little speech, and had put a little bit of paper into her hand.  ‘I know I ought not to take it,’ Grace had said to her friend Anne.  ’If I was not here, there would be no one in my place.’  ‘Nonsense, my dear,’ Anne Prettyman had said; ’it is the greatest comfort to us in the world.  And you should make yourself nice, you know, for his sake.  All the gentlemen like it.’  Then Grace had been very angry, and had sworn that she would give the money back again.  Nevertheless, I think she did make herself as nice as she knew how to do.  And from all this it may be seen that the Miss Prettymans had hitherto quite approved of Major Grantly’s attentions.

But when this terrible affair came on about the cheque which had been lost and found and traced to Mr Crawley’s hands, Miss Anne Prettyman said nothing further to Grace Crawley about Major Grantly.  It was not that she thought that Mr Crawley was guilty, but she knew enough of the world to be aware that suspicion of such guilt might compel such a man as Major Grantly to change his mind.  ‘If he had only popped,’ Anne said to her sister,’ it would have been all right.  He would never have gone back from his word.’  ‘My dear,’ said Annabella, ’I wish you would not talk about popping.  It is a terrible word.’  ’I shouldn’t, to anyone except you,’ said Anne.

There had come to Silverbridge some few months since, on a visit to Mrs Walker, a young lady from Allington, in the neighbouring county, between whom and Grace Crawley there had grown up from circumstances a warm friendship.  Grace had a cousin in London—­a clerk high up and well-to-do in a public office, a nephew of her mother’s—­and this cousin was, and for years had been, violently smitten in love for this young lady.  But the young lady’s tale had been sad, and though she acknowledged feelings of the most affectionate friendship for the cousin, she could not bring herself to acknowledge more.  Grace Crawley had met the young lady at Silverbridge, and words had been spoken about the cousin; and though the young lady from Allington was some years older than Grace, there had grown up to be a friendship, and, as is not uncommon between young ladies, there had been an agreement that they would correspond.  The name of the lady was Miss Lily Dale, and the name of the well-to-do cousin was Mr John Eames.

At the present moment Miss Dale was at home with her mother at Allington, and Grace Crawley in her terrible sorrow wrote to her friend, pouring out her whole heart.  As Grace’s letter and Miss Dale’s answer will assist us in our story, I will venture to give them both.

’Silverbridge,—­December, 186-