next we meet, I hope you will have forgiven me for my harshness to Edith's governess."

"Oh, Mr. Chichester, that was forgiven long ago."

"Very well; then you must promise me absolution beforehand for the very next offence I commit. Look out for the bays on Thursday." And then he shook hands with them both and left the room; but Will followed him, and the two were walking up and down before Paradise Row for a long time. The street was noisy and full of children. Dym, from the window, saw Guy Chichester gently pick up a crying child and send it in to his mother; and once even, in the midst of what seemed to be an engrossing talk, he interfered between a knot of boys who were beginning a scuffle; and lastly, as a Sister of Mercy-rather a rare spectacle in that neighbourhood-came swiftly down the street in long black cloak and close bonnet, under which was a sweet, kindly young face, she saw Guy Chichester raise his hat and stand bareheaded till she had passed.

Dym had very few evenings with her brother, and the last caine all too quickly, as last evenings will do, and the next morning Will took her to King's Cross himself, and put her in the second-class carriage.

"Well, good-by, Dimples; take care of your little self." "Oh, good-by, my darling Will Conqueror," cried the little sister, sorrowfully.

"Don't fall to hero-worship too strongly; and, as Chichester himself says, 'look out for breakers ahead.' There, God bless you, pet; you know how I shall miss you;" and something husky came into Will's throat. Dym could only cling about his neck, crying; her heart was too full for speech.

"What a good face that young man has, and yet how painfully deformed he is!" said a young lady to her father, who was watching them from the platform; "and, papa, I do believe he is a clergyman, too; how sorry the poor thing seems

to be!"

Ah, a sweetheart or sister, I suppose; come, jump in, Minnie." And Will, squeezing his sister's hand, drew back and let them pass him. Five minutes afterwards the train glided from the station, a handkerchief fluttered, hands waved, hats were lifted, the porters jostled past him, and William Elliott was left alone.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE VALLEY OF THE NIDD.

WHO has not heard of the Valley of the Nidd?

Visitors who resort to Harrogate, that gay queen of inland watering-places, are tolerably conversant with that fair tract of country, well watered as another Eden by the river Nidd, wherein lies this beautiful and picturesque valley.

Pateley Bridge, Nidderdale, Birstwith, Hampsthwaite, and Ripley, all in their turn recall summer wanderings and pleasant days of excursion and holiday, and, looking down over the rich extent of meadow and pasture, thickly sown with woods and plantations, one is driven to confess that this is the garden of the West Riding of Yorkshire. Down in a dip or hollow of the valley lies Birstwith, its postal town being Ripley, dropped down snugly on the banks of the Nidd, a tiny toy village or "story-book village," as some chance visitors termed it.

There is a pleasant Arcadian simplicity about Birst with, all the same that there is a flavour of monoply about it. Though only twenty minutes by rail from Harrogate, and boasting a station of its own, the inaux of visitors is rare; the only lodgings to be procured are just opposite the butcher's. "Not at home to strangers" is as plainly legible in the whole aspect of the village as though it were written up on a sign-board and creaked noisily over the Railway Inn.

Not that there is any lack of hospitality among the Birstwithians; on the contrary, the curious stranger, though uninvited and his presence by no means solicited, is always made heartily welcome at the vicarage and the mill. The hospitality of the North is proverbial, nor is Birstwith one whit behind in this respect, though she guards her beauties coyly from undiscriminative eyes, and would fain hide herself from general observation. And a fairer English village never lay shrouded among the Yorkshire moors.

From the level platform of the station the view is singularly graceful and picturesque. The arch of the road leading to the

village with the weir itself is indeed hidden, but the mill and the mill-house, with its blackened ruin standing amidst the trim garden, is the first object visible; then the church and the Great House, which, from its elevation, looks down over the entire village; houses sparsely scattered here and there gleam out in soft whiteness among the park-like meadows, the river Nidd flowing through them, now gliding on between its banks under a wealth of umbrageous foliage, now chafing over its smooth white boulders, now twined into narrow curves, or forming dark cool pools, where the small red oxen come down to drink-river and meadows and richly-wooded banks going on alluringly for miles.

Dym, who was well tired by her journey and her long waiting at the bustling Harrogate station, trusted, from the slack ening of the engine, that they were drawing to their journey's end, and could not help an audible sigh of disappointment when Hampsthwaite instead of Birst with met her eye. Her sole fellow-passenger, who had got in at Harrogate, put down his paper and smiled, and then, with a thorough Englishman's mauvaise honte, not being able to make up his mind to speak, took it up again.

Dym yawned and looked at him; he was a tall muscularlooking man, very tanned and freckled as though by constant exposure to sun and wind, with strongly developed homely features, and sandy-no, red hair, somewhat sun-dried too; he was dressed in a rough gray suit, and wore shooting-gaiters and a broad-brimmed straw hat, almost as broad as a planter's; his hands were large and freckled also: nevertheless, Dym felt he was a gentleman.

