many days."

The clergyman was shocked; he had not deemed her to be in danger. "I
will go and see her to-day," said he. "You can tell her that I am
coming."

He was a conscientious man; liking to do his duty, and especially kind
to those that were in sickness or trouble. Neither did he willingly
break a specific promise. He made no doubt that Jan delivered the
message, and therefore he went; though it was late at night when he
started, other duties having detained him throughout the day.

His most direct way from the vicarage to Hook's cottage, took him past
the Willow Pond. _He_ had no fear of ghosts, and therefore he chose it,
in preference to going down Clay Lane, which was farther round. The
Willow Pool looked lonely enough as he passed it, its waters gleaming in
the moonlight, its willows bending. A little farther on, the clergyman's
ears became alive to the sound of sobs, as from a person in distress.
There was Alice Hook, seated on a bench underneath some elm-trees,
sobbing enough to break her heart.

However the girl might have got herself under the censure of the
neighbourhood, it is a clergyman's office to console, rather than to
condemn. And he could not help liking pretty Alice; she had been one of
the most tractable pupils in his Sunday-school. He addressed her as
soothingly, as considerately, as though she were one of the first ladies
in his parish; harshness would not mend the matter now. Her heart opened
to the kindness.

"I've broke mother's heart, and killed her!" cried she, with a wild
burst of sobs. "But for me, she might have got well."

"She may get well still, Alice," replied the vicar. "I am going on to
see her now. What are you doing here?"

"I am on my way, sir, to get the fresh physic for her. Mr. Jan, he said
this morning as somebody was to go for it; but the rest have been out
all day. As I came along, I got thinking of the time, sir, when I could
go about by daylight with my head up, like the best of 'em; and it
overcame me."

She rose up, dried her eyes with her shawl, and Mr. Bourne proceeded
onwards. He had not gone far, when something came rushing past him from
the opposite direction. It seemed more like a thing than a man, with its
swift pace--and he recognised the face of Frederick Massingbird.

Mr. Bourne's pulses stood still, and then gave a bound onwards.
Clergyman though he was, he could not, for his life, have helped the
queer feeling which came over him. He had sharpl