“You have been ill, I fear,” said Arthur, noticing the unusual wrappers about the arm-chair, and Mrs. Somerton’s rather pale face. “Yes, sir, very ill,” she said, in a subdued voice. “I am sorry to hear it; but hope I may congratulate you upon having got over the worst of it.” “I don’t know that there is much to congratulate about,” she said, looking at him with a sad expression in her big eyes; “but I have got over the worst of it, they say, thank you.” “I was very much shocked to hear of Mr. Tallant’s death. I only heard of it yesterday,” said Arthur. “What has become of you lately?--you have not been in this neighbourhood for a long time,” said Mrs. Somerton, evidently only attending to her own thoughts. “I have been engaged on an important work, which has occupied me almost night and day for several months past,” Arthur said. “Will you not sit down, sir?” Mrs. Somerton asked. “I am sorry I can’t get about to offer you a seat.” Arthur sat down beside the neat bright fireplace, and looked into the burning coals with a variety of curious feelings: he longed to ask all kinds of questions, but feared to do so. “Many strange things may occur in a few months,” said Mrs. Somerton; “the purpose of a life-time is easily upset.” Arthur said nothing, but looked curiously up at the speaker. “We all think we are very clever, and we go on planning and planning; but things are not to be as we like: there is a Power above us.” “True,” said Arthur, “we must all bend to the decrees of Providence.” “Ah! if we only knew that, at the beginning, Mr. Phillips,” said Mrs. Somerton earnestly, “if we could be content to learn that from other people’s experience: ‘better learn from your neighbour’s scathe than from your own;’ but we learn from our own, Mr. Phillips, we learn from our own.” Arthur had upon a former occasion been struck with the snatches of moral and proverbial philosophy which characterised Mrs. Somerton’s conversations; but he had thought her a clever cynical countrywoman before, and had disliked her: now he rapidly felt himself beginning to take a deep interest in her. “Folks that do wrong have generally plenty of excuses; but I have none worth the name of excuse, though they say a bad excuse is better than none. You are surprised at my talk: you will not be so before the night is over.” “Surely nothing has happened that does not appear to me. Poor Mr. Tallant is dead, and you have been ill; is there anything else?” Arthur asked as calmly as he could. “I won’t torture you,--I know your secret, sir. Miss Phœbe is well, though, poor soul, she is sadly cut up; but misery is no respecter of persons. Ambition and pride are the ruin of most people. You would hardly think I had been an ambitious, scheming woman, with plans far above the station I hold?” she went on excitedly. “I have often thought that you would worthily fill a much higher position,” said Arthur.