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of a new doorway that she walked through It,
and found herself in a dark low passage which
she had never seen before.

' It leads to the mill,' said Bob. ' Would
you like to go In and see it at work ? But
perhaps you have already.'

' Only Into the ground floor.'


' Come all over it. I am practising as
grinder, you know, to help my father.'

She followed him along the dark passage,
in the side of which he opened a little trap,
when she saw a great slimy cavern, where
the long arms of the mill-wheel flung them-
selves slow^ly and distractedly round, and
splashing water-drops caught the little light
that strayed into the gloomy place, turning
it into stars and flashes. A cold mist-laden
puff of air came into their faces, and the
roar from within made It necessary for
Anne to shout as she said, ' It Is dismal ! let us
go on.'

Bob shut the trap, the roar ceased, and
they went on to the inner part of the mill,
where the air was warm and nutty, and per-
vaded by a fog of flour. Then they ascended
the stairs, and saw the stones lumbering
round and round, and the yellow corn run-


ning down through the hopper. They
dimbed yet farther to the top stage, where
the wheat lay in bins, and where long rays
like feelers stretched in from the sun through
the little window, got nearly lost among cob-
webs and timber, and completed its course by
marking the opposite wall with a glowing
patch of gold.

In his earnestness as an exhibitor Bob
opened the bolter, which was spinning rapidly
round, the result being that a dense cloud
of flour rolled out in their faces, reminding
Anne that her complexion was probably
much paler by this time than when she had
entered the mill. She thanked her com-
panion for his trouble, and said she would
now go down. He followed her with the
same deference as hitherto, and with a sudden
and increasing sense that of all cures for his
former unhappy passion this would have


been the nicest, the easiest, and the most
effectual, if he had only been fortunate enough
to keep her upon easy terms. But Miss
Garland showed no disposition to go farther
than accept his services as a guide ; she
descended to the open air, shook the flour
from her like a bird, and went on into the
garden amid the September sunshine, whose
rays lay level across the blue haze which the
earth gave forth. The gnats were dancing
up and down in airy companies, the nasturtium
flowers shone out In groups from the dark
hedge over which they climbed, and the mel-
low smell of the, decline of summer was ex-
haled by everything. Bob followed her as
far as the gate, looked after her, thought of
her as the same girl who had half encouraged
him years ago, when she seemed so superior
to him ; though now they were almost equal
she apparently thought him beneath her. It


was with a new sense of pleasure that his
mind flew to the fact that she was now an
inmate of his father's house.

His obsequious bearing was continued
during the next week. In the busy hours of
the day they seldom met, but they regularly
encountered each other at meals, and these
cheerful occasions began to have an interest
for him quite irrespective of dishes and cups.
When Anne entered and took her seat she
was always loudly hailed by Miller Loveday
as he whetted his knife ; but from Bob she
condescended to accept no such familiar
greeting, and they often sat down together
as if each had a blind eye in the direction of
the other. Bob sometimes told serious and
correct stories about sea-captains, pilots,
boatswains, mates, able seamen, and other
curious fauna of the marine world ; but these
were directly addressed to his father and Mrs.


Loveday, Anne being included at the clinch-
ing-point by a glance only. He sometimes
opened bottles of sweet cider for her, and then
she thanked him ; but even this did not lead
to her encouraging his chat.

One day when Anne was paring an apple
she was left at table with the young man. ' I
have made something for you/ he said.

She looked all over the table ; nothing
was there save the ordinary remnants.

' Oh ! I don't mean that it is here ; it is out
by the bridge at the mill-head.'

He arose, and Anne followed with curio-
sity in her eyes, and with her firm little mouth
pouted up to a puzzled shape. On reaching
the mossy mill-head she found that he had
fixed in the keen damp draught which always
prevailed over the wheel an ^olian harp of
large size. At present the strings were partly
covered with a cloth. He lifted it, and the


wires began to emit a weird harmony which
mingled curiously with the plashing of the

' I made it on purpose for you, Miss Gar-
land/ he said.

