r?
And had I not promised to give away the Sunday-school prizes at
Forlinghorn a fortnight hence?

It was half-past six. My garden boy was pumping in the scullery. He kept
his tools in the stable, and it was his duty to lock it up and hang the
key on the nail inside the scullery door.

Supposing he forgot to hang it up to-night of all nights! Supposing he
took it away with him by mistake! I went into the scullery directly he
had gone. I made a pretext of throwing away some flowers, though I had
never thought of needing a pretext for going there before. The stable
key was on its nail all right. I looked into the kitchen, where my
little maid-servant was preparing my evening meal. When her back was
turned, I snatched the key from the nail, dropped it noisily on the
brick floor, caught it up, withdrew to the parlour, and sank down in my
armchair shaking from head to foot. My doctor was right indeed when he
said I vibrated like a harp.

The life of contemplation and meditation is more suited to my highly
strung nature than that of adventure and intrigue.

My servant brought in the lamp, and I hurriedly sat on the key while she
did so. Then she drew the curtains in the little houseplace, locked the
outer door, and went back to the kitchen.

There are two doors to my cottage--the front door with the porch leading
to the lane, and the back door out of the scullery which opens into my
little slip of garden. At the bottom of the garden is a disused stable,
utilised by me to store wood in, and old boxes. The gate to the back way
to the stable from the lane had been permanently closed till the day
should come when I could afford a pony and cart. But in these days
novels of not too refined a type are the only form of literature (if
they can be called literature) for which the public is eager. It will
devour and extol anything, however coarse, which panders to its love of
excitement, while grave books dealing with the spiritual side of life,
books of thought and culture, are left unheeded on the shelf. Such had
been the fate of mine.

The rain had ceased at last, and the wind was falling. My mind kept on
making all sorts of uneasy suggestions to me as I sat in my armchair.
What was I to do with the--the individual when I had got her safely into
the stable, if I ever did get her safely there? How about food, how
about dry clothes, how about a light, how about everything? Supposing
she overslept herself, and Tommy found her the