Robert Moore, of Hollow’s Mill, was one of the most unpopular of the mill-owners, partly because he haughtily declined to conciliate the working class, and partly because of his foreign demeanour, for he was the son of a Flemish mother, had been educated abroad, and had only come home recently to attempt to retrieve, by modern trading methods, the fallen fortune of the ancient firm of his Yorkshire forefathers.

The last trade outrage of the district had been the destruction on Stilbro’ Moor of the new machines that were being brought by night to his mill.

Caroline Helstone was eighteen years old, drawing near the confines of illusive dreams.  Elf-land behind her, the shores of Reality in front.  To herself she said that night, after Robert had walked home with her to the rectory gate:  “I love Robert, and I feel sure that he loves me.  I have thought so many a time before; to-day I felt it.”

And Robert, leaning later on his own yard gate, with the hushed, dark mill before him, exclaimed:  “This won’t do.  There’s weakness—­there’s downright ruin in all this.”

For Caroline Helstone was a fatherless and portionless girl, entirely dependent on her uncle, the vicar of Briarfield.

II.—­The Master of Hollows Mill

“Come, child, put away your books.  Lock them up!  Get your bonnet on; I want you to make a call with me.”

“With you, uncle?”

Thus the Rev. Matthewson Helstone, the imperious little vicar of Briarfield, to his niece, who, obeyed his unusual request, asked where they were going.

“To Fieldhead,” replied the Rev. Matthewson Helstone.  “We are going to see Miss Shirley Keeldar.”

“Miss Keeldar!  Is she come to Yorkshire?”

“She is; and will reside for a time on her property.”

The Keeldars were the lords of the manor, and their property included the mill rented by Mr. Robert Moore.

The visitors were received at Fieldhead by a middle-aged nervous English lady, to whom Caroline at once found it natural to talk with a gentle ease, until Miss Shirley Keeldar, entering the room, introduced them to Mrs. Pryor, who, she added, “was my governess, and is still my friend.”

Shirley Keeldar was no ugly heiress.  She was agreeable to the eye, gracefully made, and her face, pale, intelligent, and of varied expression, also possessed the charm of grace.

The interview had not proceeded far before Shirley hoped they would often have the presence of Miss Helstone at Fieldhead; a request repeated by Mrs. Pryor.

“You are distinguished more than you think,” said Shirley, “for Mrs. Pryor often tantalises me by the extreme caution of her judgments.  I have entreated her to say what she thinks of my gentleman-tenant, Mr. Moore, but she evades an answer.  What are Mr. Moore’s politics?”

“Those of a tradesman,” returned the rector; “narrow, selfish, and unpatriotic.”