She thanked him very warmly, for she
had never seen anything like such an instru-
ment before, and it interested her. ' It was
very thoughtful of you to make it,' she
added. ' How came you to think of such a
thing ? '

' Oh ! I don't know exactly/ he replied,
as if he did not care to be questioned on the
point. ' I have never made one in my life
till now.'

Every night after this, during the mourn-
ful gales of autumn, the strange mixed music
of water, wind, and strings met her ear, swell-
ing and sinking with an almost supernatural
cadence. The character of the instrument


was far enough removed from anything she
had hitherto seen of Bob's hobbies ; so that
she marvelled pleasantly at the new depths of
poetry this contrivance revealed as existent in
that young seaman's nature, and allowed her
emotions to flow out yet a little farther in the
old direction, notwithstanding her late severe
resolve to bar them back.

One breezy night, when the mill was kept
going into the small hours, and the wind
was exactly in the direction of the water-
current, the music so mingled with her dreams
as to wake her : it seemed to rhythmically
set itself to the words, ' Remember me ! think
of me ! ' She was much impressed ; the
sounds w^ere almost too touching ; and she
spoke to Bob the next morning on the subject.

' How strange it is that you should have
thought of fixing that harp where the water
gushes ! ' she gently observed. ' It affects me


almost painfully at night. You are poetical,
Captain Bob. But it is too — too sad ! '

* I will take it away,' said Captain Bob
promptly. * It certainly is too sad ; I thought
so myself. I myself was kept awake by it
one night.'

* How came you to think of making such
a peculiar thing ? '

' Well,' said Bob, ' it is hardly worth
saying why. It is not a good place for such
a queer noisy machine ; and I'll take it

' On second thoughts,' said Anne, * I
should like it to remain a little longer, because
it sets me thinking.'

' Of me ? ' he asked, with earnest frank-

Anne's colour rose fast.

' Well, yes,' she said, trying to infuse much
plain matter-of-fact into her voice. ' Of

VOL. II. • K


course I am led to think of the person who
invented it.'

Bob seemed unaccountably embarrassed,
and the subject was not pursued. About half
an hour later he came to her again, with
something of an uneasy look.

' There was a little matter I didn't tell you
just now, Miss Garland,' he said. ' About
that harp thing, I mean. I did make it, cer-
tainly, but it was my brother John who asked
me to do it, just before he went away. John
is very musical, as you know, and he said it
would interest vou ; but as he didn't ask me to
tell, I did not. Perhaps I ought to have, and
not have taken the credit to myself.'

• Oh, it is nothing ! ' said Anne quickly.
' It is a very incomplete instrument after all,
and it will be just as well for you to take it
away as you first proposed.'

He said that he would, but he forgot to


do it that day ; and the following night there
was a high wind, and the harp cried and
moaned so movingly that Anne, whose win-
dow was quite near, could hardly bear the
sound with its new associations. John Love-
day was present to her mind all night as an
ill-used man ; and yet she could not own that
she had ill-used him.

The harp was removed next day. Bob,
feeling that his credit for originality was
damaged in her eyes, by way of recovering it
set himself to paint the summer-house which
Anne frequented, and when he came out he
assured her that it was quite his own idea.

' It wanted doing, certainly,' she said, in a
neutral tone.

' It is just about troublesome.'

' Yes ; you can't quite reach up. That's
because you are not very tall ; is it not. Cap-
tain Loveday ? '

K 2


' You never used to say things like that'

' Oh, I don't mean that vou are much less
than tall ! Shall I hold the paint for you, to
save your stepping down ? '

' Thank you, if you would.'

She took the paint-pot, and stood looking
at the brush as it moved up and down in his

' I hope I shall not sprinkle your fingers,*
he observed as he dipped.

* Oh, that would not matter ! You do it
very well.'

* I am glad to hear that you think so.'

^ But perhaps not quite so much art is
demanded to paint a summer-house as to
paint a picture ? '

Thinking that, as a painter's daughter,
and a person of education superior to his
own, she spoke with a flavour of sarcasm, he
felt humbled and said —


* You did not use to talk like that to me.'

* I was perhaps too young then to take
any pleasure In giving pain,' she observed

* Does it give you pleasure ? '
Anne nodded.

