saw it a second time. The man alongside was, as she had fancied, Sam
Hobson, formerly gardener at Gaymead, who would at one time have
married her.

She had occasionally thought of him, and wondered if life in a
cottage with him would not have been a happier lot than the life she
had accepted. She had not thought of him passionately, but her now
dismal situation lent an interest to his resurrection--a tender
interest which it is impossible to exaggerate. She went back to bed,
and began thinking. When did these market-gardeners, who travelled
up to town so regularly at one or two in the morning, come back? She
dimly recollected seeing their empty waggons, hardly noticeable amid
the ordinary day-traffic, passing down at some hour before noon.

It was only April, but that morning, after breakfast, she had the
window opened, and sat looking out, the feeble sun shining full upon
her. She affected to sew, but her eyes never left the street.
Between ten and eleven the desired waggon, now unladen, reappeared on
its return journey. But Sam was not looking round him then, and
drove on in a reverie.

'Sam!' cried she.

Turning with a start, his face lighted up. He called to him a little
boy to hold the horse, alighted, and came and stood under her window.

'I can't come down easily, Sam, or I would!' she said. 'Did you know
I lived here?'

'Well, Mrs. Twycott, I knew you lived along here somewhere. I have