fortune to be present at occurrences at which
one would particularly wish to assist."

"Where are you going this morning? I saw Murgatroyd saddling your horse
in the yard."

"To Whinbury. It is market day."

"Mr. Yorke is going too. I met him in his gig. Come home with him."

"Why?"

"Two are better than one, and nobody dislikes Mr. Yorke--at least, poor
people do not dislike him."

"Therefore he would be a protection to me, who am hated?"

"Who are _misunderstood_. That, probably, is the word. Shall you be
late?--Will he be late, Cousin Hortense?"

"It is too probable. He has often much business to transact at Whinbury.
Have you brought your exercise-book, child?"

"Yes.--What time will you return, Robert?"

"I generally return at seven. Do you wish me to be at home earlier?"

"Try rather to be back by six. It is not absolutely dark at six now, but
by seven daylight is quite gone."

"And what danger is to be apprehended, Caroline, when daylight _is_
gone? What peril do you conceive comes as the companion of darkness for
me?"

"I am not sure that I can define my fears, but we all have a certain
anxiety at present about our friends. My uncle calls these times
dangerous. He says, too, that mill-owners are unpopular."

"And I am one of the most unpopular? Is not that the fact? You are
reluctant to speak out plainly, but at heart you think me liable to
Pearson's fate, who was shot at--not, indeed, from behind a hedge, but
in his own house, through his staircase window, as he was going to bed."

"Anne Pearson showed me the bullet in the chamber-door," remarked
Caroline gravely, as she folded her mantle and arranged it and her muff
on a side-table. "You know," she continued, "there is a hedge all the
way along the road from here to Whinbury, and there are the Fieldhead
plantations to pass; but you will be back by six--or before?"

"Certainly he will," affirmed Hortense. "And now, my child, prepare your
lessons for repetition, while I put the peas to soak for the puree at
dinner."

With this direction she left the room.

"You suspect I have many enemies, then, Caroline," said Mr. Moore, "and
doubtless you know me to be destitute of friends?"

"Not destitute, Robert. There is your sister, your brother Louis, whom I
have never seen; there is Mr. Yorke, and there is my uncle--besides, of
course, many more."

Robert smiled. "You would be puzzled to name your 'many more,'" said he.
"But show me your exerc