and of their prospects, and when they were going to leave Woolgreaves; to all of which questions Marian replied with perfect self-possession and without giving her querists any real information.
At last they set out homeward. Maud and Gertrude started off at a rapid rate, and were soon out of sight. Mr. Creswell and Marian walked quickly on together, talking on various subjects. Mr. Creswell was the principal speaker, Marian merely answering or commenting on what he said, and, contrary to her usual custom, never originating a subject. Her companion looked at her curiously two or three times during their walk; her eyes were downcast, her forehead knit, and there was a generally troubled expression in her face. At length, when they had nearly reached their destination, and had turned from the high road into the Woolgreaves' grounds through a private gate, he said:
"You are strangely silent to-day, missy. Has anything happened to vex you?"
"To vex me? Nothing in the world. And it had not even struck me that I was particularly silent. It seems to me as though we had been talking ever since we left Helmingham."
"We? I, you mean. You have been almost monosyllabic in your replies."
"Have I? That was scarcely polite when you take the trouble to talk to me, my kind friend. The fact is that I have been in a kind of day-dream, I believe."
"About the future, Marian?" Mr. Creswell said this so earnestly that the girl looked up into his face. His eyes fell before hers as she said, steadily:
"No; about the past. The sight of the school pew, and of another person there in papa's place, called up all sorts of recollections, which I was revolving instead of listening to you. Oh, no!" she added, after a pause; "I love dreaming of the past, because, though it has here and there its dim hues and its one great and ineffaceable shadow of papa's loss, it was, on the whole, a happy time. But the future" and she stopped suddenly, and shuddered.
"You have no pleasant anticipations of the future, Marian?" asked Mr. Creswell, in a lower tone than that in which he had hitherto spoken.
"Can you ask me—you who know me and know how we are circumstanced? I declare IThere! I'm always apt to forget myself when this subject is broached, and I speak out without thinking how uncalled for and ridiculous it is. Shall we walk on?"
"Not for an instant. I wanted to say a few words to you. I was talking to Dr. Osborne this morning about Mrs. Ashurst."
"About mamma?"
"The doctor said—what cannot fail to have struck you, Marian, who are so devotedly attached to your mother and so constantly in attendance on her—that a great change has recently come over her, and that she is much more feeble and more helpless than she used to be. You have noticed this?"
"I have indeed. Dr. Osborne is perfectly right. Mamma is very much changed."
"It is obviously necessary that she should not feel the loss of any little comfort to which she may have been accustomed. It is most essential that her mind should not be disturbed by any harassing fears as to what might become of you, after she was gone."
Marian was silent. Her face was deadly pale, and her eyes were downcast.
"There is only one way of securing our first object," continued Mr. Creswell, "and that is by your continuing in this house."
"That is impossible, Mr. Creswell. I have already explained to you the reason."
"Not impossible in one way, Marian—a way, too, that will secure the other object we have in view—your mother's peace of mind about you. Marian, will you remain in this house as its mistress—as my wife?"
It had come at last, the golden chance! She knew that he understood she had accepted him, and that was all. Mr. Creswell went on rapturously, telling her how his love had grown as he had watched her beauty, her charming intelligence, her discretion, and her worth; how he had been afraid she might think he was too old for her; how she should prove the warmth of his affection and the depth of his gratitude. All this he said, but she heard none of it. Her brain was running on her having at last achieved the position and the wealth, so long a source of bitter misery and despair to her. The end was gained; now life would indeed be something to her.
When they reached the house, Mr. Creswell wanted to go with her at once to Mrs. Ashurst's room; but Marian begged to be alone for a few moments, and parted with him at the door. As she passed through
