she said this, any one might perceive that some saddening change
had lately passed over her prospects, and that the faculty of cheerful
self-possession had left her. Mr. Moore, probably, remembered how she
had formerly been accustomed to meet him with gentle ardour and hopeful
confidence. He must have seen how the check of this morning had
operated. Here was an opportunity for carrying out his new system with
effect, if he chose to improve it. Perhaps he found it easier to
practise that system in broad daylight, in his mill-yard, amidst busy
occupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, at the hour of
eventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before had stood unlit on the
table, brought writing materials, and left the room. Caroline was about
to follow her. Moore, to act consistently, should have let her go;
whereas he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his hand, gently kept
her back. He did not ask her to stay, but he would not let her go.

"Shall I tell my uncle you are here?" asked she, still in the same
subdued voice.

"No; I can say to you all I had to say to him. You will be my
messenger?"

"Yes, Robert."

"Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue to the identity of
one, at least, of the men who broke my frames; that he belongs to the
same gang who attacked Sykes and Pearson's dressing-shop, and that I
hope to have him in custody to-morrow. You can remember that?"

"Oh yes!" These two monosyllables were uttered in a sadder tone than
ever; and as she said them she shook her head slightly and sighed. "Will
you prosecute him?"

"Doubtless."

"No, Robert."

"And why no, Caroline?"

"Because it will set all the neighbourhood against you more than ever."

"That is no reason why I should not do my duty, and defend my property.
This fellow is a great scoundrel, and ought to be incapacitated from
perpetrating further mischief."

"But his accomplices will take revenge on you. You do not know how the
people of this country bear malice. It is the boast of some of them that
they can keep a stone in their pocket seven years, turn it at the end of
that time, keep it seven years longer, and hurl it and hit their mark
'at last.'"

Moore laughed.

"A most pithy vaunt," said he--"one that redounds vastly to the credit
of your dear Yorkshire friends. But don't fear for me, Lina. I am on my
guard against these lamb-like compatriots of yours. Don't make yourself
uneasy about me."

"How can I help it