as it that
nobody knew any thing about her?

CHAPTER XIX.

THE RECTORY.

The curate and his wife had a good deal of talk about Juliet as they
drove home from Nestley. Much pleased with herself, they heard from
their hostess what she had learned of her history, and were the more
interested. They must find her a situation, they agreed, where she would
feel at home; and in the meantime would let her understand that, if she
took up her abode in Glaston, and were so inclined, the town was large
enough to give a good hope of finding a few daily engagements.

Before they left Nestley, Helen had said to Mrs. Bevis that she would
like to ask Miss Meredith to visit them for a few days.

"No one knows much about her," remarked Mrs. Bevis, feeling responsible.

"She can't be poison," returned Helen. "And if she were, she couldn't
hurt us. That's the good of being husband and wife: so long as you are
of one mind, you can do almost any thing."

When Faber called upon Juliet in the evening, nothing passed between
them concerning the situation at which he had hinted. When he entered
she was seated as usual in the corner of the dingy little couch, under
the small window looking into the garden, in the shadow. She did not
rise, but held out her hand to him. He went hastily up to her, took the
hand she offered, sat down beside her, and at once broke into a full
declaration of his love--now voluble, now hesitating, now submissive,
now persuasive, but humblest when most passionate. Whatever the man's
conceit, or his estimate of the thing he would have her accept, it was
in all honesty and modesty that he offered her the surrender of the very
citadel of his being--alas, too "empty, swept, and garnished!" Juliet
kept her head turned from him; he felt the hand he held tremble, and
every now and then make a faint struggle to escape from his; but he
could not see that her emotion was such as hardly to be accounted for
either by pleasure at the hearing of welcome words, or sorrow that her
reply must cause pain. He ceased at length, and with eyes of longing
sought a glimpse of her face, and caught one. Its wild, waste expression
frightened him. It was pallid like an old sunset, and her breath came
and went stormily. Three times, in a growing agony of effort, her lips
failed of speech. She gave a sudden despairing cast of her head
sideways, her mouth opened a little as if with mere helplessness, she
threw a pitiful glance in his fac