some boxes of matches and bunches of twigs in her window for lighting fires, by which she sometimes turned a penny. Now and then she had been seen with a basket furnished with tapes and buttons, which she sold about the country, enjoying that, too, as a relief from the monotony of ordinary existence. In short, she was one of those wild nomads to be met in all classes of society, who cannot confine themselves to routine--who must have change and movement, and hold in less than no estimation the cleanliness and good order and decorums of life. She was very fond of gadding about, not very particular as to the laws of property, and utterly indifferent to ordinary comfort. It would be impossible for one person to disapprove more entirely of another than Clare disapproved of Sally Timms. And yet she was on her way to see her--there being only her cottage at the end of the village street which could lead her in an opposite direction from that taken by Arthur Arden--which was only too clear a sign, had she but known it, how important Arthur Arden was becoming to Clare. How long the conversation lasted Miss Arden could not have told any one--nor indeed what it was about. Sally was saucy and she was penitent; but she was not hopeful; and Clare shook her head as she went away. She gave a little nod to John Hesketh’s wife, who was the model woman of the village, as she passed her cottage. “I have been talking to Sally Timms, but I fear there is nothing to be done with her,” she said, stopping a second at the garden gate. “She’s a bad one, Miss Clare, is Sally Timms,” said Mrs. Hesketh, disapprovingly. But neither of them were aware that Clare’s visit was totally irrespective of Sally’s welfare, spiritual or bodily; and was only a pretext to avoid Arthur Arden, who, nevertheless, was patiently waiting for her all this time at the great gate. CHAPTER XXVII.