,
and a faint sob broke the silence round it. These things were not
unnoted by Mrs. Pryor.

One Tuesday morning, as usual, she had asked leave to rise, and now she
sat wrapped in her white dressing-gown, leaning forward in the
easy-chair, gazing steadily and patiently from the lattice. Mrs. Pryor
was seated a little behind, knitting as it seemed, but, in truth,
watching her. A change crossed her pale, mournful brow, animating its
languor; a light shot into her faded eyes, reviving their lustre; she
half rose and looked earnestly out. Mrs. Pryor, drawing softly near,
glanced over her shoulder. From this window was visible the churchyard,
beyond it the road; and there, riding sharply by, appeared a horseman.
The figure was not yet too remote for recognition. Mrs. Pryor had long
sight; she knew Mr. Moore. Just as an intercepting rising ground
concealed him from view, the clock struck twelve.

"May I lie down again?" asked Caroline.

Her nurse assisted her to bed. Having laid her down and drawn the
curtain, she stood listening near. The little couch trembled, the
suppressed sob stirred the air. A contraction as of anguish altered Mrs.
Pryor's features; she wrung her hands; half a groan escaped her lips.
She now remembered that Tuesday was Whinbury market day. Mr. Moore must
always pass the rectory on his way thither, just ere noon of that day.

Caroline wore continually round her neck a slender braid of silk,
attached to which was some trinket. Mrs. Pryor had seen the bit of gold
glisten, but had not yet obtained a fair view of it. Her patient never
parted with it. When dressed it was hidden in her bosom; as she lay in
bed she always held it in her hand. That Tuesday afternoon the transient
doze--more like lethargy than sleep--which sometimes abridged the long
days, had stolen over her. The weather was hot. While turning in febrile
restlessness, she had pushed the coverlets a little aside. Mrs. Pryor
bent to replace them. The small, wasted hand, lying nerveless on the
sick girl's breast, clasped as usual her jealously-guarded treasure.
Those fingers whose attenuation it gave pain to see were now relaxed in
sleep. Mrs. Pryor gently disengaged the braid, drawing out a tiny
locket--a slight thing it was, such as it suited her small purse to
purchase. Under its crystal face appeared a curl of black hair, too
short and crisp to have been severed from a female head.

Some agitated movement occasioned a twitch of the silken c