“I do believe that there are many such sham things prowling about, and knocking at such doors as they find well painted. Some of them have heard of silver being stored away in old jugs, and some have gone round to the byres to see exactly how many cows were there before knocking at the door.” He smiled in response to her smiling. And then suddenly they both became grave. “Have you had recent converse with that man Bennet?” he asked suddenly. She swung the bird cage so quickly round that the doves were well-nigh jerked off their perch. She had flushed at the same moment, and a little frown was upon the face that she turned up to him. “Why asked you that question? Is it because you were speaking of the sham loves, sir?” she asked. “I ask your pardon if I seem somewhat of a busybody, Nelly Polwhele,” he said. “But the truth is that I--I find myself thinking of you at times--as a father--as an elder brother might think of--a sweet sister of tender years.” Now she was blushing rosier than before, and there was no frown upon her forehead. But she did not lower her eyes or turn them away from his face. There was about her no sign of the bashful country girl who has been paid a compliment by one above her in rank. She did not lower her eyes; it was he who lowered his before her. “'Tis the truth, dear child, that I tell you: I have been strangely interested in you since the first day I saw you, and I have oft wondered what your future would be. I have thought of you in my prayers.” “I do not deserve so much from you, sir,” she said softly, and now her eyes were on the ground, and he knew by the sound of her voice that they were full of tears. She spoke softly--jerkily. “I do not deserve so much that is good, though if I were asked what thing on earth I valued most I should say that it was that you should think well of me.” “How could I think otherwise, Nelly?” he asked. “You gave me your promise of your own free will, not to allow any further longing after the playhouse to take possession of you, and I know that you have kept that promise. You never missed a preaching and you were ever attentive. I do not doubt that the seed sown in your heart will bear good fruit. Then you were thoughtful for my comfort upon more than one occasion and--Why should you not dwell in my thoughts? Why should you not be associated with my hopes? Do you think that there is any tenderer feeling than that which a shepherd has for one of his lambs that he has turned into the path that leads to the fold?” “I am unworthy, sir, I have forgotten your teaching even before your words had ceased to sound in mine ears. I have not scrupled to deceive. I led on John Bennet to believe that I might relent toward him, when all the time I detested him.” “Why did you do that?” he asked gravely.