"Ay, ay, I recollect," answered the old man, "it was long ago--before your time. But as to this Mr. Carr--he's a miser, and was a lawyer--ay, and cheat into the bargain, if all tales be true. However, sir, he's got money enough, they say, to buy out half the county; and there he lives, in that old tumble-down house, at the back of Yelverly, and not a shilling will he spend to repair it. He has two maids now, but till Miss Juliet was grown up, there was but one; and then the man that does the garden and looks after the farm, takes care of the two horses. Miss Juliet, they say, has some money of her own, but she spends all that upon the poor people about Yelverly, and upon books." Morley mused; there was a feeling in his bosom--not an operation of the mind, but one of the revelations of the heart--which instantly convinced him that the lady, whose horse he had contrived to frighten, was no other than Juliet Carr. How she had discovered his situation, so as to give notice to his servants, and send one of them to him, was his first thought; but, before he gratified his curiosity on that subject, by asking any questions, he returned to something which had attracted his attention a few minutes before, demanding-- "What was it you meant just now, Adam, when you said, '_It_ was long ago, before my time?'" "Oh, the quarrel, sir," replied the old man--"the quarrel between your father and Lawyer Carr; when he came about something, and vowed he would prosecute Sir Henry for defamation, as they called it, which means scandal, I take it; and your father struck him, and turned him out of the house, and he has never been near the place since." "Did you hear how Miss Carr knew that I was ill?" demanded Morley, now fully convinced that his supposition was right. "She told me they had been passing by this place, sir," answered Adam Gray, "and they heard the whole story from the ostlers; so she walked over, that very night, to tell us, poor young lady! It's a long walk, too, from Yelverly; so she was tired, and sat down for a minute or two in the library, and took up the book that was open upon the table--it was called 'Herrick's Poems,' I think--and asked if you had been reading it; and said, she hoped that you would soon be able to read it again, with such a sweet voice, she made us all love her. I do wonder how that man happened to have such a daughter as that--her mother was a good lady, too." "Well, that will do, Adam!" said his master; "now bring me some soup." CHAPTER V.