two ways by which you can make amends, and first I would beg
that none of our friends who were here last night should be told of it.
I should not like to think that Emma and Elizabeth, and Evelina or
Marianna Alcoforado should ever hear that I was taken for a thief.'

'You are laughing at us,' said Eliz sharply. 'We know that you will go
away and make fun of us to all your friends.'

'If I do you will have one way of punishing me that would give me more
pain than I could well endure, you can shut me out next time I come to
ask for shelter.'

'Oh, but you can't come again,' said Eliz, with vibrating note of fierce
discontent; 'our stepmother will be here.'

He looked at Madge.

'I was going to say that the other way in which you could make amends
would be to give me leave to come back; and if _you_ give me leave I
will come, even if it be necessary, to that end, to get an introduction
from all the clergy in Great Britain, or from the Royal Family.'

A ray of hope shot into Madge's dark eyes, the first glimmer of a smile
began to show through her distress.

'It is an old adage that "where there is a will there is a way," and did
I not walk on your most impossible snow-shoes and bring back your
silver?'

Madge looked down, a pretty red began to mantle her pale face, and, as
if the angels who manage the winds and clouds did not wish that the
blush of so dear a maiden should betray too much, a ray of scarlet light
from the sinking sun just then came winging through the dispersing
storm-clouds and caused all the white snow-world to redden, and dyed the
frost-flowers on the window-pane, and, entering where the pane was bare,
lit all the room with soft vermilion light. So, in the wondrous blush of
the white world, the girl's cheeks glowed and yet did not confess too
much.

'You will allow me to send in your compliments and inquire after Mr.
Woodhouse as I pass?' This was Courthope's farewell to Eliz, and she
called joyfully in reply:--

'You need not send back his message, for we shall know that they are
"all very indifferent."'

Into the scarlet shining of the western sun, an omen of fair weather and
delight, Courthope set forth again from the square tin-roofed house,
'leaving,' as the saying is, 'his heart behind him.' The large
farm-horses, restive from long confinement and stimulated by the frost,
shook their bells with energy. The Morin women displayed such goodwill
and even tenderness in their attentions to