d. I have my
suspicions that the paper she showed me is not wrote by her by whom it
is pretended. Speed away, honest Jack, and see what you will see.'

But Jack stood still; he was always slow of perception, and never took
up any idea hastily. 'She may not want me,' he thought; 'she may be
angry, as she was last Sunday, but--' As Chatterton gave him another
sharp slap on his back, as a parting encouragement to set off, he said
aloud,--

'Well, I may as well walk that way as any other; it's no odds to me.'

Chatterton then left him. He was on his way to his good friend Mr
Clayfield's, and was to meet there several of the friends who had been
kind to him and stood by him in the distress of Easter eve.

Jack Henderson pulled himself together and began his walk, crossed the
ferry, and went on in the direction which Chatterton had pointed out,
greatly wondering what Betty could possibly have to say to Bryda which
she could not have put down on paper.

'Perhaps that brute has put an execution in the farm, turning out the
old man into the road, like enough. Well, I may as well follow, for it's
a lonely road for her, and there's lots of ill-looking fellows lurking
about birds nesting and ratting on Sundays.' Then Jack heaved a deep
sigh as he said, 'P'r'aps she won't mind my taking care of her for once,
though a week ago she just treated me as if I was naught to her.' And as
Jack recalled the scene on the summit of St Vincent's Rocks he felt a
pain at his heart, which, as he thought, time would never cure.

Meantime Bryda pressed bravely on, though the storms of hail often beat
on her face, and then the cloud breaking, great fields of deepest blue
sky appeared in the rifts, and now and again the sun shone out brightly
on the young leaves and primrose banks, as if to reassure them that the
present cold was but an afterthought of winter, and that spring and May
would soon reign again.

Bryda's way led along a lonely road. There were no villages, only here
and there a shepherd's hut, and not a house to be seen. A few ragged
boys foraging in the hedges for birds' nests, or paddling in a little
wayside stream for tadpoles, were the only people she saw. The ascent
was long and steep, but Bryda stepped quickly on, and at last the thorn
tree, with its rugged, gnarled trunk, came in sight.

Here the road branched off in two directions; that to the left led
across the side of the hill towards Bath, the other down to the village