nt is full of the fruition of joy to
which that very past led.

"This is our last evening," Gilbert said; "I hope, if I can be of any
use, you will write to me."

"Yes," Joyce said, "and I feel as if the worst were over now. If
Melville has a year abroad with the gentleman the bishop recommends, he
may settle afterwards. Of course it is a great pull upon father's purse;
but if Harry and Bunny can get into the navy we shall be able to
manage."

"When we are settled in Clifton I hope you will come and see my mother."

"Oh! I should like that very much; but I have a visit to Barley Wood to
come first, and then in the winter I must do all I can to cheer father.
He feels the want of out-door exercise now he has given up his hunters.
He used to ride to the meet very often."

"I am sorry he has had to give that up, all through Melville's
extravagance."

"Yes, and then farming has been so bad the last year or two. I hope it
may be a better crop this year; but the wheat in this district is very
poor at all times. We must not get too much to the right," she said, "or
we shall get near the miners, who are a rough set of people. Mrs. More
has had a school in these parts for many years; but there are a great
many discontented folks, who seem to think the gentry are their natural
enemies. That man we saw the day you came to Wells was from these
parts."

Joyce raised her voice in a clear, ringing tone, and called her brothers
by name.

"They have gone on so far in front," she said; "but I feel sure this is
the right track." She called again, but there was no reply.

"We had better walk faster," she said, "or we shall be left behind;"
then she stopped.

"I see a man lying in that dip under the gorse-bushes. I hope he will
not beg."

She had scarcely spoken the words when a huge form rose before them,
and stood in the narrow track between the heather and gorse, filling up
the path.

"You are Squire Falconer's lass, ain't you?" he said, defiantly.

"Yes," Gilbert answered, "yes; this is Miss Falconer, of Fair Acres. How
long are you going to stand there and prevent us from passing you?"

"Till I've settled my score. Your gov'nor was hard on me t'other day; he
tried to get me sent to gaol. I'll smash his head for 'im next time I
come across 'im, sure as my name is Bob Priday!"

The broad, Somersetshire lingo made the man all but unintelligible to
Gilbert; but Joyce understood him well enough.

"Ye hand me out a guine