s standing to watch the heaving of a
mole, when the fair girl brushed past at a distance of a few yards, in
the full light of the sun, and without hat or bonnet. The Duke went home
like a man who had seen a spirit. He ascended to the picture-gallery of
his castle, and there passed some time in staring at the bygone beauties
of his line as if he had never before considered what an important part
those specimens of womankind had played in the evolution of the Saxelbye
race. He dined alone, drank rather freely, and declared to himself that
Emmeline Oldbourne must be his.

Meanwhile there had unfortunately arisen between the curate and this girl
some sweet and secret understanding. Particulars of the attachment
remained unknown then and always, but it was plainly not approved of by
her father. His procedure was cold, hard, and inexorable. Soon the
curate disappeared from the parish, almost suddenly, after bitter and
hard words had been heard to pass between him and the rector one evening
in the garden, intermingled with which, like the cries of the dying in
the din of battle, were the beseeching sobs of a woman. Not long after
this it was announced that a marriage between the Duke and Miss Oldbourne
was to be solemnized at a surprisingly early date.

The wedding-day came and passed; and she was a Duchess. Nobody seemed to
think of the ousted man during the day, or else those who thought of him
concealed their meditations. Some of the less subservient ones were
disposed to speak in a jocular manner of the august husband and wife,
others to make correct and pretty speeches about them, according as their
sex and nature dictated. But in the evening, the ringers in the belfry,
with whom Alwyn had been a favourite, eased their minds a little
concerning the gentle young man, and the possible regrets of the woman he
had loved.

'Don't you see something wrong in it all?' said the third bell as he
wiped his face. 'I know well enough where she would have liked to stable
her horses to-night, when they have done their journey.'

'That is, you would know if you could tell where young Mr. Hill is
living, which is known to none in the parish.'

'Except to the lady that this ring o' grandsire triples is in honour of.'

Yet these friendly cottagers were at this time far from suspecting the
real dimensions of Emmeline's misery, nor was it clear even to those who
came into much closer communion with her than they, so well had s