“Mr. Buxton is quite put out about it,” said Mrs. Brown, querulously; “and I’m sure he need not be, for he’s enough of money, if that’s what he wants; and Maggie’s father was a clergyman, and I’ve seen ‘yeoman,’ with my own eyes, on old Mr. Buxton’s (Mr. Lawrence’s father’s) carts; and a clergyman is above a yeoman any day.  But if Maggie had had any thought for other people, she’d never have gone and engaged herself, when she might have been sure it would give offence.  We are never asked down to dinner now.  I’ve never broken bread there since last Christmas.”

“Whew!” said Edward to this.  It was a disappointed whistle; but he soon cheered up.  “I thought I could have lent a hand in screwing old Buxton up about the settlements; but I see it’s not come to that yet.  Still I’ll go and see the old gentleman.  I’m a bit of a favorite of his, and I doubt I can turn him round.”

“Pray, Edward, don’t go,” said Maggie.  “Frank and I are content to wait; and I’m sure we would rather not have any one speak to Mr. Buxton, upon a subject which evidently gives him so much pain; please, Edward, don’t!”

“Well, well.  Only I must go about this property of his.  Besides, I don’t mean to get into disgrace; so I shan’t seem to know anything about it, if it would make him angry.  I want to keep on good terms, because of the agency.  So, perhaps, I shall shake my head, and think it great presumption in you, Maggie, to have thought of becoming his daughter-in-law.  If I can do you no good, I may as well do myself some.”

“I hope you won’t mention me at all,” she replied.

One comfort (and almost the only one arising from Edward’s visit) was, that she could now often be spared to go up to the thorn-tree, and calm down her anxiety, and bring all discords into peace, under the sweet influences of nature.  Mrs. Buxton had tried to teach her the force of the lovely truth, that the “melodies of the everlasting chime” may abide in the hearts of those who ply their daily task in towns, and crowded populous places; and that solitude is not needed by the faithful for them to feel the immediate presence of God; nor utter stillness of human sound necessary, before they can hear the music of His angels’ footsteps; but, as yet, her soul was a young disciple; and she felt it easier to speak to Him, and come to Him for help, sitting lonely, with wild moors swelling and darkening around her, and not a creature in sight but the white specks of distant sheep, and the birds that shun the haunts of men, floating in the still mid-air.

She sometimes longed to go to Mr. Buxton and tell him how much she could sympathize with him, if his dislike to her engagement arose from thinking her unworthy of his son.  Frank’s character seemed to her grand in its promise.  With vehement impulses and natural gifts, craving worthy employment, his will sat supreme over all, like a young emperor calmly seated on his throne, whose fiery generals and wise counsellors stand alike ready to obey him.  But if marriage were to be made by due measurement and balance of character, and if others, with their scales, were to be the judges, what would become of all the beautiful services rendered by the loyalty of true love?  Where would be the raising up of the weak by the strong? or the patient endurance? or the gracious trust of her: