Yard’s Entry, where Anne Champion and Mrs. Nare lived, is a place that smells of age now—it was counted old even in these far-away days I write of,—and the stone stairs leading up to Anne’s garret were worn away into crescent shape by the tread of many generations. At the foot of these stairs, on warm evenings, Mrs. Nare used to stand and watch all her neighbours’ affairs; so it was natural enough that a stranger coming in to the Entry one evening should address himself to her when he made inquiry for Anne Champion. He was a young man with very bright eyes, and his voice, as clear as the note of a flute, echoed up the stair as he spoke. ‘Doth Anne Champion live here, my good woman?’ he asked. ‘No, sir. Anne she lives at the top of the stair,’ said Mrs. Nare, squinting up at the stranger out of her narrow old eyes, then, actuated by unknown motives, she added— ‘Anne she’ve got a lover at the wars,’ in a sort of interrogative tone. She had seen Shepley more than once, and knew this was not he; perhaps she wished to find out the stranger’s errand. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ was all he said, however, as he disappeared up the winding old stair. Up and up he went, feeling his way, for there was little or no light to guide him, then he stumbled against a door, and knocked at haphazard, hoping it was the door he sought. ‘Come in,’ said some one, and at that the man, groping with the latch for a moment, at last got the door open, and stood on the threshold looking in. The sunshine fell across the floor in a flood of smoky brightness, and full in the sun’s beams sat Anne Champion, surrounded by the straw she was plaiting. It was piled up round her, within reach of her fingers, that moved like lightning at her mechanical toil. Anne wore a gown of pink calico, and, whether for greater comfort or from mere untidiness, all her yellow hair hung over her shoulders in splendid confusion. She let her work fall at sight of a stranger, started up, and standing almost knee-deep among the straw, caught at her hair, and began to wind it up into a knot. The young man stood still on the threshold for a full minute, as I have said. Then he seemed to recollect himself, and stepping across the floor he held out his hand to the girl, smiling very pleasantly. ‘I scarce need to ask if you are Anne Champion,’ he said. Anne seemed too much taken aback by this unexpected visitor to make any reply. She stood looking at him and twisting her long yellow hair between her fingers. At last she said— ‘Yes, sir, I be Anne Champion,’ and waited for him to make known his errand. The young man did not seem to be in any hurry, however. He looked round the bare little room, and then looked again at Anne before he spoke. ‘I am come to make excuses,’ he said then; ‘and if you will allow me to sit down, for I am weak still from a fever, I shall make them to the best of my ability.’ Anne produced a stool from a corner and proffered it to her visitor.