re that day in July which would separate them. But
when it suddenly occurred to her that they two would walk to and fro from
church together, there was cause for additional uneasiness.

If she had heard their conversation as they came back she would have been
in no way disturbed by its tone on the score of the young man's tenderness
towards her daughter, but she might perhaps have been surprised by his
vehemence in another respect. She would have been surprised also at
finding how much had been said during the last twenty-four hours by others
besides herself and her husband about the affairs of Mr. and Mrs.
Peacocke.

"Do you know what he came about?" asked Mary. The "he" had of course been
Robert Lefroy.

"Not in the least; but he came up there looking so queer, as though he
certainly had come about something unpleasant."

"And then he was with papa afterwards," said Mary. "I am sure papa and
mamma not coming to church has something to do with it. And Mr. Peacocke
hasn't been to church all day."

"Something has happened to make him very unhappy," said the boy. "He told
me so even before this man came here. I don't know any one whom I like so
much as Mr. Peacocke."

"I think it is about his wife," said Mary.

"How about his wife?"

"I don't know, but I think it is. She is so very quiet."

"How quiet, Miss Wortle?" he asked.

"She never will come in to see us. Mamma has asked her to dinner and to
drink tea ever so often, but she never comes. She calls perhaps once in
two or three months in a formal way, and that is all we see of her."

"Do you like her?" he asked.

"How can I say, when I so seldom see her."

"I do. I like her very much. I go and see her often; and I'm sure of
this;--she is quite a lady. Mamma asked her to go to Carstairs for the
holidays because of what I said."

"She is not going?"

"No; neither of them will come. I wish they would; and oh, Miss Wortle, I
do so wish you were going to be there too." This is all that was said of
peculiar tenderness between them on that walk home.

Late in the evening,--so late that the boys had already gone to bed,--the
Doctor sent again for Mr. Peacocke. "I should not have troubled you
to-night," he said, "only that I have heard something from Pritchett."
Pritchett was the rectory gardener who had charge also of the school
buildings, and was a person of great authority in the establishment. He,
as well the Doctor, held Mr. Peacocke in