Now what should Grizzel do? Like the lone lorn widow in "David Copperfield," who, when a ship's carpenter offered her marriage, "instead of saying, 'Thank you, sir, I'd rather not,' up with a bucket of water and dashed it over him," Grizzel "up" with her hand and dealt Mr. Sandy a sounding smack on his left cheek. Smarting under the infliction, Sandy Lett gave vent to a word or two of passion, out of place in a church, and the parson administered a reprimand. Grizzel had not waited. Before the sound of her hand had died away, she was outside the door, quickly traversing the lonely churchyard. A fine end to poor Grizzel's wedding! The following day, Monday, Mrs. Todhetley went over to the cottage. Grizzel, sitting with her hands before her, started up, and made believe to be desperately busy with some tea-cups. We were all sorry for her. "Mr. Todhetley has been making inquiry into this business, Grizzel," said the Mater, "and it certainly seems more mysterious than ever, for he cannot hear a word against Roper. His late master says Roper was the best servant he ever had; he is as sorry to lose him as can be." "Oh, ma'am, but he's not worth troubling about--my thanks and duty to the master all the same." "Would you mind letting me see Roper's note?" Grizzel took it out of the tea-caddy I had given her--which caddy was to have been kept for show. Mrs. Todhetley, mastering the contents, and biting her lips to suppress an occasional smile, sat in thought. "I suppose this is Roper's own handwriting, Grizzel?" "Oh, ma'am, it's his, safe enough. Not that I ever saw him write. He talks about the blackberry pie, you see; one might know it is his by that." "Then, judging by what he says here, he must have got into some bad conduct, or trouble, I think, which he has been clever enough to keep from you and the world." "Oh yes, that's it," said Grizzel. "Poor mother used to say one might be deceived in a saint." "Well, it's a pity but he had given some clue to its nature: it would have been a sort of satisfaction. But now--I chiefly came over to ask you, Grizzel, what you purpose to do?" "There's only one thing for me now, ma'am," returned poor crestfallen Grizzel, after a pause: "I must get another place." "Will you come back to the Manor?" A hesitation--a struggle--and then she flung her apron up to her face and burst into tears. Dairy-maids have their feelings as well as their betters, and Grizzel's "lines" were very bitter just then. She had been so proud of this poor cottage home; she had grown to love it so in only those few days, and to look forward to years of happiness within it in their humble way: and now to find that she must give it up and go to service again!