love for the young squire. Now it is disagreeable for a young lady to walk about under such circumstances, especially so when she has no female friend to keep her in countenance, more especially so when the gentleman is of such importance in the neighbourhood as Frank was in that locality. It was a matter of moment to every farmer, and every farmer's wife, which bride Frank should marry of those two bespoken for him; Mary, namely, or Money. Every yokel about the place had been made to understand that, by some feminine sleight of hand, the doctor's niece had managed to trap Master Frank, and that Master Frank had been sent out of the way so that he might, if yet possible, break through the trapping. All this made life rather unpleasant for her.
One day, walking solitary in the lanes, she met that sturdy farmer to whose daughter she had in former days been so serviceable. 'God bless 'ee, Miss Mary,' said he—he always did bid God bless her when he saw her. 'And, Miss Mary, to say my mind out freely, thee be quite gude enough for un, quite gude enough; so thee be'st tho'f he were ten squoires.' There may, perhaps, have been something pleasant in the heartiness of this; but it was not pleasant to have this heart affair of hers thus publicly scanned and talked over: to have it known to every one that she had set her heart on marrying Frank Gresham, and that all the Greshams had set their hearts on preventing it. And yet she could in nowise help it. No girl could have been more staid and demure, less demonstrative and boastful about her love. She had never yet spoken freely, out of her full heart, to one human being. 'Oh, Frank!' All her spoken sin had been contained in that.
But Lady Arabella had been very active. It suited her better that it should be known, far and wide, that a nameless pauper—Lady Arabella only surmised that her foe was nameless; but she did not scruple to declare it—was intriguing to catch the heir of Greshamsbury. None of the Greshams must meet Mary Thorne; that was the edict sent about the country; and the edict was well understood. Those, therefore, were bad days for Miss Thorne.
She had never yet spoken on the matter freely, out of her full heart, to one human being. Not to one? Not to him? Not to her uncle? No, not even to him, fully and freely. She had told him that that had passed between Frank and her which amounted, at any rate on his part, to a proposal.
'Well, dearest, and what was your answer?' said her uncle, drawing her close to him, and speaking in his kindest voice.
'I hardly made any answer, uncle.'
