the repugnance in which the latter held him. Altogether, just at
this time, Willie was the happiest of the three.

As Susan went into Coniston, to sell her butter, one Saturday, some
inconsiderate person told her that she had seen Michael Hurst the
night before. I said inconsiderate, but I might rather have said
unobservant; for any one who had spent half-an-hour in Susan Dixon's
company might have seen that she disliked having any reference made
to the subjects nearest her heart, were they joyous or grievous. Now
she went a little paler than usual (and she had never recovered her
colour since she had had the fever), and tried to keep silence. But
an irrepressible pang forced out the question -

"Where?"

"At Thomas Applethwaite's, in Langdale. They had a kind of harvest-
home, and he were there among the young folk, and very thick wi'
Nelly Hebthwaite, old Thomas's niece. Thou'lt have to look after him
a bit, Susan!"

She neither smiled nor sighed. The neighbour who had been speaking
to her was struck with the gray stillness of her face. Susan herself
felt how well her self-command was obeyed by every little muscle, and
said to herself in her Spartan manner, "I can bear it without either
wincing or blenching." She went home early, at a tearing, passionate
pace, trampling and breaking through all obstacles of briar or bush.
Willie was moping in her absence--hanging listlessly on the farm-yard
gate to watch for her. When he saw her, he set up one of his
strange, inarticulate cries, of which she was now learning the
meaning, and came towards her with his loose, galloping run, head and