d."

"Catch me marrying," retorted Afy; "I like my liberty too well. Not but
what I might be induced to change my condition, if anything out of the
way eligible occurred; it must be very eligible, though, to tempt me. I
am what I suppose you call yourself--a lady's maid."

"Indeed!" said Joyce, much relieved. "And are you comfortable, Afy? Are
you in good service?"

"Middling, for that. The pay's not amiss, but there's a great deal to
do, and Lady Mount Severn's too much of a Tartar for me."

Joyce looked at her in surprise. "What have you to do with Lady Mount
Severn?"

"Well, that's good! It's where I am at service."

"At Lady Mount Severn's?"

"Why not? I have been there two years. It is not a great deal longer I
shall stop, though; she had too much vinegar in her for me. But it poses
me to imagine what on earth could have induced you to fancy I should
go off with that Dick Hare," she added, for she could not forget the
grievance.

"Look at the circumstances," argued Joyce. "You both disappeared."

"But not together."

"Nearly together. There were only a few days intervening. And you had
neither money nor friends."

"You don't know what I had. But I would rather have died of want on
father's grave than have shared his means," continued Afy, growing
passionate again.

"Where is he? Not hung, or I should have heard of it."

"He has never been seen since that night, Afy."

"Nor heard of?"

"Nor heard of. Most people think he is in Australia, or some other
foreign land."

"The best place for him; the more distance he puts between him and home,
the better. If he does come back, I hope he'll get his desserts--which
is a rope's end. I'd go to his hanging."

"You are as bitter against him as Mr. Justice Hare. He would bring his
son back to suffer, if he could."

"A cross-grained old camel!" remarked Afy, in allusion to the qualities,
social and amiable, of the revered justice. "I don't defend Dick
Hare--I hate him too much for that--but if his father had treated
him differently, Dick might have been different. Well, let's talk of
something else; the subject invariably gives me the shivers. Who is
mistress here?"

"Miss Carlyle."

"Oh, I might have guessed that. Is she as fierce as ever?"

"There is little alteration in her."

"And there won't be on this side the grave. I say, Joyce, I don't want
to encounter her; she might set on at me, like she has done many a
time in the old days. Little love