Life such as this would be impossible to her. Let any of my readers think of it, and then tell themselves whether it could be possible. Mariana’s solitude in the moated grange was as nothing to hers. In granges, and such like rural retreats, people expect solitude; but Miss Mackenzie had gone to Littlebath to find companionship. Had she been utterly disappointed, and found none, that would have been bad; but she had found it and then lost it. Mariana, in her desolateness, was still waiting for the coming of some one; and so was Miss Mackenzie waiting, though she hardly knew for whom. For me, if I am to live in a moated grange, let it be in the country. Moated granges in the midst of populous towns are very terrible.

But on the Monday morning,—the morning of the second Monday after the Stumfoldian attack,—Mr Maguire came, and Mariana’s weariness was, for the time, at an end. Susanna had hardly gone, and the breakfast things were still on the table, when the maid brought her up word that Mr Maguire was below, and would see her if she would allow him to come up. She had heard no ring at the bell, and having settled herself with a novel in the arm-chair, had almost ceased for the moment to think of Mr Maguire or of Mrs Stumfold. There was something so sudden in the request now made to her, that it took away her breath.

“Mr Maguire, Miss, the clergyman from Mr Stumfold’s church,” said the girl again.

It was necessary that she should give an answer, though she was ever so breathless.

“Ask Mr Maguire to walk up,” she said; and then she began to bethink herself how she would behave to him.

He was there, however, before her thoughts were of much service to her, and she began by apologising for the breakfast things.

“It is I that ought to beg your pardon for coming so early,” said he; “but my time at present is so occupied that I hardly know how to find half an hour for myself; and I thought you would excuse me.”

“Oh, certainly,” said she; and then sitting down she waited for him to begin.

It would have been clear to any observer, had there been one present, that Mr Maguire had practised his lesson. He could not rid himself of those unmistakable signs of preparation which every speaker shows when he has been guilty of them. But this probably did not matter with Miss Mackenzie, who was too intent on the part she herself had to play to notice his imperfections.

“I saw that you observed, Miss Mackenzie,” he said, “that I kept aloof from you on the two last evenings on which I met you at Mrs Stumfold’s.”

“That’s a long time ago, Mr Maguire,” she answered. “It’s nearly a month since I went to Mrs Stumfold’s house.”

“I know that you were not there on the last Thursday. I noticed it. I could not fail to notice it. Thinking so much of you as I do, of course I did notice it. Might I ask you why you did not go?”