But his face did not interest her, so she read the back of the paper instead. The "Pateley Bridge, Nidderdale, and Ripon Herald-how dull it sounded after the "Daily Telegraph!" Dym could just catch sight of the right-hand advertisement-The Braisty Woods Estate, in the parish of Kirkby Malzeard"--what names! there's a worse one lower down

Seriven-with-Tentergate;" who ever heard of such a place ! and Dym read on: "Seriven-with-Tentergate. To be sold by auction, at the Commercial Hotel. Knaresborough, all that close of excellent grass land called Halfpenny Close, containing la 2r. Op."-what ever does that mean, I wonder!" be the same more or less"-how enigmatical!— situate in the town

ship of Scriven-with-Tentergate, adjoining the Knaresborough and Boroughbridge Road," read on Dym, perplexedly, till she was aware of a pair of light hazel eyes peering at her over the top of the paper. Dym bit her lip and turned away. "May I offer you the paper ?" volunteered the owner of the eyes, in a voice not quite free from the northern dialect, and with a decided burr in it. Dym declined in rather a shamefaced manner, and then, curiosity getting the better of her timidity," Are we fat from Birstwith?" she asked, with difficulty suppressing another yawn. The gentleman smiled; he had a wide mouth, and when he smiled he showed a row of strong white teeth, and the skin under his eyes puckered and wrinkled up; it was odd, but it was irresistible; it made Dym smile too.

"We shall be there in a very few minutes now," he observed. "We have just passed Hampsthwaite."

"Where the station-master had a wooden leg; yes, I know." And then, in spite of her efforts to be very proper, Dym could not help putting another rather funny question: "Do all the station-masters about here have only one leg or one arm?" for Dym's quick eyes had noted this singularity.

It was impossible to help laughing, which her new acquaintance did very heartily: it is astonishing how a laugh does away with all stiffness, even in a railway-compartment where there are only two occupants.

"You have noticed this peculiarity at our three little stations, then these disabled pensioners of the service are placed there because traffic is easy and work light. Our station-master at Birstwith has his full complement of legs and arms. You are passing through ?" with an interrogative glance, not inquisitive, but courteous.

"I am staying there; please let me know as soon as we are in sight of it," she added, in a pleading voice.

"Which will be in a few minutes. Ah, I know now: you are the young lady from London whom Mrs. Chichester is expecting.'

"How do you know that?" turning on him sharply, and her manner said, very plainly, "Who are you, I should like to know ?"

Every one knows every one else's business in Birstwith; that comes of living in a village. Now look out from your

or my window; there's the mill.”

"What a pretty garden!-and water, too! Oh, and what an ugly black ruin!"

"Marks of some recent fire; there, now you see the church -such a lovely church-and the Great House, as we call it; Ingleside, I mean. Now here we are at the station; let me help you out."

A fresh free wind blew round Dym as she alighted; the late beams of an August sun touched the level glories of meadows and rivers and lit them up into radiance; the west was a mass of rose colour and purple clouds; from woods and meadows the birds sang lustily; the lowing of cattle came over the uplands. Dym stood on the high platform, a little doubtful and confused by the sudden beauty, while her travelling companion handed out plaid shawl, bonnet-box, and black bag.

"Halloo, Humphrey, playing ladies'-man, by way of change? Leave all that for Dyson, man. Here, Dyson, see after this lady's luggage, and send it up to Ingleside. Now, Miss Elliott, and how do you do?"

A moment before, Dym was feeling strange and uneasy; now she seemed to be back at St. Luke's again, or even in the narrow close school-room at Lansdowne House. Guy Chichester's figure, in the old shooting-coat, looked so delightfully familiar, even amid its new surroundings, that her courage rose again. She put her hand in his, and declared, in answer to his inquiry, she was only a very, very little bit tired, albeit a few minutes since she had been yawning fearfully.

"That's well," he replied, with a glance of amity that made her foolish little heart beat more quickly. "You must have had a terribly dull journey, though, all alone from King's Cross. Where did you put in an appearance, Humphrey ?” Harrogate," was the laconic answer.

"Harrogate! Harry Trevor has come up by this train too,

I see.

Well, you may safely trust your goods and chattels to Dyson. Miss Elliott, will you come with me, please? Humphrey, I suppose I can't give you a lift?"

"Not exactly; Honor is waiting tea for me. Well, squire, good-night. Good-night, Miss-Miss-"

"Miss Elliott. What, haven't you exchanged cards yet? Permit me; Miss Elliott-Mr. Humphrey Nethecote, the worthiest and the most honest Yorkshireman in the whole of the West Riding." And, after this singular introduction, Mr