altogether unfriended, the village people would have shown her all manner of care and sympathy; but the Squire’s kindness put an end to theirs. They sympathised with Sally in her banishment. “You’ll see as Miss Clare won’t like it a bit,” cried one. “I don’t think nothing of Sally, but she has a right to her own place.” “She’ll be well paid for it all,” said another. Sally, and the fuss that was being made, and Miss Clare’s supposed sentiments bulked much more largely with the villagers than the thought that Jeanie lay between life and death, although many of them liked Jeanie, and had grown used to see her, so small and so fair, wandering about the street. Only old Sarah stood with her apron to her eyes. “I’m as fond of her as if she was my own. She’s the sweetest, patientest, good-temperedest lamb--none of you wenches can hold a candle to her,” sobbed the old woman. “She stitches beautiful, though I’m not one as holds with your pretty faces,” said Sally, the sexton’s daughter; but these were the only voices raised in poor Jeanie’s favour throughout the village crowd. Edgar lingered last of all at the cottage door. John Hesketh’s wife, partly moved by pity for the grandmother left thus alone, partly by curiosity to investigate the amount of dirt and discomfort in Sally Timms’ cottage--had taken her place in the outer room, to remain with Mrs. Murray until Sally returned or some other assistant came. And Edgar lingered to hear the last news of the patient before going away. The twilight by this time was falling, faint little stars were appearing in the sky, the dew and the peacefulness of approaching night were in the atmosphere. While he stood waiting at the door, Mrs. Murray herself came out upon him all at once. She had an air of suppressed excitement about her which struck him strangely--not so much anxiety, as agitation, highly excited feeling. He put out his hand to her as she approached, feeling, he could not tell how, that she wanted his aid and consolation. She took his hand between both hers, and held it tight and pressed it close; and then surely the strangest words came from her lips that were ever spoken in such circumstances. “He carried her here in his arms--he left the other to save her. You’ll no forget it to him--you’ll no forget it to him. That is the charge I lay on you.” Edgar half drew away his hand in his surprise; but she held it fast, not seeming even to feel his attempt at withdrawal. “What do you mean?” he said. “I came to ask for Jeanie. Is it of Arthur Arden you are speaking--my cousin? But it is about Jeanie I want to know.” “Ay, your cousin,” she said anxiously. “It’s strange that I never kent you had a cousin. Nobody ever told me that---- But mind, mind what I say. Whatever happens, you’ll no forget this. He carried her here in his arms. He forgot all the rest, all the rest. And you’ll no forget it to him. That’s my injunction upon you, whatever anybody may say.”