there was always Sunday service. In fact, Magdalen thought the good
old lady expected to find a town more like Filsted than the Goyle.
There was a sisterhood located there too, which tried, mostly in
vain, to train the wild native women--an attempt at which George Best
laughed, though he allowed that the sisters were splendid nurses,
especially Sister Angela, who had a wonderful way of bringing cases
round.

Magdalen could feel secure that her old friend would be near kind
people; and presently Mrs. Best, returning to the actual
neighbourhood, observed -

"Merrifield! It is not a common name."

"No; but I do not think this is the same family. This is a retired
general, living in a house of Lord Rotherwood's. I once met one of
his little girls, who came to Castle Towers with the Rotherwood
party, and though she had a brother of the name, he was evidently not
the same person."

Mrs. Best asked no more, for tell-tale colour had arisen in
Magdalen's cheeks; and she had been the confidante of an engagement
with a certain Henry Merrifield, who had been employed in the bank at
Filsted when Magdalen was a very young girl. His father had come
down suddenly, had found debt and dissipation, had broken all off
decidedly, and no more had been heard of the young man. It was many
years previously; but those cheeks and the tone of the reply made her
suspect that there was still poignancy in the remembrance.