"Pigs may fly," returned Miss Timmens. "There's something in that young man, Hannah Baber, that I could not trust. Oh, but girls are wilful!--and simple, at the best, where the men are concerned! They can't see an inch beyond their noses: no, and they won't let others, who have sight, see for them. Look there!" Emerging into the spring sunshine from the withy walk, came the gentleman in question; Harriet Roe in her gay ribbons at his side. Miss Timmens gave her door a bang, regardless of good manners, and Hannah pursued her way. The road thus paved for it, North Crabb church was not taken by surprise when it heard the marriage banns read out one Sunday morning between Louis Roe, of the parish of St. Swithin, Worcester (he was staying there at the time), and Henriette Adèle Marie Roe. Miss Timmens, who had not been taken into confidence, started violently; Mademoiselle Henriette Adèle Marie, sitting by her side, held up her head and her blooming cheeks with unruffled equanimity. It was said there was a scene when they got home: Miss Timmens's sister (once Mrs. Garth, but then our bailiff's wife, James Hill) looking in at the school-house to assist at it. Neither of them could make anything of Harriet. "I'll tell you what it is, Aunt Susan and Aunt Nancy," said the girl passionately, when her temper got roused: "_my mind is made up to marry Louis_; and if you don't drop this magging now and for good; if you attempt to worry me any further, I'll go off to Worcester, and stay with him till the day arrives. There! how would you like that? I will, I declare. It would be thought nothing at all of in my country, with the wedding so near." This shut them up. Mrs. Hill, a meek, gentle little woman, who had her sorrows, and habitually let Miss Timmens do all the talking when they were together, began to cry. Harriet ate her cold dinner standing, and went off for an afternoon promenade with Monsieur Louis. From that time, even Miss Timmens gave up all thought of opposition, seeing that events must take their course. Harriet's parents were dead; she was over age, and her own mistress in the eye of the law. "Would you mind taking a turn with me in the withy walk, Harriet Roe?" asked Maria Lease, as they were coming out of church that same night. Harriet was alone. Louis Roe had gone back to Worcester. The request surprised her considerably. Since Daniel Ferrar's death the past November, Maria had been very distant with her; averting her head if they happened to meet. "So you have come to your senses, have you, Maria Lease?" was the half insolent, half good-natured answer. "I'll walk down it with you if you like." "Come to my senses in what way?" asked Maria, in low, subdued, sad tones, as they went towards the withy walk. "About--_you_ know what. You blamed _me_ for what happened. As good as laid his death at my door." "Did you ever hear me say so?"