this; for he
had taken Mrs. Peckover by the arm, and had drawn her away hurriedly
after him into the passage.

The child made no attempt to follow them: she turned aside, and, sitting
down in the darkest corner of the miserable place, rested her head
against the rough partition which was all that divided her from the
laughing audience. Her lips began to tremble again: she took out the
handkerchief once more, and hid her face in it.

"Now, recollect your promise," whispered Valentine to the clown's wife,
who was slowly pushing him out all the time he was speaking to her.
"You must bring little Mary to the Rectory to-morrow morning at twelve
o'clock exactly--you must! or I'll come and fetch her myself--"

"I'll bring her, sir, if you'll only go now. I'll bring her--I will, as
true as I stand here!"

"If you don't!" cried Valentine, still distrustful, and trembling all
over with agitation--"If you don't!"--He stopped; for he suddenly felt
the open air blowing on his face. The clown's wife was gone, and nothing
remained for him to threaten, but the tattered horse-cloths that hung
over the empty doorway.

CHAPTER IV. MADONNA'S MOTHER.

It is a quarter to twelve by the hall clock at the Rectory, and one of
the finest autumn mornings of the whole season. Vance, Doctor Joyce's
middle-aged man servant, or "Bishop" Vance, as the small wits of
Rubbleford call him, in allusion to his sleek and solemn appearance,
his respectable manner, his clerical cravat, and his speckless black
garments, is placing the cake and cowslip wine on the dining-table, with
as much formality and precision as if his master expected an archbishop
to lunch, instead of a clown's wife and a little child of ten years old.
It is quite a sight to see Vance retiring and looking at the general
effect of each knife and fork as he lays it down; or solemnly strutting
about the room, with a spotless napkin waving gently in his hand; or
patronisingly confronting the pretty housemaid at the door, and taking
plates and dishes from her with the air of a kitchen Sultan who can
never afford to lose his dignity for a moment in the presence of the
female slaves.

The dining-room window opens into the Rectory garden. The morning
shadows cast by the noble old elm-trees that grow all round, are fading
from the bright lawn. The rich flower-beds gleam like beds of jewels in
the radiant sunshine. The rookery is almost deserted, a solitary sleepy
_caw_ being only hear