' I like to give pain to people who have
given pain to me,' she said smartly, without
removing her eyes from the green liquid in
her hand.

' I ask your pardon for that.'

* I didn't say I meant you — though I did
mean you.'

Bob looked and looked at her side face
till he was bewitched into putting down the

* It was that stupid forgetting of ye for a
time ! ' he exclaimed. ' Well, I hadn't seen
you for so very long — consider how many
years ! Oh, dear Anne ! ' he said, advancing


to take her hand, ' how well we knew one
another when we were children ! You was
a queen to me then ; and so you are now,
and always.'

Possibly Anne was thrilled pleasantly
enough at having brought the truant village-
lad to her feet again ; but he was not to find
the situation so easy as he imagined, and her
hand was not to be taken yet.

' Very pretty ! ' she said, laughing. ' And
only six weeks since Miss Johnson left.'

* Zounds, don't say anything about that ! '
implored Bob. ' I swear that I never —
never deliberately loved her — for a long time
together, that is ; it was a sudden sort of
thing, you know. But towards you — I have
more or less honoured and respectfully loved
you, off and on, all my life. There, that's

Anne retorted quickly —


' I am willing, off and on, to believe
you, Captain Robert. But I dont see any
good in your making these solemn declara-

' Give me leave to explain, dear Miss
Garland. It is to get you to be pleased to
renew an old promise — made years ago — that
you'll think o' me.'

'Not a word of any promise will I

' Well, well, I won't urge ye to-day. Only
let me beg of you to get over the quite wrong
notion you have of me ; and it shall be my
whole endeavour to fetch your gracious

Anne turned away from him and entered
the house, whither in the course of a quarter
of an hour he followed her, knocking at her
door and asking to be let in'. She said she
was busy ; whereupon he went away, to come


back again In a short time and receive the
same answer.

' I have finished painting the summer-
house for you/ he said through the door.

' I cannot come to see it. I shall be en-
gaged till supper time.'

She heard him breathe a heavy sigh and
withdraw, murmuring something about his
bad luck in being cut away from the starn
like this. But it was not over yet. When
supper time came and they sat down together,
she took upon herself to reprove him for
what he had said to her in the garden.

Bob made his forehead express despair.

' Now, I beg you this one thing,' he said.
* Just let me know your whole mind. Then
I shall have a chance to confess my faults
and mend them, or clear my conduct to your

She answered with quickness, but not


loud enough to be heard by the old people at
the other end of the table — ' Then, Captain
Loveday, I will tell you one thing, one fault,
that perhaps would have been more proper
to my character than to yours. You are
too easily Impressed by new faces, and that
gives me a bad opinion of you — yes, bad

' Oh, that's it ! ' said Bob slowly, looking
at her with the intense respect of a pupil
for a master, her words being spoken in a
manner so precisely between jest and earnest
that he was In some doubt how they were to
be received. ' Impressed by new faces. It
Is wrong, certainly, of me.'

The popping of a cork, and the pouring
out of strong beer by the miller with a view
to giving It a head, were apparently distrac-
tions sufficient to excuse her in not attending
further to him ; and during the remainder of


the sitting her gentle chiding seemed to be
sinking seriously into his mind. Perhaps her
own heart ached to see how silent he was ;
but she had always meant to punish him.
Day after day for two or three weeks she
preserved the same demeanour, with a self-
control which did justice to her character.
And, on his part, considering what he had
to put up with, how she eluded him, snapped
him off, refused to come out when he called
her, refused to see him when he wanted to
enter the little parlour which she had now
appropriated to her private use, his patience
testified strongly to his good-humour.





Christmas had passed. Dreary winter with
dark evenings had given place to more dreary
winter with Hght evenings. Rapid thaws
had ended in rain, rain in wind, wind in dust.
Showery days had come — the season of pink
dawns and white sunsets ; and people hoped
that the March weather was over.

