ame
business as well as she can; but their trade is not a twentieth part of
Pierston's. He's worth thousands and thousands, they say, though 'a do
live on in the same wold way up in the same wold house. This son is doen
great things in London as a' image-carver; and I can mind when, as a
boy, 'a first took to carving soldiers out o' bits o' stwone from the
soft-bed of his father's quarries; and then 'a made a set o' stwonen
chess-men, and so 'a got on. He's quite the gent in London, they tell
me; and the wonder is that 'a cared to come back here and pick up little
Avice Caro--nice maid as she is notwithstanding.... Hullo! there's to be
a change in the weather soon.'

Meanwhile the subject of their remarks waited at the appointed place
till seven o'clock, the hour named between himself and his affianced,
had struck. Almost at the moment he saw a figure coming forward from the
last lamp at the bottom of the hill. But the figure speedily resolved
itself into that of a boy, who, advancing to Jocelyn, inquired if he
were Mr. Pierston, and handed him a note.

1. IV. A LONELY PEDESTRIAN

When the boy had gone Jocelyn retraced his steps to the last lamp, and
read, in Avice's hand:

'MY DEAREST,--I shall be sorry if I grieve you at all in what I am going
to say about our arrangement to meet to-night in the Sandsfoot ruin. But
I have fancied that my seeing you again and again lately is inclining
your father to insist, and you as his heir to feel, that we ought to
carry out Island Custom in our courting--your people being such old
inhabitants in an unbroken line. Truth to say, mother supposes that your
father, for natural reasons, may have hinted to you that we ought. Now,
the thing is contrary to my feelings: it is nearly left off; and I do
not think it good, even where there is property, as in your case, to
justify it, in a measure. I would rather trust in Providence.

'On the whole, therefore, it is best that I should not come--if only for
appearances--and meet you at a time and place suggesting the custom, to
others than ourselves, at least, if known.

'I am sure that this decision will not disturb you much; that you will
understand my modern feelings, and think no worse of me for them. And
dear, if it were to be done, and we were unfortunate in it, we might
both have enough old family feeling to think, like our forefathers, and
possibly your father, that we could not marry honourably; and hence we
might be made u