the genial spring gave place to a hot summer; and summer, in its turn, was giving place to autumn. there is little to record of the interval.

dallory, as regards north inlet, was no longer crowded. the poor workmen, with their wives and families, had for the most part drifted away from it; some few were emigrating, some had brought themselves to accepting that last and hated refuge, the workhouse; and they seemed likely, so far as present prospects looked, to be permanent recipients of its hospitality. the greater portion, however, had wandered away to different parts of the country, seeking for that employment they could no longer find in their native place. poole and the other conspirators had been tried at the march assizes. richard north pleaded earnestly for a lenient sentence: and he was listened to. poole received a term of penal servitude, shorter than it would otherwise have been, and the others hard labour. one and all, including mr. poole, declared that they would not willingly have injured richard north.

so, what with one thing and another, north inlet had too much empty space in it, and was now at peace. there was no longer any need of special policemen. as to richard, he was going on steadily and quietly; progressing a little, though not very much. five or six men had been added to his number, of whom ketler was one; ketler having, as jelly said, come to his senses. but the works would never be what they had been. for one thing, richard had no capital; and if he had, perhaps he might not now have cared to embark it in this manner. provided he could gain a sufficient income for expenses, and so employ his time and energies, it was all he asked.

madam lived permanently abroad. mr. north--richard in reality--allowed her two hundred a-year; her son arthur two; sir nash two. six hundred a-year; but it was pretty plainly intimated to madam that this income was only guaranteed so long as she kept herself aloof from them. madam retorted that she liked the continent too well to leave it for disagreeable old england.

matilda north had married a french count, whom they had met at baden-baden. she, herself, made the announcement to her stepbrother arthur in a self-possessed letter, telling him that as the count's fortune was not equal to his merits, she should depend upon arthur to assist them yearly. sidney north had also married. tired, possibly, with his most uncertain existence, finding supplies from home were now the exception rather than the rule, and not daring to show his face on english soil to entreat for more, mr. sidney north entered into the bonds of matrimony with a wealthy american dame a few years older than himself; the widow of a great man who had made his fortune by the oil springs. it was to be hoped he would keep himself straight now.

and mr. north, feeling that he was freed from madam, was happy as a prince, and confidentially told people that he thought he was growing young again. bessy wrote to him weekly; pleasant, happy letters. she liked her home in the new world very much indeed; and she said oliver seemed not to have a single care. the new firm, jones and rane, had more patients than they could attend to, and all things were well with them. in short, dr. and mrs. rane were evidently both prosperous and happy. no one was more pleased to know this than mrs. gass. she flourished; and her beaming face was more beaming than ever when seen abroad, setting the wives of richard north's workmen to rights, or looking out from behind her geraniums.

dallory hall was empty again. william adair had quitted it, his mission there over. richard north was thinking about removing the furniture; but in truth he did not know what to do with it. there was no hurry, for miss dallory said she did not intend to let it again at present.

perhaps the only one not just now in a state of bliss was jelly. jelly had made a frightful discovery--tim wilks was faithless. for several months--as it came out--mr. wilks had transferred his allegiance from herself to molly green, whom he was secretly courting at whitborough. at least, he was keeping it from jelly. the truth was, poor tim did not dare to tell her. jelly heard of it in a manner that astounded her. spending a sunday at whitborough with mrs. beverage's servants, jelly went to morning service at one of the churches. "pate" took her to a particular church, she said. and there she heard the banns of marriage read out, for the first time of asking, between timothy wilks, bachelor, and mary green, spinster. jelly very nearly shrieked aloud in her indignation. had the culprits been present, she might have felt compelled to box their ears in coming out. it proved to be true. tim and molly were going to be married, and tim was furnishing a pretty cottage at whitborough.

and that is how matters at present stood in dallory.

one autumn day, when the woods were glowing with their many colours, and the guns might be heard making war on the partridges, richard north overtook one of his flemish workmen at the base of a hill about half-a-mile from his works. the man was wheeling a wheelbarrow that contained sand, but not in the handy manner that an englishman would have done it, and richard took it himself.