The chief incident that concerned the
household at the mill was that the miller,
following the example of all his neighbours,
had become a volunteer, and duly appeared


twice a week In a red, long-tailed military
coat, plpe-c!ayed breeches, black cloth gaiters,
a heel-balled helmet-hat, with a tuft of green
wool, and epaulets of the same colour and
material. Bob still remained neutral. Not
being able to decide whether to enrol himself
as a sea-fenclble, a local mllitla-man, or a
volunteer, he simply went on dancing attend-
ance upon Anne. Mrs. Loveday had become
awake to the fact that the pair of young
people stood In a curious attitude towards
each other ; but as they were never seen with
their heads together, and scarcely ever sat
even in the same room, she could not be sure
what their movements meant.

Strangely enough (or perhaps naturally
enough), since entering the Loveday family
herself, she had gradually grown to think less
favourably of Anne doing the same thing,
and reverted to her original Idea of encourag-


Ing Festus ; this more particularly because
he had of late shown such perseverance In
haunting the precincts of the mill, presumably
with the Intention of lighting upon the young
girl. But the weather had kept her mostly

One afternoon It was raining In torrents.
Such leaves as there were on trees at this
time of year — those of the laurel and other
evergreens — staggered beneath the hard blows
of the drops which fell upon them, and after-
wards could be seen trickling down the stems
beneath and silently entering the ground.
The surface of the mill-pond leapt up In a
thousand spirts under the same downfall, and
clucked like a hen in the rat-holes alone the
banks as it undulated under the wind. The
only dry spot visible from the front windows
of the mill-house was the Inside of a small
shed, on the opposite side of the courtyard.


While Mrs. Loveday was noticing the threads
of rain descending across Its interior shade,
Festus Derriman walked up and entered It
for shelter, which, owing to the lumber within,
it but scantily afforded to a man who would
have been a match for one of Frederick Wil-
liam's Patagonians,

It was an excellent opportunity for helping
on her scheme. Anne was In the back room,
and by asking him in till the rain was over
she would bring him face to face with her
daughter, whom, as the days went on, she
increasingly wished to marry other than a
Loveday, now that the romance of her own
alliance with the miller had In some respects
worn off. She was better provided for than
before ; she was not unhappy ; but the plain
fact was that she had married beneath her.
She beckoned to Festus through the window-
pane ; he Instantly complied with her signal,


having In fact placed himself there on purpose
to be noticed ; for he knew that Miss Gar-
land would not be out-of-doors on such a day.

' Good afternoon, Mrs Loveday,' said
Festus on enterlnp-. ' There now — If I didn't
think that's how It would be ! ' His voice
had suddenly warmed to anger, for he had
seen a door close In the back part of the
room, a lithe figure having previously slipped

Mrs. Loveday turned, observed that Anne
was gone, and said, ' What Is It ? ' as If she
did not know.

' Oh, nothing, nothing ! ' said Festus
crossly. ' You know well enough what it is,
ma'am ; only you make pretence otherwise.
But I'll bring her to book yet. You shall drop
your haughty airs, my charmer ! She little
thinks I have kept an account of 'em all.'

' But you must treat her politely, sir,' said


Mrs. Loveday, secretly pleased at these signs
of uncontrollable affection.

* Don't tell me of politeness or generosity,
ma'am ! She is more than a match for
me. She regularly gets over me. I have
passed by this house five-and-fifty times
since last Martinmas, and this is all my re-
ward for t ! '

* But you will stay till the rain is over,

sir ?

* No. I don't mind rain. I'm off again.
She's got somebody else in her eye ! ' And
the yeoman went out, slamming the door.

Meanwhile the slippery object of his hopes
had gone along the dark passage, passed the
trap which opened on the wheel, and through
the door into the mill, where she was met
by Bob, who looked up from the flour-shoot
inquiringly and said, ' You want me, Miss
Garland ? '


* Oh, no,' said she. ' I only want to be
allowed to stand here a few minutes.'

He looked at her to know if she meant
it, and, finding that she did, returned to his
post. When the mill had rumbled on a little
longer he came back.

* Bob,' she said, when she saw him move,
* remember that you are at work, and have
no time to stand close to me.'

He bowed and went to his original post
again, Anne watching from the window till
Festus should leave. The mill rumbled on
as before, and at last Bob came to her

for the third time. * Now, Bob ' she


' On my honour, 'tis only to ask a ques-
tion. Will you walk with me to church next
Sunday afternoon ? '

' Perhaps I will,' she said. But at this
moment the yeoman left the house, and

VOL. II. . L


Anne, to escape further parley, returned to
the dwelling by the way she had come.

