retrieved his fortune, but death was beforehand with him. His wife,
in the second year of her widowhood, came with her daughter Adela to
Wanley; her son Alfred had gone to commercial work in Belwick. Mrs.
Waltham was a prudent woman, and tenacious of ideas which
recommended themselves to her practical instincts; such an idea had
much to do with her settlement in the remote village, which she
would not have chosen for her abode out of love of its old-world
quietness. But at the Manor was Hubert Eldon. Hubert was four years
older than Adela. He had no fortune of his own, but it was tolerably
certain that some day he would be enormously rich, and there was
small likelihood that he would marry till that expected change in
his position came about.

On the afternoon of a certain Good Friday, Mrs. Waltham sat at her
open window, enjoying the air and busy with many thoughts, among
other things wondering who was likely to drop in for a cup of tea.
It was a late Easter, and warm spring weather had already clothed
the valley with greenness; to-day the sun was almost hot, and the
west wind brought many a sweet odour from gardens near and far. From
her sitting-room Mrs. Waltham had the best view to be obtained from
any house in Wanley; she looked, as I have said, right over the
village street, and on either hand the valley spread before her a
charming prospect. Opposite was the wooded slope, freshening now
with exquisite shades of new-born leafage; looking north, she saw
fruit-gardens, making tender harmonies; southwards spread verdure
and tillage. Yet something there was which disturbed the otherwise
perfect unity of the scene, an unaccustomed trouble to the eye. In
the very midst of the vale, perhaps a quarter of a mile to the south
of the village, one saw what looked like the beginning of some
engineering enterprise--a great throwing-up of earth, and the