es, which, I think, brought tears to the eyes of all
of us.

Mr. Egerton sat near one of the open windows, with his face in
shadow, while she was singing; and as she began the last of these
old songs he rose with a half-impatient gesture, and went out upon
the terrace. If I watched him closely, and others in relation to
him, at this time, it was from no frivolous or impertinent
curiosity, but because I felt very certain that my darling's
happiness was at stake. I saw her little disappointed look when he
remained at the farther end of the room, talking to the gentlemen,
all the rest of that evening, instead of contriving by some means to
be near her, as he always had done during our pleasant evenings at
the Rectory.

CHAPTER IX.

ANGUS EGERTON IS REJECTED.

The expected storm came next day, and Milly and I were caught in it.
We had gone for a ramble across the moor, and were luckily within a
short distance of Rebecca Thatcher's cottage when the first vivid
flash broke through the leaden clouds, and the first long peal of
thunder came crashing over the open landscape. We set off for Mrs.
Thatcher's habitation at a run, and arrived there breathless.

The herbalist was not alone. A tall dark figure stood between us and
the little window as we went in, blotting out all the light.

Milly gave a faint cry of surprise; and as the figure turned towards
us I recognised Mr. Egerton.

In all our visits among the poor we had never met him before.

'Caught again, young ladies!' he cried, laughing; 'you've neither of
you grown weatherwise yet, I see. Luckily you're under cover before
the rain has begun. I think we shall have it pretty heavy presently.
How surprised you look to see me here, Miss Darrell! Becky is a very
old friend of mine. I remember her ever since I can remember
anything. She was in my grandfather's service once upon a time.'

'That I was, Mr. Egerton, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you
and yours--for you at least, for there's none but you left now. But I
suppose you'll be getting married one of these days; you're not
going to let the old name of Egerton die out?'

Angus Egerton shook his head with a slow sad gesture.

'I am too poor to marry, Mrs. Thatcher,' he said. 'What could I
offer a wife but a gloomy old house, and a perpetual struggle to
make hundreds do the work of thousands? I am too proud to ask the
woman I love to sacrifice her future to me.'

'Cumber Priory is good enough for