what is distasteful.  Cornelia had not.  She had to act a part every day with Mrs. Chump, while all those she loved, and respected, and clung to, were in the same conspiracy.  The consolation of hating, or of despising, her tormentress was denied.  The thought that the poor helpless creature had been possibly ruined by them, chastened Cornelia’s reflections mightily, and taught her to walk very humbly through the duties of the day.  Her powers of endurance were stretched to their utmost.  A sublime affliction would, as she felt bitterly, have enlarged her soul.  This sordid misery narrowed it.  Why did not her lover, if his love was passionate, himself cut the knot claim her, and put her to a quick decision?  She conceived that were he to bring on a supreme crisis, her heart would declare itself.  But he appeared to be wanting in that form of courage.  Does it become a beggar to act such valiant parts? perhaps he was even then replying from his stuffy lodgings.

The Spring was putting out primroses,—­the first handwriting of the year,—­as Sir Purcell wrote to er prettily.  Deire for fresh air, and the neighbourhood of his beloved, sent him on a journey down to Hillford.  Near the gates of the Hillford station, he passed Wilfrid and Adela, hurrying to catch the up-train, and received no recognition.  His face scarcely changed colour, but the birds on a sudden seemed to pipe far away from him.  He asked himself, presently, what were those black circular spots which flew chasing along the meadows and the lighted walks.  It was with an effort that he got the landscape close about his eyes, and remembered familiar places.  He walked all day, making occupation by directing his steps to divers eminences that gave a view of the Brookfield chimneys.  After night-fall he found himself in the firwood, approaching the ‘fruitless tree.’  He had leaned against it musingly, for a time, when he heard voices, as of a couple confident in their privacy.

The footman, Gainsford, was courting a maid of the Tinley’s, and here, being midway between the two houses, they met.  He had to obtain pardon for tardiness, by saying that dinner at Brookfield had been delayed for the return of Mr. Pole.  The damsel’s questions showed her far advanced in knowledge of affairs at Brookfield and may account for Laura Tinley’s gatherings of latest intelligence concerning those ‘odd girls,’ as she impudently called the three.

“Oh! don’t you listen!” was the comment pronounced on Gainsford’s stock of information.  But, he told nothing signally new.  She wished to hear something new and striking, “because,” she said, “when I unpin Miss Laura at night, I’m as likely as not to get a silk dress that ain’t been worn more than half-a-dozen times—­if I manage.  When I told her that Mr. Albert, her brother, had dined at your place last Thursday—­demeaning of himself, I do think—­there!—­I got a pair of silk stockings,—­not letting her see I knew what it was for, of coursed and about Mrs. Dump,—­Stump;—­I can’t recollect the woman’s name; and her calling of your master a bankrupt, right out, and wanting her money of him,—­there! if Miss Laura didn’t give me a pair of lavender kid-gloves out of her box!—­and I wish you would leave my hands alone, when you know I shouldn’t be so silly as to wear them in the dark; and for you, indeed!”