Upon the first Sunday in February fill-dyke, Alfred Yellam walked out, as usual, with Fancy. She had noticed, during the Morning Service, that Mrs. Yellam's responses were not quite so fervent as usual, and the sermon, a good one, seemed to fail to hold Alfred's attention. Servant-maids are acute observers where their interests are concerned. They divine a frown before the master's forehead is wrinkled; they anticipate a harsh word before it is spoken by the mistress. Alfred walked beside Fancy in silence. This, taken by itself, was not disturbing. The more privileged classes often wonder why humbler couples sitting upon benches in the parks, or walking aimlessly amongst the trees, appear to be so satisfied with a silence which they stigmatise as stupidity. If, on the other hand, curiosity led our Olympians to interrogate the more thoughtful of these couples, they might be astonished to discover that the never-ending chatter in our drawing-rooms provokes much the same indictment from those whom they regard as far below them. The shrill screams of laughter, the parrot-house babble, fox-trotting, and the bacchantic waving of arms bare to the shoulder are often summed up as--"monkey-shines." To men and women who work desperately hard throughout the week, the silences of Sunday steal unawares, lapping them to a rest which is real refreshment. Fancy, for example, loved to stroll beside Alfred, feeling his sturdy arm about her waist, and knowing from its convincing pressure that his thoughts were dwelling upon her as hers dwelt upon him, revelling in a future which would bring them closer together. But, to-day, somehow, his silence was not so reassuring. For the time of year, the weather happened to be mild. Spring was abroad in the land. Fancy heard her voice in the bleating of the new-born lambs; she beheld her in the snow-drops; Spring's sweet breath beat upon a pink cheek when the south-west breeze sighed in the yews and pine-tops. And yet, misgivings assailed the maid. They had walked from the Vicarage, through Nether-Applewhite, and past Mrs. Yellam's cottage whither they would return for tea. Fancy had learnt to love the village with its general air of sleepy, comfortable prosperity. She would be perfectly content to live here all her days. Occasional jaunts to Sarum or to the exciting side-shows of Boscombe and Bournemouth could only serve to enhance the more solid charms of home. Alfred had spoken once, at the moment when they left the _Sir John Barleycorn_ tavern behind them. "Do you like William Saint, Fancy?" "No." "Why?" "I don't know, Alfie. I ain't never spoken to him, nor him to me. 'Tis his face, I suppose." "Mother thinks he's a danger to me." "Gracious!"