and he felt disposed to turn
back, but it was too late. He had heard from the servant that Hazel
Thorne was present as well, and he parted from the giver of school
treats soon afterwards, feeling bitter at heart and low-spirited more
than he could account for at the time.

"He wouldn't come in," said Mr William Forth Burge, hurrying back into
the drawing-room panting and looking warm. "I told him you was here."

"Busy, perhaps," said George Canninge quietly, though he told himself
directly after that it was an absurd remark, for if the Reverend Henry
Lambent had been busy he would not have devoted the day to making calls.

"Well now, you must excuse us, Mr Canninge, for brother will talk to
you while we go upstairs."

"I must ask you to excuse me too," said George Canninge, rising and
thinking of the vicar's visit, which it was certainly strange should
have been paid at the time Miss Thorne was there. "My horse is hot, and
I must not leave him any longer. I met Miss Thorne on the way, and the
sight of her reminded me of my want of civility in not coming sooner.
Now I'll say good-day. Miss Burge, I shall never forget your
compliment."

"Which it was not a compliment at all, sir, but just what I honestly
thought," replied Miss Burge, shaking hands.

"Then I shall esteem the remark all the more," he said, smiling, and
delighting the little lady by his frankness and hearty way. Then,
turning to where Hazel was standing:

"Good-day, Miss Thorne," he said; and there was something so frank and
matter-of-fact in the way in which he shook hands that Hazel's eyes
brightened; and he went away, mounting at the door, and walking his
horse down to the gate, with stout Mr William Forth Burge holding on by
the mane, and talking loudly the while.

George Canninge's replies sounded manly and ready enough, but all the
time he was thinking of Hazel Thorne's sweet ingenuous smile, and he
rode away at a brisk canter, as if he meant to go over Samuel Chute,
seeing only that there was some one by the side of the road, for he was
picturing that smile, and more than once he repeated to himself the
words:

"Only a schoolmistress!"

Then, after a pause, as he was well clear of the town:

"Well, what of that? It is a most worthy pursuit and she is a thorough
lady in every word and look."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE COMING STRUGGLE.

Was there ever a young schoolmaster or mistress yet who did not view
with a strange feeling