paying rent for it. And George Morley insisted on the privilege of
preparing that house for his old teacher's reception, leaving it simple
and rustic to outward appearance, but fitting its pleasant chambers with
all that his knowledge of the old man's tastes and habits suggested for
comfort or humble luxury; a room for Sophy, hung with the prettiest
paper, all butterflies and flowers, commanding a view of the river.
Waife, despite his proud scruples, could not refuse such gifts from a man
whose fortune and career had been secured by his artful lessons. Indeed,
he had already permitted George to assist, though not largely, his own
efforts to repay the L100 advanced by Mrs. Crane. The years he had
devoted to a craft which his ingenuity made lucrative, had just enabled
the basketmaker, with his pupil's aid, to clear off that debt by
instalments. He had the satisfaction of thinking that it was his
industry that had replaced the sum to which his grandchild owed her
release from the execrable Rugge.

Lady Montfort's departure (which preceded Waife's by some weeks) was more
mourned by the poor in her immediate neighbourhood than by the wealthier
families who composed what a province calls its society; and the gloom
which that event cast over the little village round the kingly mansion
was increased when Waife and his grandchild left.

For the last three years, emboldened by Lady Montfort's protection, and
the conviction that he was no longer pursued or spied, the old man
relaxed his earlier reserved and secluded habits. Constitutionally
sociable, he had made acquaintance with his humbler neighbours; lounged
by their cottage palings in his rambles down the lanes; diverted their
children with Sir Isaac's tricks, or regaled them with nuts and apples
from his little orchard; giving to the more diligent labourers many a
valuable hint how to eke out the daily wage with garden produce, or bees,