* * * * *

Possibly Miss Keeldar resented her former teacher's rejection of her
courtesy. It is certain she did not repeat the offer of it. Often as her
light step traversed the gallery in the course of a day, it did not
again pause at his door; nor did her "cooing, vibrating voice" disturb a
second time the hush of the sickroom. A sickroom, indeed, it soon ceased
to be; Mr. Moore's good constitution quickly triumphed over his
indisposition. In a few days he shook it off, and resumed his duties as
tutor.

That "auld lang syne" had still its authority both with preceptor and
scholar was proved by the manner in which he sometimes promptly passed
the distance she usually maintained between them, and put down her high
reserve with a firm, quiet hand.

One afternoon the Sympson family were gone out to take a carriage
airing. Shirley, never sorry to snatch a reprieve from their society,
had remained behind, detained by business, as she said. The business--a
little letter-writing--was soon dispatched after the yard gates had
closed on the carriage; Miss Keeldar betook herself to the garden.

It was a peaceful autumn day. The gilding of the Indian summer mellowed
the pastures far and wide. The russet woods stood ripe to be stripped,
but were yet full of leaf. The purple of heath-bloom, faded but not
withered, tinged the hills. The beck wandered down to the Hollow,
through a silent district; no wind followed its course or haunted its
woody borders. Fieldhead gardens bore the seal of gentle decay. On the
walks, swept that morning, yellow leaves had fluttered down again. Its
time of flowers, and even of fruits, was over; but a scantling of
apples enriched the trees. Only a blossom here and there expanded pale
and delicate amidst a knot of faded leaves.

These single flowers--the last of their race--Shirley culled as she
wandered thoughtfully amongst the beds. She was fastening into her
girdle a hueless and scentless nosegay, when Henry Sympson called to her
as he came limping from the house.

"Shirley, Mr. Moore would be glad to see you in the schoolroom and to
hear you read a little French, if you have no more urgent occupation."

The messenger delivered his commission very simply, as if it were a mere
matter of course.

"Did Mr. Moore tell you to say that?"

"Certainly; why not? And now, do come, and let us once more be as we
were at Sympson Grove. We used to have pleasant school-hours i