d trees as she came within sight of her cottage. She entered
quietly, and saw that Abel had not only returned, but was sleeping
soundly by his brother's side.

Grace set her house in order--took the work she had finished to her
employer--came back, and prepared breakfast, of which her husband,
having by this time also returned, partook. Now he was neither the
tyrant whose threat still rung in her ears, nor the reckless bravo of
the common; he appeared that morning, at least so his wife fancied,
more like the being she had loved so fondly, and so long.

"I will sleep, Grace," he said, when their meal was finished--"I will
sleep for an hour; and to-morrow we shall have a better breakfast." He
called his son into the bed-room, where a few words passed between them.
Immediately after this Grace went into the little chamber to fetch her
bonnet. She would not trust herself to look upon the sleeper, but her
lips moved as if in prayer; and even her children still remember, that,
as she passed out of the cottage-door, she had a flushed and agitated
appearance.

"Good morning, Mrs. Huntley," said her old neighbour, Mrs. Craddock;
"Have you heard the news? Ah! these are sad times--bad people going--"

"True, true!" replied poor Grace as she hurried onwards; "I know--I
heard it all."

Mrs. Craddock looked after her, much surprised at her abruptness.

"I was coming down to you, Grace," said her father, standing so as to
arrest her progress; "I wished to see if there was any chance of the
child Abel's returning to his exercises. As this is a holiday, I
thought--"

"Come with me," interrupted Grace, "come with me, father, and we will
make a rare holiday."

She hurried the feeble old man along the road leading to the rectory,
but returned no answer to his inquiries. The servant told her, when she
arrived at her destination, that his master was engaged--particularly
engaged--could not be disturbed--Sir Thomas Purcel was with him; and, as
the man spoke, the study-door opened, and Sir Thomas crossed the hall.

"Come back with me, sir," exclaimed Grace Huntley, eagerly: "I can tell
you all you want to know."

The Baronet shook off the hand she had laid upon his arm as if she were
a maniac.

Grace appeared to read the expression of his countenance. "I am not mad,
Sir Thomas Purcel," she continued, in a suppressed tremulous voice; "not
mad, though I may be so soon. Keep back these people, and return with
me. Mr. Glasscott knows