ey in a light gig
hired from the Truro post-master. It was a rainy afternoon in January,
and a boisterous north-wester blew the Atlantic weather in our teeth as
we mounted the rise over Vellingey churchtown. My head being bent down,
I did not observe the figure of a woman coming up the village street,
but looked up on hearing the sound of her clogs close beside the gig.
It was Selina, tearful, carrying a bundle.

"Whatever is the matter?" I asked, on pulling up.

"They've turned me to door!" she moaned. "My dear, they've turned me to
door!"

She was tramping home to her cousins in St. Day parish. Not another
night would she sleep at Vellingey--to be trampled on. Of course she
accused the "foreign woman ": but I, it seemed, had started the quarrel
this time; or, rather, it started over the preparations for my
home-coming--some trifling matter of cookery. Selina knew my tastes.
Margit professed to know them better. Such are women.

I own that as I sent the poor soul on her way, with a promise that the
gig should carry back her boxes from Vellingey and a secret resolve that
she should return to us within a week, I could not avoid a foolish
pleasure in the thought that Margit deemed my coming of such importance.
Then it occurred to me that her position now as a single woman alone at
Vellingey lay open to scandal. The sooner I tested my growing hopes,
the better.

I did so, the second evening, after supper. Obed had stepped out to
make the round of the farm buildings and lock up. Margit had removed
the white cloth, and was setting the brass candlesticks and tobacco jar
on the uncovered table.

"What is going to happen about Selina?" I asked, from my chair.

Margit set down a candlestick. "Selina has gone," she said quietly.

"But people will talk, if you stay here alone with us, or with Obed.
You mustn't mind my saying this."

"Oh, no. I suppose they will talk."

I stood up. "I take it," said I, "you cannot be quite blind to my
feelings, Margit. I came home on purpose to speak to you: but perhaps,
if it had not been for this, I might have put off speaking for some
days. If you care for me at all, though, I think you can answer.
My dear, if you will marry me it will make me a happy man."

She was fingering the candle-base, just touching the brass with her
finger-tips and withdrawing them gently. She looked up. "I rather
thought," she said, "you would have spoken last night. Obed asked me
this