broken through. Sometimes I felt
strongly inclined to question her; but on consulting John, he gave his
veto so decidedly against seeking out people's private affairs in such
an illicit manner that I felt quite guilty, and began to doubt whether
my sickly, useless, dreaming life, was not inclining me to curiosity,
gossip, and other small vices which we are accustomed--I know not
why--to insult the other sex by describing as "womanish."

As I have said, the two cottages were built distinct, so that we could
have neither sound nor sight of our neighbours, save upon the neutral
ground of Mrs. Tod's kitchen; where, however I might have felt inclined
to venture, John's prohibition stopped me entirely.

Thus--save the two days when he was at home, when he put me on his
mare's back, and led me far away, over common, and valley, and hill,
for miles, only coming back at twilight--save those two blithe days, I
spent the week in dignified solitude, and was very thankful for Sunday.

We determined to make it a long, lovely, country Sunday; so we began it
at six a.m. John took me a new walk across the common, where--he said,
in answer to my question--we were quite certain NOT to meet Miss March.

"Do you experimentalize on the subject, that you calculate her paths
with such nicety? Pray, have you ever met her again, for I know you
have been out most mornings?"

"Morning is the only time I have for walking, you know, Phineas."

"Ah, true! You have little pleasure at Enderley. I almost wish we
could go home."

"Don't think of such a thing. It is doing you a world of good. Indeed,
we must not, on any account, go home."

I know, and knew then, that his anxiety was in earnest; that whatever
other thoughts might lie underneath, the sincere thought of me was the
one uppermost in his mind.

"Well, we'll stay--that is, if you are happy, John."

"Thoroughly happy; I like the dashing rides to Norton Bury. Above all,
I like coming back. The minute I begin to climb Enderley Hill, the
tan-yard, and all belonging to it, drops off like an incubus, and I
wake into free, beautiful life. Now, Phineas, confess; is not this
common a lovely place, especially of a morning?"

"Ay," said I, smiling at his energy. "But you did not tell me whether
you had met Miss March again."

"She has never once seen me."

"But you have seen her? Answer honestly."

"Why should I not?--Yes, I have seen her--once or twice or so--but
never in any