habit of avoiding all conversation on her way from church. But her resolution could not stand when she saw Mr. Maxwell coming towards her from the other side of the street. He had not been at church, she feared; but yet she had a great many things to ask him. She let him join her, though she liked to have her Sundays to herself. ‘Yes, I hope Miss Charity is better,’ he said. ‘Her energy has come back to her, and if the summer would really come---- I hear of another change, which I can’t say surprises me, but yet--your brother then is not going away?’ ‘No--why should he?’ said Miss Cherry. It is one thing to find fault with one’s brother, and quite another thing to hear him criticised by his friend. ‘I thought so,’ said Maxwell; ‘he has no stamina, no firmness. I suppose, then, he has made up his mind?’ ‘To what, Mr. Maxwell? He has made up his mind not to go away.’ ‘And to all the consequences. Miss Cherry, you are not so simple as you wish people to think. He means, of course, to marry again. I had hoped he would have more sense--and better feeling.’ ‘I don’t know why you should judge James so harshly,’ said Miss Cherry, with spirit. ‘Many people marry twice, of whom nothing is said--and when they do not, perhaps it is scarcely from good taste or feeling on their part.’ ‘You are kind,’ said the doctor, growing red, and wondering within himself how the d---- could she know what he had been thinking of? Or was it merely a bow drawn at a venture, though the arrow whistled so close? ‘Whatever wishes I might have,’ he added, betraying himself, ‘are nothing to the purpose. Your brother is in a very different position. He has a pretty, sweet daughter, grown up, at a companionable age, to make a home for him. What would he have? Such a man might certainly be content--instead of compelling people to rake up the past, and ask unpleasant questions.’ ‘Questions about James? I don’t know what questions anyone could ask about my brother----’ ‘Well,’ said Maxwell, somewhat hotly; ‘I don’t like doing anything in the dark, and you may tell Beresford, if you like, Miss Cherry, all that I have to say, that I shall oppose it. I shall certainly oppose it. Never should I have said a word, had he let things alone; but in this case, it will become my duty.’ ‘What will become your duty?’ said Miss Cherry, aghast. He looked at her wondering face, and his own countenance changed. ‘It is not anything to bother you about,’ he said. ‘It is--a nothing--a matter between your brother and me.’ ‘What is it?’ she said, growing anxious. He had turned with her, and walked by her side in his vehemence. Now that she had taken fright, he stopped short. ‘It is only that I have a patient to see,’ he said; ‘and I am glad to be able to make your mind quite easy about Miss Beresford. She is twice as strong as either you or I.’