iss Carley, depend upon that.
Whatever Stephen Whitelaw sets his mind upon, he'll do. But I don't envy
that poor young woman; for she'll have a hard life of it at Wyncomb, and
a hard master in my cousin Stephen."

"She must be a very weak-minded young woman if she marries him against
her will," Ellen said laughing; and then ran off to get the tea ready,
leaving Mrs. Tadman to her meditations, which were not of a lively nature
at the best of times.

That Christmas-day came to an end at last, after a long evening in the
oak parlour enlivened by a solemn game at whist and a ponderous supper of
cold sirloin and mince pies; and looking out at the wintry moonlight, and
the shadowy garden and flat waste of farm-land from the narrow casement
in her own room. Ellen Carley wondered what those she loved best in the
world were doing and thinking of under that moonlit sky. Where was Marian
Holbrook, that new-found friend whom she had loved so well, and whose
fate remained so profound a mystery? and what was Frank Randall doing,
far away in London, where he had gone to fill a responsible position in a
large City firm of solicitors, and whence he had promised to return
faithful to his first love, as soon as he found himself fairly on the
road to a competence wherewith to endow her?

Thus it was that poor Ellen kept the close of her Christmas-day, looking
out over the cold moonlit fields, and wondering how she was to escape
from the persecution of Stephen Whitelaw.

That obnoxious individual had invited Mr. Carley and his daughter to
spend New-year's-day at Wyncomb; a display of hospitality so foreign to
his character, that it was scarcely strange that Mrs. Tadman opened her
eyes and stared aghast as she heard the invitation given. It had been
accepted too, much to Ellen's disgust; and her father told her more than
once in the course of the ensuing week that she was to put on her best
gown, and smarten herself up a bit, on New-year's-day.

"And if you want a new gown, Nell, I don't mind giving it you," said the
bailiff, in a burst of generosity, and with the prevailing masculine idea
that a new gown was a panacea for all feminine griefs. "You can walk over
to Malsham and buy it any afternoon you like."

But Ellen did not care for a new gown, and told her father so, with a
word or two of thanks for his offer. She did not desire fine dresses; she
had indeed been looking over and furbishing up her wardrobe of late, with
a view to th