our o'clock. Expect will dock and
land passengers at Canning's Basin ten o'clock to-morrow morning.'

Her father called her into the study.

'Elfride, who sent you that message?' he asked suspiciously.

'Johnson.' 'Who is Johnson, for Heaven's sake?'

'I don't know.'

'The deuce you don't! Who is to know, then?'

'I have never heard of him till now.'

'That's a singular story, isn't it.'

'I don't know.'

'Come, come, miss! What was the telegram?'

'Do you really wish to know, papa?'

'Well, I do.'

'Remember, I am a full-grown woman now.'

'Well, what then?'

'Being a woman, and not a child, I may, I think, have a secret or two.'

'You will, it seems.'

'Women have, as a rule.'

'But don't keep them. So speak out.'

'If you will not press me now, I give my word to tell you the meaning of
all this before the week is past.'

'On your honour?'

'On my honour.'

'Very well. I have had a certain suspicion, you know; and I shall be
glad to find it false. I don't like your manner lately.'

'At the end of the week, I said, papa.'

Her father did not reply, and Elfride left the room.

She began to look out for the postman again. Three mornings later he
brought an inland letter from Stephen. It contained very little matter,
having been written in haste; but the meaning was bulky enough. Stephen
said that, having executed a commission in Liverpool, he should arrive
at his father's house, East Endelstow, at five or six o'clock that same
evening; that he would after dusk walk on to the next village, and meet
her, if she would, in the church porch, as in the old time. He proposed
this plan because he thought it unadvisable to call formally at her
house so late in the evening; yet he could not sleep without having seen
her. The minutes would seem hours till he clasped her in his arms.

Elfride was still steadfast in her opinion that honour compelled her to
meet him. Probably the very longing to avoid him lent additional weight
to the conviction; for she was markedly one of those who sigh for the
unattainable--to whom, superlatively, a hope is pleasing because not a
possession. And she knew it so well that her intellect was inclined to
exaggerate this defect in herself.

So during the day she looked her duty steadfastly in the face; read
Wordsworth's astringent yet depressing ode to that Deity; committed
herself to her guidance; and still felt the weight of chance desires.

But she began to take a