the new footman, was desired to escort her; but in the middle
of the avenue Phillis civilly dismissed him.

"There is no need for two of us to get wet; and the rain is coming on
very heavily," she said.

The young man hesitated; but he was slow-witted and new to his duty,
and the young lady had a peremptory way with her, so he touched his
hat, and went back to the house.

"Such nonsense, having a liveried servant at my heels, when I am only
a dressmaker!" thought Phillis, scurrying down the avenue like a
chased rabbit.

Hitherto, the trees had sheltered her; but a glance at the open road
and the driving rain made her resolve to take refuge in the porch of
the cottage that stood opposite the gate. It was the place where Nan
and her mother had once lodged; and, though all the lights were
extinguished, and the people had retired to bed, she felt a
comfortable sense of safety as she unlatched the little gate. Not even
Mr. Drummond would discover her there.

But Phillis's satisfaction was of short duration: the foolish girl was
soon to repent of her foolhardiness in dismissing her escort. She
little knew that her words to Evans had been overheard, and that
behind the dripping shrubbery she had been watched and followed.
Scarcely had she taken refuge under the green porch, and placed her
wet umbrella to dry, before she heard the latch of the little gate
unclosed, and a tall dark figure came up the gravel-walk. It was not
Isaac Williams's portly form,--she could discern that in the
darkness,--and, for the moment, a thrill of deadly terror came upon
the incautious girl; but the next minute her natural courage returned
to her aid. The porch was just underneath the room where Isaac slept;
a call of 'help' would reach him at once; there was no reason for this
alarm at all. Nevertheless, she shrunk back a little as the stranger
came directly towards her, then paused as though in some
embarrassment:

"Pardon me, but you have poor shelter here. I am Mrs. Williams's
lodger. I could easily let you into the cottage. I am afraid the rain
comes through the trellis-work."

Phillis's heart gave a great thump of relief. In the first place, Mrs.
Williams's lodger must be a respectable person, and no dangerous
loafer or pickpocket; in the second place the refined cultured tones
of the stranger pleased her ear. Phillis had a craze on this point.
"You may be deceived in a face, but in a voice, never!" she would say;
and, as she told Na