"Ah, well! Young people, you know, Mr. Smith--But, bless me! I'm sure I
beg your pardon. I had forgotten you weren't a married man. Of course
you're one of the young people too, Mr. Smith."

"I don't think there's much of youth to choose between you and me, Mrs.
Bloomfield," said I, "if I may venture to say so. But I fear I do belong
to the young people, if a liking for extravagant stories, so long as they
mean well, you know--is to be the test of the classification. I fear I
have a depraved taste, that way. I don't mean in this particular instance,
though, Adela."

"I hope not," answered Adela, with a blushing smile, which I, at least,
could read, having had not merely the key to it, but the open door and
window as well, ever since I had seen the two standing together at the top
of the stair.

That night the weather broke. A slow thaw set in; and before many days
were over, islands of green began to appear amid the "wan water" of the
snow--to use a phrase common in Scotch ballads, though with a different
application. The graves in the churchyard lifted up their green altars of
earth, as the first whereon to return thanks for the prophecy of spring;
which, surely, if it has force and truth anywhere, speaks loudest to us in
the churchyard. And on Sunday the sun broke out and shone on the green
hillocks, just as good old Mr. Venables was reading the words, "I will not
leave you comfortless--I will come to you."

And the ice vanished from the river, and the dark stream flowed, somewhat
sullen, but yet glad at heart, on through the low meadows bordered with
pollards, which, poor things, maltreated and mutilated, yet did the best
they could, and went on growing wildly in all insane shapes--pitifully