d for him, and strove to
collect his thoughts and go on with his work. But the effort was in
vain. Bozzle would be there, presenting his document, and begging
that the maid might be rung for, in order that she might hear him
called a knave. And then he knew that on this very day his niece
intended to hand him money, which he could not refuse. Of what use
would it be to refuse it now, after it had been once taken? As he
could not write a word, he rose and went away to his wife.

"If this goes on much longer," said he, "I shall be in Bedlam."

"My dear, don't speak of it in that way!"

"That's all very well. I suppose I ought to say that I like it. There
has been a policeman here who is going to bring an action against
me."

"A policeman!"

"Some one that her husband has sent for the child."

"The boy must not be given up, Oliphant."

"It's all very well to say that, but I suppose we must obey the law.
The parsonage of St. Diddulph's isn't a castle in the Apennines. When
it comes to this, that a policeman is sent here to fetch any man's
child, and threatens me with an action because I tell him to leave my
house, it is very hard upon me, seeing how very little I've had to do
with it. It's all over the parish now that my niece is kept here away
from her husband, and that a lover comes to see her. This about the
policeman will be known now, of course. I only say it is hard; that's
all." The wife did all that she could to comfort him, reminding him
that Sir Marmaduke would be home soon, and that then the burden would
be taken from his shoulders. But she was forced to admit that it was
very hard.

CHAPTER LIII.

HUGH STANBURY IS SHEWN TO BE NO CONJUROR.

[Illustration]

Many weeks had now passed since Hugh Stanbury had paid his visit to
St. Diddulph's, and Nora Rowley was beginning to believe that her
rejection of her lover had been so firm and decided that she would
never see him or hear from him more; and she had long since confessed
to herself that if she did not see him or hear from him soon, life
would not be worth a straw to her. To all of us a single treasure
counts for much more when the outward circumstances of our life are
dull, unvaried, and melancholy, than it does when our days are full
of pleasure, or excitement, or even of business. With Nora Rowley at
St. Diddulph's life at present was very melancholy. There was little
or no society to enliven her. Her sister was sick at heart, and
be