she was afraid of ever venturing out of those calm precincts.  All Mr. Ness’s invitations to visit him at his parsonage at Hamley were declined, although he was welcomed at Miss Monro’s, on the occasion of his annual visit, by every means in their power.  He slept at one of the canon’s vacant houses, and lived with his two friends, who made a yearly festivity, to the best of their means, in his honour, inviting such of the cathedral clergy as were in residence:  or, if they failed, condescending to the town clergy.  Their friends knew well that no presents were so acceptable as those sent while Mr. Ness was with them; and from the dean, who would send them a hamper of choice fruit and flowers from Oxton Park, down to the curate, who worked in the same schools as Ellinor, and who was a great fisher, and caught splendid trout—­all did their best to help them to give a welcome to the only visitor they ever had.  The only visitor they ever had, as far as the stately gentry knew.  There was one, however, who came as often as his master could give him a holiday long enough to undertake a journey to so distant a place; but few knew of his being a guest at Miss Monro’s, though his welcome there was not less hearty than Mr. Ness’s—­this was Dixon.  Ellinor had convinced him that he could give her no greater pleasure at any time than by allowing her to frank him to and from East Chester.  Whenever he came they were together the greater part of the day; she taking him hither and thither to see all the sights that she thought would interest or please him; but they spoke very little to each other during all this companionship.  Miss Monro had much more to say to him.  She questioned him right and left whenever Ellinor was out of the room.  She learnt that the house at Ford Bank was splendidly furnished, and no money spared on the garden; that the eldest Miss Hanbury was very well married; that Brown had succeeded to Jones in the haberdasher’s shop.  Then she hesitated a little before making her next inquiry: 

“I suppose Mr. Corbet never comes to the Parsonage now?”

“No, not he.  I don’t think as how Mr. Ness would have him; but they write letters to each other by times.  Old Job—­you’ll recollect old Job, ma’am, he that gardened for Mr Ness, and waited in the parlour when there was company—­did say as one day he heerd them speaking about Mr. Corbet; and he’s a grand counsellor now—­one of them as goes about at assize-time, and speaks in a wig.”

“A barrister, you mean,” said Miss Monro.

“Ay; and he’s something more than that, though I can’t rightly remember what,”