m; an' then it went low an'
soft, as if it was whisperin' close to your heart like.'

'You never heared her again, I reckon?'

'No; she was sickly then, and she died in a few months after. She wasn't
in the parish much more nor half a year altogether. She didn't seem
lively that afternoon, an' I could see she didn't care about the dairy,
nor the cheeses, on'y she pretended, to please him. As for him, I niver
see'd a man so wrapt up in a woman. He looked at her as if he was
worshippin' her, an' as if he wanted to lift her off the ground ivery
minute, to save her the trouble o' walkin'. Poor man, poor man! It had
like to ha' killed him when she died, though he niver gev way, but went
on ridin' about and preachin'. But he was wore to a shadder, an' his eyes
used to look as dead--you wouldn't ha' knowed 'em.'

'She brought him no fortune?'

'Not she. All Mr. Gilfil's property come by his mother's side. There was
blood an' money too, there. It's a thousand pities as he married i' that
way--a fine man like him, as might ha' had the pick o' the county, an'
had his grandchildren about him now. An' him so fond o' children, too.'

In this manner Mrs. Patten usually wound up her reminiscences of the
Vicar's wife, of whom, you perceive, she knew but little. It was clear
that the communicative old lady had nothing to tell of Mrs. Gilfil's
history previous to her arrival in Shepperton, and that she was
unacquainted with Mr. Gilfil's love-story.

But I, dear reader, am quite as communicative as Mrs. Patten, and much
better informed; so that, if you care to know more about the Vicar's
courtship and marriage, you need only carry your imagination back to the
latter end of the last century, and your attention forward into the next
chapter.

Chapter 2

It is the evening of the 21st of June 1788. The day has been bright and
sultry, and the sun will still be more than an hour above the horizon,
but his rays, broken by the leafy fretwork of the elms that border the
park, no longer prevent two ladies from carrying out their cushions and
embroidery, and seating themselves to work on the lawn in front of
Cheverel Manor. The soft turf gives way even under the fairy tread of the
younger lady, whose small stature and slim figure rest on the tiniest of
full-grown feet. She trips along before the elder, carrying the cushions,
which she places in the favourite spot, just on the slope by a clump of
laurels, where they can see the sunbe