"can't you learn, snaude?" he said, addressing the man. "see here; you should stoop: you must not get the barrow nearly upright. see how you've spilt the sand."

wheeling it along and paying attention to nothing else, richard took no notice of a basket-carriage that was coming down the opposite hill. it pulled up when it reached him. looking up, richard saw miss dallory. resigning the wheelbarrow to the man, richard took the hand she held out.

"yes," he said laughing, "you stop to shake hands with me now, but you won't do it soon."

"no? why not?" she questioned.

"you saw me wheeling the barrow along?"

"yes. it did not look very heavy."

"i have to put my hands to all sorts of things now, you perceive, miss dallory."

"just so. i hope you like doing it."

"well, i do."

"but i want to know what you mean by saying i shall soon not stop to speak to you."

"when you become a great lady. report says you are about to marry."

"does it? do you still think, sir, i am going to accept a bohun?"

"there has been some lord down at your brother's place, once or twice. the gossips in dallory say that he comes for you."

"then you can tell the gossips that they are a great deal wiser than i am. stand still, gyp"--to the shaggy pony. "i would not have him; and i'm sure he has not the remotest idea of having me. why, he is hardly out of his teens! i dare say he thinks me old enough to be his godmother."

miss dallory played with the reins, and then glanced at richard. he was looking at her earnestly, as he leaned on the low carriage.

"that young man has come down for the shooting, mr. richard. frank takes him out every day. as for me, i do not intend to marry at all. never."

"what shall you do, then?"

"live at dallory hall. frank is going to be married, to the lord's sister. now there's some information for you, but you need not proclaim it. it is true. i shall remove myself and my chattels to the hall, and live there till i die."

"it will be very lonely for you."

"yes, i know that," she answered sadly. "most old maids are lonely. there will be frank's children, perhaps, to come and stay with me sometimes."

their eyes met. each understood the other as exactly as though a host of words had been spoken. she would have one man for a husband, and only one--if he would have her.

richard went nearer. his lips were pale, his tones husky with emotion.

"mary, it would be most unsuitable. think of your money; your birth. i told you once before not to tempt me. why, you know--you know that i have loved you, all along, too well for my own peace. in the old days when those works of ours"--pointing to the distant chimneys--"were of note, and we were wealthy, i allowed myself to cherish dreams that i should be ashamed to confess to now: but that's all over and done with. it would never do."

she blushed and smiled; and turned her head away from him to study the opposite hedge while she spoke.

"for my part, i think there never was anything so suitable since the world was made."

"mary, i cannot."

"if you will please get off my basket-chaise, sir, i'll drive on."

but he did not stir. miss dallory played with the reins again.

"mary, how can i? if you had nothing, it would be different. i cannot live at dallory hall.

"no one else ever shall." but richard had to bend to catch the whisper.

"the community would cry shame upon me. upon that poor working man, richard north."

"how dare you call yourself names, mr. richard? you are a gentleman."

"what would john and francis say?"

"what they pleased. francis likes you better than any one in the world; better than--well, yes, sir--better than i do."

he had taken one of her hands now. she knew, she had known a long while, how it was with him--that he loved her passionately, but would never, under his altered circumstances, tell her so. and, moreover, she knew that he was aware she knew it.

"but mary, since--since before you returned from switzerland up to this hour, i have not dared to think the old hopes could be carried out, even in my own heart."

"you think it better that i should grow into an old maid, and you into an old bachelor. very well. thank you. perhaps we shall both be happier for it. let me drive on, mr. richard."

he drew nearer to her; made her turn to him. the great love of his heart shone in his face and eyes. a face of emotion then. she dropped the reins, regardless of what the rough pony might do, and put her other hand upon his.

