“Take care of it,” said he, “and don’t let it go near the rabbit-warren, for the gamekeeper swears he’ll shoot it if he sees it there again: he would have done so to-day, if I had not been in time to stop him. I believe it is raining, Miss Grey,” added he, more quietly, observing that I had put aside my work, and was preparing to depart. “Don’t let me disturb you—I shan’t stay two minutes.” “You’ll _both_ stay while this shower gets owered,” said Nancy, as she stirred the fire, and placed another chair beside it; “what! there’s room for all.” “I can see better here, thank you, Nancy,” replied I, taking my work to the window, where she had the goodness to suffer me to remain unmolested, while she got a brush to remove the cat’s hairs from Mr. Weston’s coat, carefully wiped the rain from his hat, and gave the cat its supper, busily talking all the time: now thanking her clerical friend for what he had done; now wondering how the cat had found out the warren; and now lamenting the probable consequences of such a discovery. He listened with a quiet, good-natured smile, and at length took a seat in compliance with her pressing invitations, but repeated that he did not mean to stay. “I have another place to go to,” said he, “and I see” (glancing at the book on the table) “someone else has been reading to you.” “Yes, sir; Miss Grey has been as kind as read me a chapter; an’ now she’s helping me with a shirt for our Bill—but I’m feared she’ll be cold there. Won’t you come to th’ fire, Miss?” “No, thank you, Nancy, I’m quite warm. I must go as soon as this shower is over.” “Oh, Miss! You said you could stop while dusk!” cried the provoking old woman, and Mr. Weston seized his hat. “Nay, sir,” exclaimed she, “pray don’t go now, while it rains so fast.” “But it strikes me I’m keeping your visitor away from the fire.” “No, you’re not, Mr. Weston,” replied I, hoping there was no harm in a falsehood of that description. “No, sure!” cried Nancy. “What, there’s lots o’ room!” “Miss Grey,” said he, half-jestingly, as if he felt it necessary to change the present subject, whether he had anything particular to say or not, “I wish you would make my peace with the squire, when you see him. He was by when I rescued Nancy’s cat, and did not quite approve of the deed. I told him I thought he might better spare all his rabbits than she her cat, for which audacious assertion he treated me to some rather ungentlemanly language; and I fear I retorted a trifle too warmly.” “Oh, lawful sir! I hope you didn’t fall out wi’ th’ maister for sake o’ my cat! he cannot bide answering again—can th’ maister.” “Oh! it’s no matter, Nancy: I don’t care about it, really; I said nothing _very_ uncivil; and I suppose Mr. Murray is accustomed to use rather strong language when he’s heated.” “Ay, sir: it’s a pity.”