tion, his sudden revulsion of feeling to despair, when she replied to his stammering attempt at thanks with mocking words, and a chilling laugh.
It was some minutes before he recovered himself sufficiently to speak. By that time they had reached the lane that led from the end of the village street up to the Parsonage. As soon as the glimmering light in the ivied window caught his eye, he said, in a tone which he tried to make as indifferent as her own, but in which it was easy to detect traces of the emotion from which he was suffering—
"You will not suffer me to thank you for your goodness on my behalf. I trust your father may be more complaisant."
"My father, sir, will make as much light of it as I do," replied Joan, as she relaxed her hold on her companion's belt, and alighted in the mud of the lane.
Parson Langney's voice, hearty, cheery, but not without a touch of anxiety, rang out pleasantly, at this moment, upon their ears.
"Hey, Miss Madcap, is't you? By what Nance told me, I had begun to fear your wild expedition had turned out ill!"
