to inquire if he had anything for me, or for Holdsworth (he was not particular to whom he gave up the letters, so that he got rid of them somehow, and could set off homewards), he would say he thought that he had, for such was his invariable safe form of answer; and would fumble in breast-pockets, waistcoat-pockets, breeches-pockets, and, as a last resource, in coat-tail pockets; and at length try to comfort me, if I looked disappointed, by telling me, ’Hoo had missed this toime, but was sure to write to-morrow;’ ‘Hoo’ representing an imaginary sweetheart.

Sometimes I had seen the minister bring home a letter which he had found lying for him at the little shop that was the post-office at Heathbridge, or from the grander establishment at Hornby.  Once or twice Josiah, the carter, remembered that the old letter-carrier had trusted him with an epistle to ‘Measter’, as they had met in the lanes.  I think it must have been about ten days after my arrival at the farm, and my talk to Phillis cutting bread-and-butter at the kitchen dresser, before the day on which the minister suddenly spoke at the dinner-table, and said,—­

’By-the-by, I’ve got a letter in my pocket.  Reach me my coat here, Phillis.’  The weather was still sultry, and for coolness and ease the minister was sitting in his shirt-sleeves.  ’I went to Heathbridge about the paper they had sent me, which spoils all the pens—­and I called at the post-office, and found a letter for me, unpaid,—­and they did not like to trust it to old Zekiel.  Ay! here it is!  Now we shall hear news of Holdsworth,—­I thought I’d keep it till we were all together.’  My heart seemed to stop beating, and I hung my head over my plate, not daring to look up.  What would come of it now?  What was Phillis doing?  How was she looking?  A moment of suspense,—­and then he spoke again.  ’Why! what’s this?  Here are two visiting tickets with his name on, no writing at all.  No! it’s not his name on both.  Mrs Holdsworth!  The young man has gone and got married.’  I lifted my head at these words; I could not help looking just for one instant at Phillis.  It seemed to me as if she had been keeping watch over my face and ways.  Her face was brilliantly flushed; her eyes were dry and glittering; but she did not speak; her lips were set together almost as if she was pinching them tight to prevent words or sounds coming out.  Cousin Holman’s face expressed surprise and interest.

‘Well!’ said she, ‘who’d ha’ thought it!  He’s made quick work of his wooing and wedding.  I’m sure I wish him happy.  Let me see’—­counting on her fingers,—­’October, November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June, July,—­at least we’re at the 28th,—­it is nearly ten months after all, and reckon a month each way off—­’

‘Did you know of this news before?’ said the minister, turning sharp round on me, surprised, I suppose, at my silence,—­hardly suspicious, as yet.

’I knew—­I had heard—­something.  It is to a French Canadian young lady,’ I went on, forcing myself to talk.  ’Her name is Ventadour.’