so. I never knew him to change on a thing like that,
Mr. Fenwick. He felt it that keenly, it nigh killed 'im. Only that he
took it out o' hisself in thrashing that wicked man, I a'most think
he'd a' died o' it."

Again the Vicar drove to the Bald-faced Stag, and again he walked
along the road and over the common. He offered his arm to the old
woman, but she wouldn't accept it; nor would she upon any entreaty
allow him to carry her bundle. She assured him that his doing so
would make her utterly wretched, and at last he gave up the point.
She declared that she suffered nothing from fatigue, and that her two
miles' walk would not be more than her Sunday journey to church and
back. But as she drew near to the house she became uneasy, and once
asked to be allowed to pause for a moment. "May be, then," said she,
"after all, my girl'd rather that I wouldn't trouble her." He took
her by the arm and led her along, and comforted her,--assuring her
that if she would take her child in her arms Carry would for the
moment be in a heaven of happiness. "Take her into my arms, Mr.
Fenwick? Why,--isn't she in my very heart of hearts at this moment?
And I won't say not a word sharp to her;--not now, Mr. Fenwick. And
why would I say sharp words at all? I suppose she understands it
all."

"I think she does, Mrs. Brattle."

They had now reached the door, and the Vicar knocked. No answer came
at once; but such had been the case when he knocked before. He had
learned to understand that in such a household it might not be wise
to admit all comers without consideration. So he knocked again,--and
then again. But still there came no answer. Then he tried the door,
and found that it was locked. "May be she's seen me coming," said the
mother, "and now she won't let me in." The Vicar then went round the
cottage, and found that the back door also was closed. Then he looked
in at one of the front windows, and became aware that no one was
sitting, at least in the kitchen. There was an upstairs room, but of
that the window was closed.

"I begin to fear," he said, "that neither of them is at home."

At this moment he heard the voice of a woman calling to him from the
door of the nearest cottage,--one of the two brick tenements which
stood together,--and from her he learned that Mrs. Burrows had gone
into Devizes, and would not probably be home till the evening. Then
he asked after Carry, not mentioning her name, but speaking of her as
the young w