ht be viewed in its finest flower, and we conducted
ourselves, like Queen Elizabeth when she trod the measure, 'high and
disposedly.' In the low oak-panelled parlour cake and currant wine were
set forth, and, after courtesies and compliments exchanged, Aunt Eliza,
greatly condescending, talked the fashions with Mrs. Larkin; while the
farmer and I, perspiring with the unusual effort, exchanged remarks on
the mutability of the weather and the steady fall in the price of corn.
(Who would have thought, to hear us, that only two short days ago we had
confronted each other on either side of a hedge? I triumphant,
provocative, derisive? He flushed, wroth, cracking his whip, and
volleying forth profanity? So powerful is all-subduing ceremony!) Sabina
the while, demurely seated with a _Pilgrim's Progress_ on her knee, and
apparently absorbed in a brightly-coloured presentment of 'Apollyon
Straddling Right across the Way,' eyed me at times with shy interest;
but repelled all Aunt Eliza's advances with a frigid politeness for
which I could not sufficiently admire her.

[Illustration: '_Who would have thought . . . that only two short days
ago we had confronted each other on either side of a hedge_']

'It's surprising to me,' I heard my aunt remark presently, 'how my
eldest nephew, Edward, despises little girls. I heard him tell Charlotte
the other day that he wished he could exchange her for a pair of
Japanese guinea-pigs. It made the poor child cry. Boys are so
heartless!' (I saw Sabina stiffen as she sat, and her tip-tilted nose
twitched scornfully.) 'Now this boy here----' (my soul descended into my
very boots. Could the woman have intercepted any of my amorous glances
at the baker's wife?) 'Now this boy,' my aunt went on, 'is more human
altogether. Only yesterday he took his sister to the baker's shop, and
spent his only penny buying her sweets. I thought it showed such a nice
disposition. I wish Edward were more like him!'

I breathed again. It was unnecessary to explain my real motives for that
visit to the baker's. Sabina's face softened, and her contemptuous
nose descended from its altitude of scorn; she gave me one shy glance of
kindness, and then concentrated her attention upon Mercy knocking at the
Wicket Gate. I felt awfully mean as regarded Edward; but what could I
do? I was in Gaza, gagged and bound; the Philistines hemmed me in.

The same evening the storm burst, the bolt fell, and--to continue the
metaphor--the