At length, controlling the tide of feeling, Mr. Hardwick said,—­“D-don’t be cast down, Mark; these tears are not b-bitter, but f-full of joy.  Th-there, now, go and kiss your sister and Lizzie.”

The girls appeared wiping their eyes, for they had left the room overpowered; they greeted Mark affectionately, and then all sat down about the hearth.  Topics enough there were.  Mark told of his pursuits and prospects.  The village gossip about the lost servant-girl, (of whom Mark knew something, but had reasons for silence,) the approaching marriage of Mrs. Kinloch, and the exile of the heiress from her own home, were all discussed.  After a reasonable time, Mark excused himself and went to Mr. Alford’s, pondering much on the strange events that had perplexed the usually quiet village.  He reached the house, after a brief walk, and was met by Aunt Mercy, the portly mistress, but with something less than her accustomed cordiality.

“Miss Kinloch is not able to see company,” she said, “and must be excused.”

Mark poured forth a torrent of questions, to which Mrs. Alford listened, her broad features softening visibly; and at length, with an apparent effort, she asked him “to come agin to-morrer or the day arter.”

The more Mark reflected on Mrs. Alford’s behavior, the more he was puzzled.  Had Mildred denied him admission?  His own betrothed refuse to see him!  No, he was sure she was sick; and besides, she could not have heard of his coming.  So he soothed himself.  But the imps of suspicion and jealousy still haunted him at intervals, and a more miserable man than the usually buoyant and sanguine Mark it would be difficult to find.

The next day, as soon as breakfast was over, Mark, though trying to cheer up his uncle, was secretly longing for the hour when it would be proper to present himself at Mr. Alford’s.  But time does move, albeit with lagging pace to a lover, and in due season Mark was on his way.  Near the house he met the farmer, who greeted him heartily, and wished him joy with a knowing smile.  Mark took a freer breath; if there was any difficulty, Mr. Alford certainly did not know it.  But then it occurred to him, that shy young ladies do not often make confidants of elderly husbandmen in long blue frocks, and his spirits fell again.

Mr. Alford leaned against a fence and threshed his hands to keep them warm, while he told Mark that “he had been with Mildred privately out to the Probate Court,—­that the case had been stated to the jedge, who allowed, that, as she was above fourteen, she had a right to choose her own guardeen,—­that he, Alford, was to be put in, in place of the Squire,—­and that then, in his opinion, there would be an overhaulin’ so’s to hev things set to rights.”

Mark shook the hand of his good friend warmly, and commended his shrewdness.

“But ‘ta’n’t best to stan’ talkin’ with an ol’ feller like me,” said the farmer, “when you can do so much better.  Jest look!”