sure his lordship would
be grieved if he knew you were working so hard. Now, come, take Roddy
and go for a long walk; or perhaps you would rather drive?"

Celia declared that she preferred a walk, and a little later she started
out, somewhat reluctantly, with Roddy close at her heels. It was a
delicious morning; the feeling of the coming summer was in the air, the
larks were singing joyously above the moorland, as if they, too, were
revelling in the bright sunlight, the clean, keen air, the scent of the
gorse with which it was perfumed. Celia could scarcely refrain from
singing; she walked quickly, and sometimes, to Roddy's delight, she ran
races with him. She came to the end of the moor at last, and swung down
to the high road, followed it for some time and presently came to two
cross-roads. She was hesitating which to take, when a small phaeton,
drawn by an Exmoor pony, came rolling towards her.

In the phaeton was an old lady with white hair and a pleasant
countenance; she had very sharp eyes and a smile that was a trifle
cynical. At sight of the young girl, with the brilliant eyes and the
healthily flushed cheeks, she stopped the pony and looked at Celia
curiously. Celia felt as if she must speak to everyone that morning, so
she went up to the tiny carriage and asked how far it was, by the road,
to Thexford Hall.

"Oh, I see," said the old lady. "I was wondering who you were. You are
the young lady who has come to the Hall as librarian. Let me see, what
is your name?"

Celia told her.

"And a very pretty one, too," said the old lady, with a short nod. "I'm
called Gridborough. You've walked six miles, and must be tired," she
continued. "You ought to have a rest. Get in and I'll drive you to my
house; you can have some lunch with me."

As they entered a long drive, bordered by tall elms, Celia saw a small
cottage set back a little way from the road. A young woman, with a pale
face and sad-looking blue eyes, was standing at the gate with a baby in
her arms. As the phaeton drove up, a faint colour came to her white
face; she dropped a little curtsy and was turning away, but stopped when
the old lady called to her. The young woman approached, with an air of
timidity, of passive obedience, which was as pathetic as her eyes.

"Well, how is the baby, Susie?" asked her ladyship.

"He is quite well, now, my lady," replied the girl, in a low, toneless
voice.

"That's right. I thought he'd soon pull round; it's the w