was running at her utmost speed down the
lonnin.

CHAPTER XXV. LIZA'S DEVICE.

When she reached the road, the little woman turned towards Wythburn.
Never pausing for an instant, she ran on and on, passing sundry groups
of the country folks, and rarely waiting to exchange more than the
scant civilities of a hasty greeting.

It was Sunday morning, and through the dense atmosphere that preceded
rain came the sound of the bells of the chapel on the Raise, which
rang for morning service.

"What's come over little Liza?" said a young dalesman, who, in the
solemnity of Sunday apparel, was wending his way thither, as the
little woman flew past him, "tearing," as he said, "like a crazy
thing."

"Some barn to be christened afore the service, Liza?" called another
young dalesman after her, with the memory of the girl's enjoyment of a
similar ceremony not long before.

Liza heeded neither the questions nor the banter. Her destination was
certainly not the church, but she ran with greater speed in that
direction than the love of the Reverend Nicholas's ministrations had
yet prompted her to compass.

The village was reached at length, and her father's house was near at
hand; but the girl ran on, without stopping to exchange a word with
her sententious parent, who stood in the porch, pipe in hand, and clad
in those "Cheppel Sunday" garments with which, we fear, the sanctuary
was rarely graced.

"Why, theer's Liza," said Matthew, turning his head into the house to
speak to his wife, who sat within; "flying ower the road like a mad
greyhound."

Mrs. Branthwaite had been peeling apples towards the family's one
great dinner in the week. Putting down the bowl which contained them,
she stepped to the door and looked after her daughter's vanishing
figure.

"Sure enough, it is," she said. "Whatever's amiss? The lass went over
to the Moss. Why, she stopping, isn't she?" "Ey, at the Lion,"
answered Mattha. "I reckon there's summat wrang agen with that Robbie.
I'll just slip away and see."

Panting and heated on this winter's day, red up to the roots of the
hair and down to the nape of the neck, Liza had come to a full pause
at the door of the village inn. It was not a false instinct that had
led the girl to choose this destination. Sunday as it was, the young
man whom she sought was there, and, morning though it might be, he was
already in that condition of partial inebriation which Liza had
recognized as the sign of a