anged his outward appearance. "I'll go with you. I can hasten
things. If Edward goes, he must be off, as soon as possible, to Liverpool,
and leave no trace. The next packet sails the day after to-morrow. I noted
it down from the _Times_."

Maggie and he sped along the road. He spoke his thoughts aloud:

"I wonder if he will be grateful to me for this. Not that I ever mean to
look for gratitude again. I mean to try, not to care for anybody but Frank.
'Govern men by outward force,' says Mr. Henry. He is an uncommonly clever
man, and he says, the longer he lives, the more he is convinced of the
badness of men. He always looks for it now, even in those who are the best,
apparently."

Maggie was too anxious to answer, or even to attend to him. At the top of
the slope she asked him to wait while she ran down and told the result of
her conversation with him. Her mother was alone, looking white and sick.
She told her that Edward had gone into the hay-loft, above the old, disused
shippon.

Maggie related the substance of her interview with Mr. Buxton, and his wish
that Edward should go to America.

"To America!" said Mrs. Browne. "Why that's as far as Botany Bay. It's just
like transporting him. I thought you'd done something for us, you looked so
glad."

"Dearest mother, it _is_ something. He is not to be subjected to
imprisonment or trial. I must go and tell him, only I must beckon to Mr.
Buxton first. But when he comes, do show him how thankful we are for his
mercy to Edward."

Mrs. Browne's murmurings, whatever was their meaning, were lost upon
Maggie. She ran through the court, and up the slope, with the lightness of
a lawn; for though she was tired in body to an excess she had never been
before in her life, the opening beam of hope in the dark sky made her
spirit conquer her flesh for the time.

She did not stop to speak, but turned again as soon as she had signed to
Mr. Buxton to follow her. She left the house-door open for his entrance,
and passed out again through the kitchen into the space behind, which was
partly an uninclosed yard, and partly rocky common. She ran across the
little green to the shippon, and mounted the ladder into the dimly-lighted
loft. Up in a dark corner Edward stood, with an old rake in his hand.

"I thought it was you, Maggie!" said he, heaving a deep breath of relief.
"What have you done? Have you agreed to write the letter? You've done
something for me, I see by your looks."

"Yes!