oor opened into your private room.'

'Indeed, Captain Loveday!'

'I am pulling down the division on principle, as we are now one family.
But I really thought the door opened into your passage.'

'It don't matter; I can get another room.'

'Not at all. Father wouldn't let me turn you out. I'll close it up
again.'

But Anne was so interested in the novelty of a new doorway that she
walked through it, and found herself in a dark low passage which she had
never seen before.

'It leads to the mill,' said Bob. 'Would you like to go in and see it at
work? But perhaps you have already.'

'Only into the ground floor.'

'Come all over it. I am practising as grinder, you know, to help my
father.'

She followed him along the dark passage, in the side of which he opened a
little trap, when she saw a great slimy cavern, where the long arms of
the mill-wheel flung themselves slowly and distractedly round, and
splashing water-drops caught the little light that strayed into the
gloomy place, turning it into stars and flashes. A cold mist-laden puff
of air came into their faces, and the roar from within made it necessary
for Anne to shout as she said, 'It is dismal! let us go on.'

Bob shut the trap, the roar ceased, and they went on to the inner part of
the mill, where the air was warm and nutty, and pervaded by a fog of
flour. Then they ascended the stairs, and saw the stones lumbering round
and round, and the yellow corn running down through the hopper. They
climbed yet further to the top stage, where the wheat lay in bins, and
where long rays like feelers stretched in from the sun through the little
window, got nearly lost among cobwebs and timber, and completed their
course by marking the opposite wall with a glowing patch of gold.

In his earnestness as an exhibitor Bob opened the bolter, which was
spinning rapidly round, the result being that a dense cloud of flour
rolled out in their faces, reminding Anne that her complexion was
probably much paler by this time than when she had entered the mill. She
thanked her companion for his trouble, and said she would now go down. He
followed her with the same deference as hitherto, and with a sudden and
increasing sense that of all cures for his former unhappy passion this
would have been the nicest, the easiest, and the most effectual, if he
had only been fortunate enough to keep her upon easy terms. But Miss
Garland showed no disposition to go further than accept