"Oh, Mr Hope!" cried she, "how very much mistaken we have been in Mr Walcot all this time! He is a most delightful young man--so refined! and so domestic!" "Indeed! You will trust Sydney's judgment more readily another time." "Yes, indeed. But I could not help telling you. I know you will not be offended; though some people, perhaps, would not venture to speak so to you; but I know you will excuse it, and not be offended." "So far from being offended, I like what you now say far better than the way I have heard you sometimes speak of Mr Walcot. I have thought before that you did not allow him fair play. Now, in my turn, I must ask you not to be offended with me." "Oh, I never could be offended with you; you are always so good and amiable. Mamma seemed a little vexed when you encouraged Sydney to praise Mr Walcot: but she will be delighted at your opinion of him, when she finds how accomplished he is--and so refined!" "You speak of my opinion. I have no opinion about Mr Walcot yet, because I do not know him. You must remember that, though all Deerbrook has been busy about him since May, I have scarcely heard him say five words. I do not speak as having any opinion of him, one way or another. How dark this place looks to-day!--that aisle--how gloomy!" "I think it is the weather. There is no sun; and the ivy tosses about strangely. What do you think of the weather?" "I think we shall have the least possible benefit of the moon. How like a solid wall those clouds look, low down in the sky!--Here comes Mr Walcot. Suppose you let him take you after the rest of the party? You will not like the gloom of that aisle where I am going." Both Sophia and Mr Walcot much preferred each other's company to the damp and shadow of the interior of the abbey. They walked off together, and gathered meadow flowers, and admired poetry and poets till all were summoned, and they were compelled to join the groups who were converging from copse, brook, poultry-yard, and cloister, towards the green before the farmhouse, where, after all, the long tea-table was spread. The reason of Hope's anxiety to consign Sophia to Mr Walcot's charge was, that he saw Enderby pacing the aisle alone with rapid steps, his face hung with gloom as deep as darkened the walls about him. "Enderby, are you mad?" cried Hope, hastening in to him. "I believe I am. As you are aware, no man has better cause." "I wait your explanation. Till I have it, your conduct is a perfect mystery. To Margaret, or to me for her, you must explain yourself, and that immediately. In the mean time, I do not know how to address you-- how to judge you." "Then Mrs Grey has not told you of our conversation of this morning?" "No," said Hope, his heart suddenly failing him.