"oh, richard, don't let us carry on the farce any longer! we have been playing it all these months and years. let us at least be honest with each other: and then, if you decide for separation, why--it must be so."

but, as it seemed, richard did not mean to decide for it. he glanced round to make sure that no one was in the lonely road: and, drawing her face to his, left some strangely ardent kisses on it.

"i could not give up my works, mary."

"no one asked you to do so, sir."

"it is just as though i had left the furniture in the hall for the purpose."

"perhaps you did."

"mary!"

"there's the pony going. stand still, gyp. i won't give up gyp, mind, richard. i know he is frightfully ragged and ugly, and that you despise him; but i won't give him up. he can be the set-off bargain against your works, sir."

"agreed," answered richard, laughing. and he sealed the bargain.

mary said again that she must drive on; and did not. how long they would really have stayed there it was impossible to say, had not the man come back from the works with the empty wheelbarrow for more sand.

* * * * *

when the next spring came round, richard north and his wife were established at dallory hall. somewhere about the time of the marriage, there occurred a little warfare. mary, who owned a great amount of accumulated money, wanted richard to take it into his business. richard steadily refused. a small amount would be useful to him; that he would take; but no more.

"richard," she said to him one day, before they had been married a week, "i do think you are more obstinate upon this point than any other. you should hear what mrs. gass says about it."

"she says it to me," returned richard, laughing. "there's not my equal for obstinacy in the world, she tells me."

"and you know it's true, sir."

but the next minute he grew strangely serious. "i cannot give up business, mary; i have already said so----"

"i should despise you if you did, richard," she interrupted. "i have money and gentility--i beg you'll not laugh, sir; you have work, and brains to work with; so we are equally matched. but i wish you would take the money."

"no," said richard. "i will never again enter on gigantic operations, and be at the beck and call of the trades' unions. there's another reason against it--that it would require closer supervision on my part. and as i have now divided duties to attend to; i shall not add to them. i should not choose to neglect my works; i should not choose to neglect my wife."

"a wilful man must have his way," quoth mary.

"and a wilful woman shall have hers in all things, excepting when i see that it would not be for her good," rejoined richard, holding his wife before him by the waist.

"i dare say i shall!" she saucily answered. "is that a bargain, richard?"

"to be sure it is." and richard sealed it as he had sealed the other some months before.

and so we leave dallory and its people at peace. even jelly was in feather. jelly, ruling mr. north indoors, and giving her opinion, unasked, in a free-and-easy manner whenever she chose, as to the interests of the garden: an opinion poor mr. north enjoyed instead of reproved, and grew to look for. jelly had taken on another "young man," in the person of mr. francis dallory's head-gardener. he was a staid young scotchman; very respectful to jelly, and quite attentive. mr. seeley had moved into dr. rane's old house, and old phillis was his housekeeper; so that jelly's neighbourly relations with the next door were continued as of old.

on arthur bohun there remained the greatest traces of the past. sir nash was restored to health; and arthur, in his unceasing remorse, would sometimes hope that he would marry again: he should almost hate to succeed to the rank and wealth to which he had, in a degree, sacrificed one who had been far dearer to him than life. arthur's ostensible home was with sir nash; but he was fond of coming to dallory. he had stayed twice with mr. north; and richard's home, the hall, would be always open to him. the most bitter moments of arthur bohun's life were those that he spent with sir william adair: never could he lose the consciousness of having wronged him, of having helped to make him childless. sir william had grown to love him as a son, but it was only an additional stab to arthur's aching heart.

and whenever arthur bohun came to dallory, he would pay a visit to a certain white tomb in the churchyard. choosing a solitary evening for it, after twilight had fallen, and remaining near it for hours, there he indulged his grief. who can tell how he called upon her?--who can tell how he poured out all the misery of his repentant heart, praying to be forgiven? neither she nor heaven could answer him in this world. she was gone; gone: all his regret was unavailing to recall her: there remained nothing but the marble stone, and the simple name upon it:

"ellen adair."