Sunday afternoon arrived, and the family
was standing at the door waiting for the
church bells to begin. From that side of
the house they could see southward across a
paddock to the rising ground farther ahead,
where there grew a large elm-tree, beneath
whose boughs footpaths crossed in dlflferent
directions, like meridians at the pole. The
tree was old, and in summer the grass be-
neath it was quite trodden away by the feet
of the many trysters and Idlers who haunted
the spot. The tree formed a conspicuous
object in the surrounding landscape.

While they looked, a foot soldier In red
uniform and white breeches came along one
of the paths, and, stopping beneath the elm,
drew from his pocket a paper, which he pro-
ceeded to nail up by the four corners to the


trunk. He drew back, looked at it, and
went on his way. Bob got his glass from in-
doors and levelled it at the placard, but after
looking for a long time he could make out
nothing but a lion and a unicorn at the top.
Anne, who was ready for church, moved
away from the door, though it was yet early,
and showed her intention of going by way of
the elm. The paper had been so impressively
nailed up that she was curious to read it even

at this theological time. Bob took the oppor-
tunity of following, and reminded her of her

* Then walk behind me — not at all close,'
she said.

' Yes,' he replied, immediately dropping
behind. .

The ludicrous humility of his manner led
her to add playfully over her shoulder, ' It
serves you right, you know.'

L 2


'I deserve anything. But I must take
the liberty to say that I hope my behaviour

about Matil , in forgetting you awhile,

will not make ye wish to keep me always
behind ? '

She replied confidentially, ' Why I am so
earnest not to be seen with you is that I may
appear to people to be independent of you.
Knowing what I do of your weaknesses I
can do no otherwise. You must be schooled
into '

' Oh, Anne,' sighed Bob, * you hit me
hard — too hard ! If ever I do win you I am
sure T shall have fairly earned you.'

' You are not what you once seemed to
be,' she returned softly. ' I don't quite like
to let myself love you.* The last words were
not very audible, and as Bob was behind he
caught nothing of them, nor did he see how
sentimental she had become all of a sudden.


They walked the rest of the way in silence,
and coming to the tree read as follows : —


Friends and Countrymen, — The French are
now assembling the largest force that ever was pre-
pared to invade this Kingdom, with the professed
purpose of effecting our complete Ruin and De-
struction. They do not disguise their intentions,
as they have often done to other Countries ; but
openly boast that they will come over in such Num-
bers as cannot be resisted.

Wherever the French have lately appeared
they have spared neither Rich nor Poor, Old nor
Young ; but like a Destructive Pestilence have
laid waste and destroyed every Thing that before
was fair and flourishing.

On this occasion no man's service is compelled,
but you are invited voluntarily to come forward in
defence of everything that is dear to you, by


entering your Names on the Lists which are sent
to the Tything-man of every Parish, and engaging
to act either as Associated Volunteers bearing Arms^
as Pioneers and Labourers, or as Drivers of Wag-


As Associated Volunteers you will be called
out only once a week, unless the actual Landing
of the Enemy should render your further Services

As Pioneers or Labourers you will be employed
in Breaking up Roads to hinder the Enemy's ad-

Those who have Pickaxes, Spades, Shovels,
Bill-hooks, or other Working Implements, are
desired to mention them to the Constable or
Tything-man of their Parish, in order that they
may be entered on the Lists opposite their Homes,
to be used if necessary. . . .

It is thought desirable to give you this Ex-
planation, that you may not be ignorant of the
Duties to which you may be called. But if the
Love of true Liberty and honest Fame has not
ceased to animate the Hearts of Englishmen, Pay,
though necessary, will be the least Part of your
Reward. You will find your best Recompense in
having done your Duty to your King and Country


by driving back or destroying your old and im-
placable Enemy, envious of your Freedom and
Happiness, and therefore seeking to destroy them ;
in having protected your Wives and Children from
Death, or worse than Death, which will follow the
Success of such Inveterate Foes.

Rouse, therefore, and unite as one man in the

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