her son's start to
London--London, which meant for him a new bright world, the world of
Goldsmith and Garrick, of Johnson and Burke, and who could tell if, when
with the laurel crown of success on his brow, he might not meet Horace
Walpole as an equal and repay his coldness with disdain. Who could tell?
Alas that this exultant happiness in promised good should be doomed to
end in the wail of sadness which was to know no note of triumph
henceforth.

CHAPTER XIII

AN UNSUCCESSFUL SUIT.

Never once in all the months that Bryda had spent under Mr Lambert's
roof had Jack Henderson failed to appear at the door of the house in
Dowry Square on Sunday afternoons to inquire if Miss Palmer was disposed
for a walk. But he had often to turn away dejected and sorrowful.
Sometimes Bryda could not leave Mrs Lambert, sometimes she had promised
to take a dish of tea with one or other of the friends of the old lady
who frequented her parlour, and praised the girl, who was, as they said,
so notable and obliging, and who was really quite the young gentlewoman
though country bred and born in a farmhouse.

But Jack had worse misgivings than could be caused by Mrs Lambert's
disappointing him of his Sunday treat--looked forward to with hungry
eagerness from Monday morning to Saturday night--he heard from
Chatterton that the suitor whom he had seen in Dowry Square in the
autumn was frequently known to be hanging about the place, that he
visited Mr Lambert's office, that he had been invited more than once to
the midday dinner, and that he had on these occasions made himself
generally agreeable.

Jack attempted once or twice to question Bryda about the Squire, but she
always resented it, and the pleasure of his walk was consequently
spoiled.

Mrs Lambert, though she never asked Jack Henderson to cross the
threshold, was abundantly gracious to Mr Bayfield, and he, taking his
cue, flattered the good lady to the top of her bent, sympathised about
the crazy apprentice, and declared hanging was too good for him. After
the meal was over, Bryda would sit silently by with her work, and the
Squire left her alone. But on this memorable Saturday, when the
apprentice had finally been dismissed, and his iniquities fully
discussed, he leaned over Bryda as he took leave and said,--

'The morrow is Easter day. Did we not agree for Easter or Whitsuntide?'

'For neither, sir,' was the reply, in a low voice, 'for _neither_,' she
repeated.

'The