to vary the series, a copy of complimentary verses, without a
signature, very adoring--very like Byron, I then fancied, and now, I must
confess, rather vapid. Could I doubt from whom they came?

I had received, about a month after my arrival,