'the Missus' and who is 'the Squire'" asked Agatha, as they
drove off.

"'The Missus' is his wife--my sister Harriet, and 'the Squire' is my
father," said Nathanael, smiling. His face had worn a pleasant look ever
since he caught sight of Duke Dugdale's. "When I first came home I was
as much amused as yourself at these queer Dorsetshire phrases, but I
like them now; they are so simple and patriarchal."

Agatha agreed; yet she could hardly help laughing. But though this
brother-in-law of Mr. Harper's--and she suddenly remembered that he
was her own brother-in-law too--used provincial words, and spoke with a
slight accent, which she concluded was "Dorset,"--though his dress and
appearance had an anti-Stultzified, innocent, country look, still there
was something about Marmaduke Dugdale which bespoke him unmistakably the
gentleman.

"I am glad we met him," said Mr. Harper, looking back down the street.
"There he is, talking to a knot of people at the market-hall--farmers,
no doubt, whom he will try to make Free-traders of, and who would listen
to him affectionately, even if he tried to make them Mahometans. The
good soul! There isn't a better man in all Dorsetshire."

It was evident that Nathanael greatly liked "Duke Dugdale."

Agatha would have asked a score of questions; about his age, which
defied all guessing, and might have been anything from thirty to
fifty-five--also about his "Missus," for he looked like a man who never
could have made love, or thought of such a thing, in all his life. But
her curiosity was restrained, partly by that of the old servant behind,
who kept up a close though reverential observance of all the sayings
and doings of "Ma-a-ester" Nathanael's wife. She did not like even
accidentally to betray how very little of Kingcombe her reserved husband
had told her, and how she knew scarcely more of his family than their
names.

Having parted from his brother-in-law, and gradually lost the benign
influence which Duke Dugdale seemed to impart, Mr. Harper's face
re-assumed that gravity, almost sadness, which, except when talking with
herself, his wife now continually saw it wear.

They drove on, pushing against a fierce wind, that appeared like an
invisible iron barrier to intercept their way. Every now and then,
Agatha could not help shivering and creeping closer to her husband;
whenever she did so, he always turned round and wrapped her up with most
sedulous care.

"It is a dreary day for you