“Oh, you must not say anything of it now,” said the invalid, frightened. “He is the Squire, and there is no harm done. The old Squire was not nice; he was that sort of hard-hearted man--and poor dear Edgar was never like an Arden. My brother has his own ways of thinking, you know, and takes things into his head; and he thinks he understands: he thinks it was something about Mrs. Arden. But that is all the greatest wickedness and folly. I knew her, and I can say---- He was so hard-hearted--not the least like a father--and that made him think, you know----” Mrs. Murray, who was not used to Miss Somers, and could not unravel the maze, or make out which _him_ was the Squire and which the Doctor, gazed at her with wondering eyes. She was almost as much moved as Edgar had been. Her cheeks grew red, her glance eager. “I have no right to be asking questions,” she said, “but there’s a cousin of mine here that has long been in their service, and I cannot but take an interest in the family. Thomas Perfitt has told us a’ about the Ardens at home. If I was not presuming, I would like to know about Mr. Edgar. There’s something in his kind eyes that goes to the heart of the poor. I’m a stranger; but if it’s no presuming----” “Yes; I suppose you are a stranger,” said Miss Somers, who was too glad to have any one to talk to. “But I have heard so much about you, I can’t think---- Oh, dear, no, you are not presuming. Everybody knows about the Ardens; they were always a very proud sort of stiff people. The old Squire was married when I was a young lady, you know, and cared for a little attention and to be taken notice of; though I am sure why I should talk of myself! That is long past--ever so long past; and his wife was so nice and so sweet. If she had been a great lady I am sure I should never have loved her so---- And the baby--but somehow no one ever thought of the baby--not even his mamma. She had always to be watching her husband’s looks, poor thing. On the whole, I am not sure that one is not happier when one does not marry. The things I have seen! Not daring to call their souls their own; and then looking down upon you, as if you were not far, far---- But poor dear Edgar never was petted like Clare. One never saw him when he was a child; and I do believe his poor dear papa hated him after---- I ought not to talk like this, I know. But he has come out of it all like--like---- Oh, he is the dearest fellow! And to be sure, he is the Squire, and no one can harm him now.” “Maybe the servants should not hear,” said Mrs. Murray, whose face was glowing with a deep colour. The red was not natural to her, and seemed to burn into her very eyes. And she did not look at Miss Somers, but stood anxiously fingering the apron of the little carriage. John and Mercy were both close by--perhaps out of hearing, but no more.