LITMIR.BIZ

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am so much obliged – it was so good of you,” stammered the heroine of the bog.

      “Not at all, my dear; don’t mention it,” said the vicar, in a quiet way that helped to put the discomfited maiden at her ease. “I see: gathering bog-flowers and went too far. For shame,” he continued, loudly. “You, a county young lady, and not to know it was dangerous to go where the cotton rushes grow. You wanted some, eh? Yes, and left the basket out there – half full.”

      “Oh, pray don’t go – never mind the basket – it does not matter,” faltered the girl; but the vicar was already stepping from tussock to tussock, ending by hooking up the basket with his stick, and pausing to pick some of the best silky topped rushes within his reach.

      “There,” he said, returning the basket and its contents; “there are your cotton rushes – earth’s fruit. I ought to scold you for behaving like a daughter of Eve, and trying to get what you ought not to touch.”

      The girl crimsoned to the roots of her hair at the word Eve, and exchanged glances with her companion, who was standing before her, looking hot, frowning, and cross, with her eyes fixed on the ground, and her nose in the air, as if being scourged by the angry look directed at her by the young workman, who stood a few yards off scowling, with his hands thrust into the very bottoms of his pockets.

      “I did not think the bog was so treacherous,” said the girl, stealing a look at the frank, manly face before her. “It looked so safe.”

      “So do many things in this world, my dear; but you must not trust them any the more for their fair seeming.”

      The girl started a little, and looked indignant at the familiar way in which she was addressed by so young a man – a perfect stranger. She had already tried to sting him in the bog with two or three furious darts from her bright eyes for daring to put his arms round her. In fact she had felt for a moment that she would rather sink into the earth than be touched like that, but she was helpless and had to resign herself to her fate.

      “Ah!” said the vicar, “you are looking angry at me for speaking in such a free way.”

      “I – I indeed – I – ”

      “Ah, my dear, I can read that pretty innocent face of yours like a book. There – there – don’t blush so. We are strangers: well, let’s be strangers no more. Let me introduce myself. I am Murray Selwood, your new parson, and you are – ?”

      “Eve Pelly – Mrs Glaire’s – ”

      “Niece. I know, my dear. Very, very glad to make your acquaintance. You see I know something about the place, though I have not been there yet.”

      As he spoke he took the timidly extended hand and gave it a warm, frank pressure, which again heightened the blush; but in a few moments Eve Pelly felt more at her ease in the presence of this stranger, who, with all his freedom, had an atmosphere of gentlemanly truth and candour which won upon all with whom he came in contact.

      “Now,” he said, “you must introduce me to my other little friend here. Who is this?”

      “This is Daisy Banks, Mr Selwood. Mr Banks is my aunt’s foreman at the Foundry. Daisy comes with me sometimes when I go for a walk. We have known each other from children.”

      “To be sure,” said the vicar, smiling. “I might have known your name was Daisy. Shake hands, my dear. You’ll never change that name, but some day you’ll be coming to me to change the other for you.”

      “Which I’m sure I never shall,” cried Daisy, with an indignant stamp, and a hot angry glance at the young workman, who ground his teeth, and savagely kicked the top off a tuft of heather.

      “Don’t be angry, my dear,” said the vicar, kindly, as, red-faced, choking, and hardly able to restrain her angry tears, the girl snatched away her hand and turned away.

      “It’s one of my weaknesses to touch tender chords unwittingly,” he said in a low tone to Eve; and, how it was she knew not, the girl felt herself drawn into a feeling of confidence with this stranger, who, however, half affronted her susceptibilities the next moment by saying,

      “But come, you must not stand here with wet feet. If you were a sister of mine I should make you take off those dripping boots.”

      “They are not wet – not very wet,” she stammered, correcting herself.

      “I think I know,” said the vicar, smiling. “But come, you must walk home sharply. I’m a bit of a doctor in my way. You won’t mind my company, I hope. We must be very good friends.”

      “I’m sure we shall,” said Eve, frankly, as she glanced once more at her companion, and the next minute he was chatting to her about the contents of her basket.

      “Then you understand botany?” she said, eagerly, and he looked down with pleasure at the bright, animated countenance at his side.

      “Oh, yes, a little. And you do, I see?”

      “Oh, a very little,” said Eve; “the hard Latin words are so puzzling.”

      “But you can learn plenty of botany without troubling yourself over the long names; they will come to you imperceptibly.”

      Meanwhile Daisy, who had been forgotten, had followed on a few yards behind, looking very angry and indignant at the way in which she was neglected, while the young workman walking by her side seemed as angry, but with a dash of the savage in his face.

      Both looked straight before them, and neither spoke, each going on as if in utter ignorance of the companions presence.

      “I shall have to give you some lessons when I begin making my collection of specimens,” said the vicar, after a few more observations.

      “Will you?” exclaimed Eve, eagerly; and then, retailing the fact that she had known this stranger but a few minutes, she tried to qualify her remark, failed dismally, and began to feel exceedingly hot and conscious, when there was a diversion. They had been gradually nearing the town, and had reached a spot where the moorland gave place to cultivated soil, when a young man, dressed in a rather fast style, and with a cigar in his mouth, suddenly leaped over a stile, and started and looked quite awkward on finding himself face to face with this group.

      He was a slight fair young fellow, of some four-and-twenty, with rather pale downy whiskers, and a blonde silky moustache, which was carefully waxed into points. His dress was a light tweed suit, but to condone for the sombre hue of it and his grey deerstalker hat, he wore a brilliant scarlet tie slipped through a massive gold ring, and wore several rings on his thin effeminate fingers.

      The effect upon the party caused by the sudden appearance of this personage was varied.

      Daisy, who had resumed the natural tint of her complexion – a peachy hue touched rather warmly by the brown of the sun – became as though the new-comer’s tie was reflected to her very temples; the young workman’s face grew black as night, and his teeth grated together as his pockets suddenly bulged out, indicative of doubled fists, and he stared at the dandy in a menacing way that betokened evil.

      As for Eve, she ran forward with a little joyous cry and took the young man’s arm.

      “Ah, Dick,” she cried, “I didn’t expect you. How kind of you to come.”

      “Didn’t come to meet you,” said the young man, shortly, as he fixed a glass with some difficulty in his eye to stare at the stranger.

      “Then you ought to have come,” said Eve, quickly. “Take that stupid glass out of your eye, you silly boy,” she whispered. Then aloud, “I’ve been in such trouble, Dick, dear.”

      “Dick, dear!” He did not know why it was, but this very familiar appellation from those soft red lips seemed to jar on the stranger’s ears, and he drew a longer breath than usual.

      “I actually got bogged, Dick, and was sinking, when this gentleman came and saved me. Dick, dear, this is our new vicar. Mr Selwood, this is Mr Richard Glaire of the Foundry.”

      “Glad to know you, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, holding out his hand.

      “How

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