The summer thus glided by; the autumn was equally tranquil; and Susan learned to listen for the accustomed step; to know, without attending to the village chimes, the very hour at which he usually dropped in, and to recognise his hand upon the latch. But as the winter advanced, and the days became short and the weather severe, when they could no longer walk together in the fields, and that his visits were as much to the old people as to Susan, he did not call so regularly; and Susan listened in vain for the sound of his step on the gravel, or the turn of his hand on the latch. In vain did she now count the hours and the quarters most accurately. The usual time had long elapsed when he did call, and sometimes he omitted to do so altogether. She could not wonder; she told herself she ought to be grateful for all the kindness she had met with; she was aware she had no right to reproach him, but yet she felt her sorrows more acutely than before. Old Nicholas was the first to remark upon George's frequent absence. Some rumours had reached Susan's ears that George was not so steady as he had formerly been; but she hastened to defend him and to account for the manner in which his time was occupied. Though she might feel hurt herself, it was painful to hear him blamed, and she dreaded hearing herself pitied. "Why, is not that seven o'clock?--five, six, seven,--yes, sure enough it is seven o'clock," said old Nicholas, one Sunday evening just after Christmas,--"and no George! He was not here last Sunday neither. I am got so used to the young man, it seems quite dull when so many days go by without his giving us a call." "Young men must take a little pleasure sometimes, father! 'Tis always the same thing here, and I dare say he likes a little change." "That's quite true, Susan. I've been young in my day, and have had my pleasure; and Sarah, she has known what it is to be light-hearted; and we must not grudge young people what's natural at their age;"--then, after a little while, he added, "but you, my poor girl, trouble is come upon you before its time. It is all as it should be for us to bear our trials and wait patiently till it pleases God to take us; but you, not yet turned your two-and-twenty"---- "Don't pity me, father! that's just what I can't bear. I do very well when I'm not pitied," exclaimed Susan, with a little touch of her former petulance: "Thank you all the same, father, for thinking so much about me," she added, in a few moments, with a subdued manner. "But, hark! I hear his step! I know the sound of his nailed shoes on the gravel;" and her head was raised, and her face turned to the door, while a smile almost angelic in its sweetness played around her mouth. "I am glad you are come, George," she said, "for father missed you so much. Come in, and sit down by him, and tell him all the news."