to-night, bein'
Christmas time. Good-night, William!"

She moved to go; but, recollecting herself, turned at the door, and,
stepping up to the bed, bent and kissed the dead man's forehead.
Then she was gone.

It was the woman who broke the silence that followed with a base speech.

"Well! To think she'd lose her head like that when she found you wasn't
to be had!"

"Shut up!" said William savagely; "an' listen to this: If you was to
die to-night I'd marry 'Lizabeth next week."

Time passed. The old man was buried, and Mr. and Mrs. Transom took
possession at Compton Burrows and reigned in his stead. 'Lizabeth dwelt
a mile or so down the valley with the Hoopers, who, as she had said,
were thankful enough to get her services, for Mrs. Hooper was well up in
years, and gladly resigned the dairy work to a girl who, as she told her
husband, was of good haveage, and worth her keep a dozen times over.
So 'Lizabeth had settled down in her new home, and closed her heart and
shut its clasps tight.

She never met William to speak to. Now and then she caught sight of him
as he rode past on horseback, on his way to market or to the "Compton
Arms," where he spent more time and money than was good for him. He had
bought himself out of the army, of course; but he retained his barrack
tales and his air of having seen life. These, backed up with a baritone
voice and a largehandedness in standing treat, made him popular in the
bar parlour. Meanwhile, Mrs. Transom, up at Compton Burrows--perhaps
because she missed her "theayters"--sickened and began to pine; and one
January afternoon, little more than a year after the home-coming,
'Lizabeth, standing in the dairy by her cream-pans, heard that she was
dead.

"Poor soul," she said; "but she looked a sickly one." That was all.
She herself wondered that the news should affect her so little.

"I reckon," said Mrs. Hooper with meaning, "William will soon be lookin'
round for another wife."

'Lizabeth went quietly on with her skimming.

It was just five months after this, on a warm June morning, that William
rode down the valley, and, dismounting by Farmer Hooper's, hitched his
bridle over the garden gate, and entered. 'Lizabeth was in the garden;
he could see her print sun-bonnet moving between the rows of peas.
She turned as he approached, dropped a pod into her basket, and held out
her hand.

"Good day, William." Her voice was quite friendly.

William had something