“Certainly, sir, —­ I am not tired.”

“I don’t want anybody.  I’m not in the least afraid, Mr. Glanbally,” said the little lady rather impatiently, and still not glancing at her promised escort.

“But it’s better, Miss Elizabeth” —­

“No sir, it isn’t.”

“Your father will like it better, I know.  This is Mr. Landholm —­ the brother of the Mr. Landholm you used to see last summer, —­ you remember.”

Elizabeth looked at her guard, as if she had no mind to remember anybody of the name, and without more ado left the room.  Winthrop understanding that he was to follow, did so, and with some difficulty brought himself up alongside of the little lady, for she had not tarried for him and was moving on at a smart pace.  Her way led them presently out of the village and along a lonely country road.  Winthrop thought he was not a needless convenience at that hour; but it was doubtful what his little charge thought.  She took no manner of notice of him.  Winthrop thought he would try to bring her out, for he was playing the part of a shadow too literally.

“You are a good walker, Miss Elizabeth.”

A slight glance at him, and no answer.

“Do you often go out alone so late?”

“Whenever I want to.”

“How do you like living in the city?”

“I? —­ I don’t know.  I have never lived there.”

“Have you lived here?”

“Yes.”

The tone was perfectly self-possessed and equally dry.  He tried her again.

“My brother says you have a very pleasant place.”

There was no answer at all this time.  Winthrop gave it up as a bad business.

It had grown nearly dark.  She hurried on, as much as was consistent with a pace perfectly steady.  About half a mile from the village she came to a full stop, and looked towards him, almost for the first time.

“You can leave me now.  I can see the light in the windows.”

“Not yet,” said Winthrop smiling —­ “Mr. Glanbally would hardly think I had done my duty.”

“Mr. Glanbally needn’t trouble himself about me!  He has nothing to do with it.  This is far enough.”

“I must go a little further.”

She started forward again, and a moment after hardly made her own words good.  They encountered a large drove of cattle, that spread all over the road.  Little independence plainly faltered here and was glad to walk behind her guard, till they had passed quite through.  They came then to the iron gate of her grounds.

“You needn’t come any further,” she said.  “Thank you.”

And as she spoke she opened and shut the gate in his face.  Winthrop turned about and retraced his steps homeward, to read his brother’s letter.  It was read by his little end of candle after he went up to bed at night.

“Little River, Nov. 1807.

“My dear governor,