He would have stayed away, but for Mrs Glaire, who looked to him for her support in this time of trouble; and he would have avoided Eve's society, dear to him as it was, but for the sweet ingenuous looks with which she greeted him, and laid bare her innocent, truthful heart to his gaze. To her he was dear Mr Selwood, whose hands she had kissed when he promised her to leave no stone unturned to bring Richard to the path of duty; and her belief in him was, that with his strong mind and knowledge of the world, he would do this, that Richard would be quite reformed; and make her, to her aunt's lasting happiness, a good and loving husband. And she--does she love him? the vicar often asked himself, and he was compelled to answer, "No!" For there was no deep passion, only the sorrow for Richard's frailties, the disappointment and bitterness of the young girl, who finds the man to whom she is betrothed is a scoundrel, and fights with self to keep from believing it. No, Eve did not love him with all her heart, for a true love passion had never yet gained an entrance. Richard was to be her husband; that was settled; and some day, when he showed his sorrow and repented, she would forgive him, and become his wife. And had she the least idea that another loved her? Not the least. Mr Selwood was her and her aunt's dear friend, working with them for the same end, and some day in the future, when Richard was forgiven, he would make them man and wife. This was the state of Eve's heart at the present period of the story; but a change was coming--a look, a word, or a touch, something had thrilled one of the fibres of Eve's being, directly after the saving of Richard from his men; and, though innocent of its meaning, the first germ of a thought which she came afterwards to term "disloyal to Richard," was planted in her heart, and began to grow. The vicar was at home, busy over his garden. It had been a busy morning, and Mrs Slee had informed him that she was "dead bet." And she must have been tired, for fully a hundred people had been for relief that morning, the munificent sums the young vicar devoted to the workmen's families having been of late supplemented by money furnished by Mrs Glaire. "Richard must never know," she said; "but I feel bound to do something towards alleviating the distress caused by his obstinacy." The result was that soup and bread were supplied, and no one came to the vicarage without getting some assistance. "Thee'll give all thee's got away, and leave nowt for thee sen," said Mrs Slee to him crossly, when the distribution was over, and the people gone. "You're tired," said the vicar, smiling. "Nay, I'm not," said Mrs Slee; "but it makes me mad." "What makes you mad?" "Why, to see you finding money, and trouble, and me helping you, to keep the poor silly women and bairns from pining, when my maister's doing all he can to keep the men from going to work. It makes me hate my sen."