eye, but, oh! so plainly to be felt. Rose hid herself thankfully
behind it, while Stephen had not courage to lift a corner. She
had twice been seen driving with Claude Merrill--that Stephen
knew; but she had explained that there were errands to be done,
that her grandfather had taken the horse, and that Mr. Merrill's
escort had been both opportune and convenient for these practical
reasons. Claude was everywhere present, the centre of
attraction, the observed of all observers. He was irresistible,
contagious, almost epidemic. Rose was now gay, now silent; now
affectionate, now distant, now coquettish; in fine, everything
that was capricious, mysterious, agitating, incomprehensible.

One morning Alcestis Crambry went to the post-office for Stephen
and brought him back the newspapers and letters. He had hung
about the River Farm so much that Stephen finally gave him bed
and food in exchange for numberless small errands. Rufus was
temporarily confined in a dark room with some strange pain and
trouble in his eyes, and Alcestis proved of use in many ways. He
had always been Rose's slave, and had often brought messages and
notes from the Brier Neighborhood, so that when Stephen saw a
folded note among the papers his heart gave a throb of
anticipation.

The note was brief, and when he had glanced through it he said:
"This is not mine, Alcestis; it belongs to Miss Rose. Go
straight back and give it to her as you were told; and another
time keep your wits about you, or I'll send you back to Killick."

Alcestis Crambry's ideas on all subjects were extremely vague.
Claude Merrill had given him a letter for Rose, but his notion