"I can hardly tell you why. The father and the mother are interesting people, and so is the sister. And in their way they are so good! And they have had great troubles,--very great troubles. And the place is so cool and pretty, all surrounded by streams and old pollard willows, with a thatched roof that comes in places nearly to the ground; and then the sound of the mill wheel is the pleasantest sound I know anywhere." "I will hope he is innocent, Mary." "I do so hope he is innocent! And then my friends are so much interested about the family. The Fenwicks are very fond of them, and Mr. Gilmore is their landlord." "He is the magistrate?" "Yes, he is the magistrate." "What sort of fellow is he?" "A very good sort of fellow; such a sort that he can hardly be better; a perfect gentleman." "Indeed! And has he a perfect lady for his wife?" "Mr. Gilmore is not married." "What age is he?" "I think he is thirty-three." "With a nice estate and not married! What a chance you have left behind you, Mary!" "Do you think, Walter, that a girl ought to wish to marry a man merely because he is a perfect gentleman, and has a nice estate and is not yet married?" "They say that they generally do;--don't they?" "I hope you don't think so. Any girl would be very fortunate to marry Mr. Gilmore--if she loved him." "But you don't?" "You know I am not talking about myself, and you oughtn't to make personal allusions." These cousinly walks along the banks of the Lurwell were not probably favourable to Mr. Gilmore's hopes. CHAPTER XV. THE POLICE AT FAULT. [Illustration] The magistrates sat at Heytesbury on the Tuesday, and Sam Brattle was remanded. An attorney thus was employed on his behalf by Mr. Fenwick. The parson on the Monday evening had been down at the mill, and had pressed strongly on the old miller the necessity of getting some legal assistance for his son. At first Mr. Brattle was stern, immovable, and almost dumb. He sat on the bench outside his door, with his eyes fixed on the dismantled mill, and shook his head wearily, as though sick and sore with the words that were being addressed to him. Mrs. Brattle the while stood in the doorway, and listened without uttering a sound. If the parson could not prevail, it would be quite out of the question that any word of hers should do good. There she stood, wiping the tears from her eyes, looking on wishfully, while her husband did not even know that she was there. At last he rose from his seat, and hallooed to her. "Maggie," said he, "Maggie." She stepped forward, and put her hand upon his shoulder. "Bring me down the purse, mother," he said. "There will be nothing of that kind wanted," said the parson. "Them gentlemen don't work for such as our boy for nothin'," said the miller. "Bring me the purse, mother, I say. There ar'n't much in it, but there's a few guineas as 'll do for that, perhaps. As well pitch 'em away that way as any other."