One afternoon she came in, her bright face all aglow, and her shy eyes eager. Soft brown eyes they were, that had always a sadness in them. I--a little shaver--can remember that, when I knew her in later years. As she sat down on the stool at Mrs. Todhetley's feet, she took off her black straw hat, and began to play nervously with its crape ends. "My dear, you seem to be in a heat," said Mrs. Todhetley; a stout old lady, who sat all day long in her easy-chair. "Yes, I ran home fast," said Selina. "Home from whence? Where have you been?" "I was--near the Torr," replied Selina, with hesitation. "Near the Torr, child! That's a long way for you to go strolling alone." "The wild roses in the hedges there are so lovely," pleaded Selina. "That's why I took to go there at first." "Took to go there!" repeated the old lady, thinking it an odd phrase. "Do you see anything of the Torr people? I hope you've not been making intimate with young Stephen Radcliffe," she added, a thought darting into her mind. "Stephen? that's the son. No, I never saw him. I think he is away from home." "That's well. He is by all accounts but a churlish lout of a fellow." Selina Elliot bent her timid face over the hat, smoothing its ribbons with her restless fingers. She was evidently ill at ease. Glancing up presently, she saw the old lady was shutting her eyes for a doze: and that hastened her communication. "I--I want to tell you something, please, ma'am. But--I don't like to begin." And, with that, Selina burst into unexpected tears, and the alarmed old lady looked up. "Why, what ails you, child? Are you hurt? Has a wasp been at you?" "Oh no," said Selina, brushing the tears away with fingers that trembled all over. "I--if you please--I think I am going to live at the Torr." The old lady wondered whether Selina was dreaming. "At the Torr!" said she. "There are no children at the Torr. They don't want a governess at the Torr." "I am going there to be with Mr. Radcliffe," spoke Selina, in her throat, as if she meant to choke. "To be with old Radcliffe! Why, the child's gone cranky! Paul Radcliffe don't need a governess." "He wants to marry me." "Mercy upon us!" cried the old lady, lifting both hands in her amazement. And Selina burst into tears again. Yes, it was true. Paul Radcliffe, who was fifty years of age, if a day, and had a son over twenty, had been proposing marriage to that bright young girl! They had met in the fields often, it turned out, and Mr. Radcliffe had been making his hay while the sun shone. Every one went on at her. "It would be better to go into a prison than into that gloomy Sandstone Torr--a young girl like you, Selina," said Mrs. Todhetley. "It would be sheer madness." "Why, you'd never go and sacrifice yourself to that old man!" cried the Squire, who was just as outspoken and impulsive and good-hearted then as in these latter years. "He ought to be ashamed of himself. It would be like June and December."