d.

A woman who had seen her would have been able to describe every morsel of
her dress from head to foot. The man had only observed her hat; and all
he could say was that he thought it "a smartish one."

"Any particular color?" I went on.

"Not that I know of. Dark green, I think."

"Any ornament in it?"

"Yes! A purple feather."

The hat I had seen on the head of that hateful woman was now sufficiently
described--for a man. Sly old Toller, leaving Gloody unnoticed, and
keeping his eye on me, saw the signs of conviction in my face, and said
with his customary audacity: "Who is she?"

I followed, at my humble distance, the example of Sir Walter Scott, when
inquisitive people asked him if he was the author of the Waverley Novels.
In plain English, I denied all knowledge of the stranger wearing the
green hat. But, I was naturally desirous of discovering next what Lady
Rachel had said; and I asked to speak with Cristel. Her far-seeing father
might or might not have perceived a chance of listening to our
conversation. He led me to the door of his daughter's room; and stood
close by, when I knocked softly, and begged that she would come out.

The tone of the poor girl's voice--answering, "Forgive me, sir; I can't
do it"--convicted the she-socialist (as I thought) of merciless conduct
of some sort. Assuming this conclusion to be the right one, I determined,
then and there, that Lady Rachel should not pass the doors of Trimley
Deen again. If her bosom-friend resented that wise act of severity by
leaving the house, I should submit with resignation, and should remember
the circumstance with pleasure.

"I am afraid you are ill, Cristel?" was all I could find to say, under
the double disadvantage of speaking through a door, and having a father
listening at my side.

"Oh no, Mr. Gerard, not ill. A little low in my mind, that's all. I don't
mean to be rude, sir--pray be kinder to me than ever! pray let me be!"

I said I would return on the next day; and left the room with a sore
heart.

Old Toller highly approved of my conduct. He rubbed his fleshless hands,
and whispered: "You'll get it out of Cristy to-morrow, and I'll help
you."

I found Gloody waiting for me outside the cottage. He was anxious about
Miss Cristel; his only excuse, he told me, being the fear that she might
be ill. Having set him at ease, in that particular, I said: "You seem to
be interested in Miss Cristel."

His answer raised him a step higher