to say, and 'Lizabeth quickly guessed what it was.

"I thought I'd drop in an' see how you was gettin' on; for it's main
lonely up at Compton Burrows since the missus was took."

"I daresay."

"An' I'd a matter on my mind to tell you," he pursued, encouraged to
find she harboured no malice. "It's troubled me, since, that way you
burnt the will, an' us turnin' you out; for in a way the place belonged
to you. The old man meant it, anyhow."

"Well," said 'Lizabeth, setting down her basket, and looking him full in
the eyes.

"Well, I reckon we might set matters square, you an' me, 'Lizabeth, by
marryin' an' settlin' down comfortable. I've no children to pester you,
an' you're young yet to be givin' up thoughts o' marriage. What do 'ee
say, cousin?"

'Lizabeth picked a full pod from the bush beside her, and began shelling
the peas, one by one, into her hand. Her face was cool and
contemplative.

"'Tis eight years ago, William, since last you asked me. Ain't that
so?" she asked absently.

"Come, Cousin, let bygones be, and tell me; shall it be, my dear?"

"No, William," she answered; "'tis too late an hour to ask me now. I
thank you, but it can't be." She passed the peas slowly to and fro in
her fingers.

"But why, 'Lizabeth?" he urged; "you was fond o' me once. Come, girl,
don't stand in your own light through a hit o' pique."

"It's not that," she explained; "it's that I've found myself out--an'
you. You've humbled my pride too sorely."

"You're thinking o' Maria."

"Partly, maybe; but it don't become us to talk o' one that's dead.
You've got my answer, William, and don't ask me again. I loved you
once, but now I'm only weary when I think o't. You wouldn't understand
me if I tried to tell you."

She held out her hand. William took it.

"You're a great fool, 'Lizabeth."

"Good-bye, William."

She took up her basket and walked slowly back to the house; William
watched her for a moment or two, swore, and returned to his horse.
He did not ride home wards, but down the valley, where he spent the day
at the "Compton Arms." When he returned home, which was not before
midnight, he was boisterously drunk.

Now it so happened that when William dismounted at the gate Mrs. Hooper
had spied him from her bedroom window, and, guessing his errand, had
stolen down on the other side of the garden wall parallel with which the
peas were planted. Thus sheltered, she contrived to hear every word of
the fo