lements he proposes to make in event of a marriage; and
asks what his means are. Arthur writes back and says what he's got, and
you'll find it's as the Major says, I'll go bail. Then papa writes, and
says it's not enough, and the match had best be at an end."

"And, of course, you enclose a parting line, in which you say you
will always regard him as a brother," said Mr. Bows, eyeing her in his
scornful way.

"Of course, and so I shall," answered Miss Fotheringay. "He's a most
worthy young man, I'm sure. I'll thank ye hand me the salt. Them
filberts is beautiful."

"And there will be no noses pulled, Cos, my boy? I'm sorry you're
baulked," said Mr. Bows.

"Dad, I suppose not," said Cos, rubbing his own.--"What'll ye do about
them letters, and verses, and pomes, Milly, darling?--Ye must send 'em
back."

"Wigsby would give a hundred pound for 'em," Bows said, with a sneer.

"'Deed, then, he would," said Captain Costigan, who was easily led.

"Papa!" said Miss Milly.--"Ye wouldn't be for not sending the poor boy
his letters back? Them letters and pomes is mine. They were very long,
and full of all sorts of nonsense, and Latin, and things I couldn't
understand the half of; indeed I've not read 'em all; but we'll send
'em back to him when the proper time comes." And going to a drawer,
Miss Fotheringay took out from it a number of the County Chronicle and
Chatteris Champion, in which Pen had written a copy of flaming verses
celebrating her appearance in the character of Imogen, and putting
by the leaf upon which the poem appeared (for, like ladies of
her profession, she kept the favourable printed notices of her
performances), she wrapped up Pen's letters, poems, passions, and
fancies, and tied them with a piece of string neatly, as she would a
parcel of sugar.

Nor was she in the least moved while performing this act. What hours the
boy had passed over those papers! What love and longing: what generous
faith and manly devotion--what watchful nights and lonely fevers might
they tell of! She tied them up like so much grocery, and sate down and
made tea afterwards with a perfectly placid and contented heart: while
Pen was yearning after her ten miles off: and hugging her image to his
soul.

CHAPTER XIII. A Crisis

Meanwhile they were wondering at Fairoaks that the Major had not
returned. Dr. Portman and his lady, on their way home to Clavering,
stopped at Helen's lodge-gate, with a brief note for her from M