No one answered. Rachel worked; her mother read the paper, and for an hour there was deep silence in the parlour. As the church clock struck nine, a knock came at the door. Jane opened, and a rosy, good-humoured looking man entered the parlour. He was about forty, short, stout, with rather a low forehead, and stubby hair; altogether, he seemed more remarkable for good-nature than for intelligence. At once his look went round the room. "Mary is gone to bed, Mr. Jones," said Rachel, smiling. "To bed!--She ain't ill, I hope. Miss Gray," he exclaimed, with an alarmed start. "Ill! Oh, no! but she felt tired. I am sorry you have had this long walk for nothing." "Never mind, Miss Gray," he replied cheerfully; then sitting down, and wiping his moist brow, he added--"the walk does me good, and then I hear how she is, and I've the pleasure of seeing you all. And so she's quite well, is she?" He leaned his two hands on the head of his walking-stick, and looking over it, smiled abstractedly at his own thoughts. Mrs. Gray roused him with the query-- "And what do you think of the state of the nation, Mr. Jones?" Mr. Jones scratched his head, looked puzzled, hemmed, and at length came out with the candid confession: "Mrs. Gray, I ain't no politician. For all I see, politics only brings a poor man into trouble. Look at the Chartists, and the tenth of April." "Ah! poor things!" sighed Rachel, "I saw them--they passed by here. How thin they were--bow careworn they looked!" Mrs. Gray remained aghast. Rachel had actually had the audacity to give an opinion on any subject unconnected with dress-making--and even on that, poor girl! she was not always allowed to speak. "Now, Rachel," she said, rallying, "_will_ you hold _your_ tongue, and speak of what you know, and not meddle with politics." We must apologize for using italics, but without their aid we never could convey to our readers a proper idea of the awful solemnity with which Mrs. Gray emphasized her address. Rachel was rather bewildered, for she was not conscious of having said a word on politics, a subject she did not understand, and never spoke on; but she had long learned the virtue of silence. She did not reply. "As to the Chartists?" resumed Mrs. Gray, turning to Mr. Jones. "Law bless you, Mrs. Gray, _I_ ain't one of them!" he hastily replied. "I mind my own business--that's what I do, Mrs. Gray. The world must go round, you know." "So it must," gravely replied that lady. "You never said a truer thing, Mr. Jones." And very likely Mr. Jones had not. "And I must go off," said Mr. Jones, rising with a half-stifled sigh, "for it's getting late, and I have five miles to walk." And, undetained by Mrs. Gray's slow but honest entreaty to stay and share their supper, he left Rachel lighted him out. As she closed the parlour door, he looked at her, and lowering his voice, he said hesitatingly: "I couldn't see her, could I, Miss Gray?"