ed, leaving Loveday and his wife to themselves.

'Dear Anne,' he began, when he had got down, and saw her in the candle-
light of the large room. But she adroitly passed out at the other door,
at which he took a candle and followed her to the small room. 'Dear
Anne, do let me speak,' he repeated, as soon as the rays revealed her
figure. But she passed into the bakehouse before he could say more;
whereupon he perseveringly did the same. Looking round for her here he
perceived her at the end of the room, where there were no means of exit
whatever.

'Dear Anne,' he began again, setting down the candle, 'you must try to
forgive me; really you must. I love you the best of anybody in the wide,
wide world. Try to forgive me; come!' And he imploringly took her hand.

Anne's bosom began to surge and fall like a small tide, her eyes
remaining fixed upon the floor; till, when Loveday ventured to draw her
slightly towards him, she burst out crying. 'I don't like you, Bob; I
don't!' she suddenly exclaimed between her sobs. 'I did once, but I
don't now--I can't, I can't; you have been very cruel to me!' She
violently turned away, weeping.

'I have, I have been terribly bad, I know,' answered Bob,
conscience-stricken by her grief. 'But--if you could only forgive me--I
promise that I'll never do anything to grieve 'ee again. Do you forgive
me, Anne?'

Anne's only reply was crying and shaking her head.

'Let's make it up. Come, say we have made it up, dear.'

She withdrew her hand, and still keeping her eyes buried in her
handkerchief, said 'No.'

'Very well, then!' exclaimed Bob, with sudden determination. 'Now I know
my doom! And whatever you hear of as happening to me, mind this, you
cruel girl, that it is all your causing!' Saying this he strode with a
hasty tread across the room into the passage and out at the door,
slamming it loudly behind him.

Anne suddenly looked up from her handkerchief, and stared with round wet
eyes and parted lips at the door by which he had gone. Having remained
with suspended breath in this attitude for a few seconds she turned
round, bent her head upon the table, and burst out weeping anew with
thrice the violence of the former time. It really seemed now as if her
grief would overwhelm her, all the emotions which had been suppressed,
bottled up, and concealed since Bob's return having made themselves a
sluice at last.

But such things have their end; and left to herself in