"True, you once kindly suffered me to borrow a resting-place on your
father's land. One good turn deserves another."

At that moment Sir Isaac peered through the brambles, and restored to his
original whiteness, and relieved from his false, horned ears, marched
gravely towards the water, sniffed at the scholar, slightly wagged his
tail, and buried himself amongst the reeds in search of a water-rat he
had therein disturbed a week before, and always expected to find again.

The sight of the dog immediately cleared up the cloud in the scholar's
memory; but with recognition came back a keen curiosity and a sharp pang
of remorse.

"And your little girl?" he asked, looking down abashed.

"Better than she was when we last met. Providence is so kind to us."

Poor Waife! He never guessed that to the person he thus revealed himself
he owed the grief for Sophy's abduction. He divined no reason for the
scholar's flushing cheek and embarrassed manner.

"Yes, sir, we have just settled in this neighbourhood. I have a pretty
cottage yonder at the outskirts of the village, and near the park pales.
I recognized you at once; and as I heard you just now, I called to mind
that when we met before, you said your calling should be the Church, were
it not for your difficulty in utterance; and I said to myself, 'No bad
thing those pebbles, if his utterance were thick, which is it not;' and I
have not a doubt, sir, that the true fault of Demosthenes, whom I presume
you are imitating, was that he spoke through his nose."