“I’m on the look-out for a young man and a young woman,” said he, “who’ll come and work on my clearing;” and so he opened talk with the hotel-keeper.  He looked often through the door into the big passage, but Sissy did not pass.

Now Mr. Hutchins did not know of anyone to suit Bates’s requirements, and he did know that the neighbourhood of Chellaston was the most unlikely to produce such servants, but, having that which was disappointing to say, he said it by degrees.  Bates ordered a glass of cooling summer drink, and had his pipe filled while they discussed.  The one tasted to him like gall, and the fumes of the other were powerless to allay his growing trepidation, and yet, in desperate adventure, he stayed on.

Hutchins, soon perceiving that he was a man of some education, and finding out that he was the oft-talked-of guest of “The Principal,” continued to entertain him cheerfully enough.  “Now,” said he, “talking of people to help, I’ve got a girl in my house now—­well, I may say I fell on my feet when I got her.”  Then followed a history of his dealings with Eliza, including an account of his own astuteness in perceiving what she was, and his cleverness in securing her services.  Bates listened hungrily, but with a pang in his heart.

“Aye,” said he outwardly, “you’ll be keeping a very quiet house here.”

“You may almost call it a religious house,” said Hutchins, taking the measure of his man.  “Family prayer every Sunday in the dining-room for all who likes.  Yes,” he added, rubbing his hand on his lame knee, “Canadians are pious for the most part, Mr. Bates, and I have the illeet of two cities on my balconies.”

Other men came in and went out of the room.  Women in summer gowns passed the door.  Still Bates and Hutchins talked.

At last, because Bates waited long enough, Eliza passed the door, and catching sight of him, she turned, suddenly staring as if she knew not exactly what she was doing.  There were two men at the bar drinking.  Hutchins, from his high swivel chair, was waiting upon them.  They both looked at Eliza; and now Bates, trembling in every nerve, felt only a weak fear lest she should turn upon him in wrath for being unfaithful, and summoned all his strength to show her that by the promise with which he had bound himself he would abide.  He looked at her as though in very truth he had never seen her before.  And the girl took his stony look as if he had struck her, and fell away from the door, so that they saw her no longer.

“Looked as if she’d seen someone she knew in here,” remarked Hutchins, complacently.  He was always pleased when people noticed Eliza, for he considered her a credit to the house.

The others made no remark, and Bates felt absurdly glad that he had seen her, not that it advanced his desire, but yet he was glad; and he had shown her, too, that she need not fear him.