ill
death. Widow Thrale was grieved and shocked at the behaviour of a little
boy to whom she had ascribed superhuman goodness. A fallen idol!

However, as both were too young to be troubled with consciences, and
nothing appeared to overtax their powers of digestion, the visit was
considered a great success. In fact, it competed with a previous visit
last year, of our Dave Wardle, to the disadvantage of the latter; as
Dave and Seth had been too far apart in age, and the only point in which
Dave's visit scored was that he was big enough to carry Seth on his
shoulders, and even this had been prohibited owing to his recent
surgical experiences. The making of the comparison naturally led to the
connection of Dave, whatever it was, with the old woman at the Towers,
whom Lady Gwen had nigh lost her wits about--so folks said. "But tha
knowas what o'or Gwen be!" said Mrs. Keziah. Gwen's reputation with all
the countryside was that of waywardness and wilfulness carried to
excess, but always with an unerring nobility of object.

Old Stephen had something to say about this, and preferred to put it as
a contradiction to Keziah. "Na-ay, na-ay, wife! O'or Gwen can guess a
lady, by tokens, as well as thou or I. Tha-at be the story of it. Some
la-ady that's coom by ill-luck in her o'ald age, and no friend to hand.
She'm gotten a friend now, and a good one!" The old boy did not seem
nearly so depressed as his wife's account of him had led Strides Cottage
to believe. But then, to be sure, the first thing she had told him when
she reached home with the boy yesterday, was Mrs. Lamprey's story of Mr.
Torrens's probable restoration of sight. Hope was Hope, and the cloud
had lifted. His speculation about Mrs. Picture's possible social status
was quite a talkative effort, for him.

Somehow it did not seem convincing to his hearers. Keziah shook her head
in slow doubt. "If that were the right of it, husband, the housekeeper's
rooms would be no place for her. Gwen would not put it on her to bide
with Mrs. Masham."

Old Stephen did not acquiesce. "May happen the old soul would shrink shy
of the great folk at the Towers," said he.

"Ay, but there be none!" said his wife. She went on to say that there
was scarce a living soul now at the Castle, beyond Gwen and sundry
domestics, making ready for the Colonel on Monday. This was a gentleman
who scarcely comes into the story, a much younger brother of the
Countess, who was allowed to bring friends