ll, it was limited; a separation not to exceed three
months, possibly much shorter. On the whole, too, I pleased myself with
thinking Uncle Silas's note, though peremptory, was kind.

Our paroxysms subsided into sadness; a close correspondence was arranged.
Something of the bustle and excitement of change supervened. If it turned
out to be, in truth, a 'charming residence,' how very delightful our
meeting in France, with the interest of foreign scenery, ways, and faces,
would be!

So Thursday arrived--a new gush of sorrow--a new brightening up--and, amid
regrets and anticipations, we parted at the gate at the farther end of the
Windmill Wood. Then, of course, were more good-byes, more embraces, and
tearful smiles. Good Mrs. Jolks, who met us there, was in a huge fuss; I
believe it was her first visit to the metropolis, and she was in proportion
heated and important, and terrified about the train, so we had not many
last words.

I watched poor Milly, whose head was stretched from the window, her hand
waving many adieux, until the curve of the road, and the clump of old
ash-trees, thick with ivy, hid Milly, carriage and all, from view. My eyes
filled again with tears. I turned towards Bartram. At my side stood honest
Mary Quince.

'Don't take on so, Miss; 'twon't be no time passing; three months is
nothing at all,' she said, smiling kindly.

I smiled through my tears and kissed the good creature, and so side by side
we re-entered the gate.

The lithe young man in fustian, whom I had seen talking with Beauty on the
morning of our first encounter with that youthful Amazon, was awaiting our
re-entrance with the key in his hand. He stood half behind the open wicket.
One lean brown cheek, one shy eye, and his sharp up-turned nose, I saw as
we passed. He was treating me to a stealthy scrutiny, and seemed to shun my
glance, for he shut the door quickly, and busied himself locking it, and
then began stubbing up some thistles which grew close by, with the toe of
his thick shoe, his back to us all the time.

It struck me that I recognised his features, and I asked Mary Quince.

'Have you seen that young man before, Quince?'

'He brings up game for your uncle, sometimes, Miss, and lends a hand in the
garden, I believe.'

'Do you know his name, Mary?'

'They call him Tom, I don't know what more, Miss.'

'Tom,' I called; 'please, Tom, come here for a moment.'

Tom turned about, and approached slowly. He was more civil t