"Slow and sure, you know, Timothy," advised Mr. Loveday. "Yes, sir, and thank you," said Timothy. "I will endeavor not to make mistakes." "We shall have you chancellor of the exchequer in course of time," said Mr. Loveday, in a tone by no means unkindly. "I shall be content to earn a living, sir," said Timothy, modestly; and rejoiced largely when he showed his employer two new-laid eggs in one day. CHAPTER XIX. Three months after this conversation Mr. Loveday and Timothy were standing in front of the book-shop, discussing some proposed alterations in the stall outside upon which the more promiscuous books were offered for sale. The weather was fine, and a bright sun was striving to make its presence known in Church Alley; a bird in a cage hung above Mr. Sly's shop-window was piping a song of gratitude and welcome, and a cat, caught by a sunbeam, stood stock-still enjoying the warmth. A young woman, neatly and plainly dressed, entered Church Alley, and with timid, hesitating steps, gazed at the shops and houses as she passed them, halting within a yard of the stall before which Mr. Loveday and Timothy were talking. Timothy was explaining his views. The new stall could be made with flaps, hanging down, which, when rain threatened, could be swiftly raised to enclose the books. This would do away with the old and cumbersome method of covering the outside stock with canvas. "And besides, sir, it could be made to fit like a box, with a good padlock outside, so that there would be no need to take the books out and in morning and night. The expense would not be great, only the timber. I can borrow tools, and make it as well as a carpenter. I don't mind saying that a thorough good workman couldn't beat my fowl-house." "There's nothing much you can't do, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday. "These things are not difficult, sir, if one only puts one's mind to them. A good saw and plane, a chisel, a few nails, and hinges, and it is done." "You shall try your hand, Timothy," said Mr. Loveday, and turned to go into his shop. As he did so, his eyes rested upon the figure of the young woman who had halted within a few steps of him. He was transfixed. Twenty-and-odd years of his life were suddenly engulfed in a memory of the past. There stood the woman he had loved and lost--the woman whom his dead brother had loved and married. He stood like a man in a dream, or under a spell of enchantment. All consciousness of the present time had vanished. The past came back again, the love which had slept so long that he had deemed it dead awoke within him and stirred his heart. Was it joy, was it pain he felt as he stretched forth a trembling hand. As if in response to that movement on his part, the woman moved towards him, and held out her two hands with an affectionate look in her eyes, in which there dwelt also some touch of entreaty. "Who are you?" he asked, faintly, recovering his voice.