cheeks are just like a pair of mealy potatoes!" With which attractive description of Gabrielle's looks, Mrs. Barber relapsed into silence. She saw that the poor child's heart was too full for words, as, one by one, the old familiar places dawned upon her, and in the distance appeared the gray tower of Eversfield church. "It seems just like coming home," she said to herself. At the moment, by the vivid force of imagination, coming home it really was to her! She had been on a visit; Mrs. Barber had volunteered to fetch her from Brackdale; her father, in the rectory garden, was listening for the sound of the wheels, ready to fold her in his arms, and to say how sadly he had missed her. But now they were rolling up the village street; and on the pavement, close by, she saw a clergyman, a stranger. "Our rector!" whispered Mrs. Barber. A young man, strong and ac tive: not the beloved form, that Gabrielle remembered,—a little bent, a little worn, a little feeble. Presently he disappeared down the familiar turning which led to the rectory. They, in the fly, passed it; and then Gabrielle realized that the Farnley life had been no mere visit, that this was no coming home. Charlie's prophecy proved correct. Mrs. Barber, almost immediately after tea, ordered her young visitor to bed; and so thoroughly exhausted was she, that she felt thankful to obey. Drawing up the blind, and lying down with her face towards the windowwhence, in dark outline, she could see the church tower and the rectory chimneys, rising among the trees: Gabrielle soon sank into the soundest slumber that she had known for weeks. 156 CHAPTER VII. If the sense is hard To alien ears, I did not speak to these― Hard is my doom and thine: thou knowest it all. ALFRED TENNYSON. T IT was morning. Gabrielle opened her eyes, to find the sunbeams shining on the golden head of Mrs. Barber's youngest child, who stood beside the bed, and proffered a letter, directed to Miss Wynn. "A letter for me? From Charlie, I supWhy————!” pose. She stopped short. That firm, clear handwriting, that seal, with the crest and the initials, what was there in these to make her colour rise, her eyes glisten, her heart beat so fast? The child lingered, moving to and fro, chattering about blackberries, and chickens, and new dolls; but Gabrielle heard not a syllable. She had torn open the envelope; she was drinking in the letteras one who has long thirsted, might drink water, fresh and cold. "Farnley, Sept. —th, 18—. "MY DEAR GABRIELLE,-You will be surprised, I daresay, to hear from me; but I cannot rest until I have in some measure relieved my mind by writing these few lines. I am well aware that, during the past month, my conduct to you has been-or rather has seemed-little short of actual rudeness: wanting even in those common forms of courtesy which every lady has a right to expect from every gentleman. But it is not in my power to explain or to extenuate anything that has passed. I must resign myself, in expressibly painful though such resignation be, to the forfeiture of your esteem. The one hope left to me is the hope that you will believe me when I say, that reasons, which I regarded as weighty and powerful reasons, have seemed to render it absolutely necessary for me to avoid your society. I am expressing myself incoherently; but, if you could see my mind, you would not wonder. To-morrow you go-I dare not trust myself to see you, or to wish you good-bye. You will know, on receiving this, how to interpret my absence. I shall not rest"a second time that expression-" until I hear that you have forgiven my" (some word erased) "my rudeness of the last few weeks. The past is gone, and may not be undone. I can only implore your pardon. "Believe me ever, "Your affectionate cousin, "J. F. GORDON." |