“I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us,” said Maggie. “And I’m very sorry you’re going.” She spoke with great earnestness but the lilt had come back to her voice and the light to her eyes. She held Frances’ hand very tightly between her own. “You’ll come back some day?” she said. “I shall certainly come back to the moors,” Frances said, “to make my sketches.” “Oh, that’s all right,” said Maggie. “Then you’ll let us know where you are. I couldn’t bear not to. You’re going up to London now?” “Only for a day or two—to see a friend who has found a purchaser for my work. I shan’t stay,” said Frances. “A friend?” Maggie gave her a curious look. “Is it—it isn’t—the friend you went away to see at Fordestown?” “Why shouldn’t it be?” said Frances. “Oh, I don’t know.” Maggie coloured suddenly and vividly. “I just wondered, that’s all. And then you’re coming back? You will come back, won’t you?” “I shouldn’t wonder if I came back to Mrs. Hearn,” said Frances. “But, Maggie, tell me what makes you ask about Mr. Rotherby! What do you know about him?” “Oh, I can’t tell you that,” said Maggie quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. But Arthur knows him—and hates him. Please don’t let’s talk about him—and I wouldn’t go to see him if I were you. He’s a bad man. Ah, here comes Oliver to fetch you! Good-bye, dear Frances, and just a hundred thousand thanks for everything.” She responded warmly to Frances’ embrace, and returned to her butter-making with a song on her lips and gladness in her eyes. “Yes, I should just think we are grateful,” said Oliver, as he followed Frances out. “Arthur has been as decent as he knows how, and it’s all thanks to you. Hope you’ll make a match of it before long, Miss Thorold, when better times come. You won’t want to wait as long as we did.” They all treated her thus, as if her marriage to Arthur were a foregone conclusion, cheerily disregarding the fact that neither she nor Arthur had given them any justification for so doing. They had in fact barely seen one another since that night in the garden, now two days past; and she had even begun to wonder if he would let her go without a word of farewell. Old Mr. Dermot was better, would soon be downstairs again, they said, and his son had returned to his work on the farm, appearing only at meals and then for very brief intervals.