t it into his pocket,
and replaced his glossy head-piece, uttering another sigh the while, and
looking very thoughtful the rest of the way.

Oh! the relief of reaching the church door, and following the children
into the cool shadows of the empty building. Not quite empty though,
for the Misses Lambent were in their places in the pew near the chancel,
and the Reverend Henry Lambent, cold, calm, handsome, and stern of mien,
was raising his head with a reproving frown at the girls who clattered
so loudly up the stairs, in spite of Hazel's efforts to keep them still.

"Why, Betsey," said Mr William Forth Burge, "that chap seems to know
our new mistress."

"Ye-es, dear, perhaps he's her brother," whispered back Miss Burge, as
they entered their richly-cushioned pew--one which used to belong to the
old manor-house that was pulled down.

"Beatrice, did you see a strange gentleman go up to Miss Thorne and
speak to her as she came into church?" said the Reverend Henry Lambent,
as he and his sisters were going back to the vicarage after the morning
service.

"Yes, brother Henry; we both saw it," said Miss Beatrice, "and were
going to mention it to you."

The incident was this:--

Just as Hazel Thorne was going to her seat in the gallery, the tall
gentleman came through the porch, hesitated a moment, and then, seeing
that the church was nearly empty, he went quickly up to the young
mistress.

"Hazel," he whispered, "I have come down on purpose. I must--I will see
you after church."

"I beg your pardon," she said coldly; "our acquaintance is at an end."

"End! No. I have come to my senses. It must not--it shall not be."

"It must and shall, Mr Graves," she said, turning away.

"For Heaven's sake, why?" he whispered excitedly, as she was going.

"Times are changed, sir. I am only a schoolmistress now."

Just then Mr Chute entered with the boys, and he turned white as he saw
the stranger there.

CHAPTER THREE.

HAZEL'S TROUBLES.

About a year and a half before Hazel Thorne had the task of conducting
her school for the first time to Plumton church, she was in her home at
Kensington, leading the every-day pleasant life of the daughter of a
stockbroker, who was reputed among his friends as being "warm," that
being the appropriate term for a man who is said to have a pretty good
store of money well invested in solid securities.

"Fred Thorne will buy mining shares for you, or shares in any bubble
that i