CHAPTER IV-THE SECOND TIME.

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LL the neighbours knew about it, of course. In a small place like Rowangill each one's business is the business of everybody else. And when Rose Lester came home (which she did soon after Dick left) her first word to me was to ask me all about it. She got the whole story out of me too, a little boastfully, perhaps; for Rose Lester was a prettier girl than I, and yet she had no lover.

The village had made up its mind that the match was made for good and all, and that a wedding would follow shortly. But so had not father. The answers to his letters were long in coming, and when they came he looked full grave. But he did not keep the contents from me. 'I had a right to hear,' he said.

'He's come of no good stock, I fear me, lassie,' he said, kindly. Father drank himself to death, mother was an Irish haymaker-step-sister only to Robson's missus, and no kin after all. Wat Smith of Alnwick says he's a good workman; but that we know-and he seems to have a soft place in his heart for the lad as well, for he makes out as good a case as he can ; but says he's better away from there. Come, come, no tears, my bairn. We'll see, we'll see; but you'd best forget him, if so be you can.'

Forget him forget Dick! I thought that father was very cruel. But he was not. It was only that he was wiser than I.

After a time a letter came for me. It was from Dick. I took it with me into the garden, and read it on the turf-seat. The leaves were beginning to fall, soft and yellow, from the tree above.

Dick did not write very well, and it took me some time to make it all out. He said in the letter that he had found a good situation, so far as wages went. He was in Newcastle, with a blacksmith who had a large business; but he was a hard man, and he felt lonely and friendless, did my poor Dick. He told me the master had two sons, wild young men, who were always wanting him to join them of an evening when they went to the public-house. And what else can a fellow do when he's lonely and with no one to take care of him?' said poor Dick. Then he asked me, wouldn't I take pity on him and marry him out of hand before the year was up? It would be the saving of him if I would, he said.

That letter made me cry.

I was still holding it in my hand and the tears were dropping on the paper when father came into

the garden, and, seeing how it was, he held out his hand for the letter.

I don't think Dick had meant me to show it to father. But what else could I do? I gave it to him; and he sat down by me and read it through. When he had finished, father wrapped it together and gave it back to me.

'It's a bad job, I fear, little Nan,' he said.

'Father!' I turned to him in a kind of desperation, and took hold of his arm with both my hands. 'Father, won't you let me do what he asks? Think if he should go wrong there all by himself, just for want of me! Oh, father, send for him to come home!' Father shook his head.

'No, no, my girl,' he answered, firmly but sadly, 'I'll not have you sacrificed for the sake of any man. It speaks ill for a chap if he can't keep straight without the help of a lass. If he's got any grit in him he'll keep straight without you, Nan-'specially if he cares for you, as he says he does. Let him stand his trial like a man, if he wants to have you. What's a year, when all's said and done? Doesn't the Scripture say that Jacob served seven for Rachel ?'

'Ay, so it does.' But, thought I to myself, by way of excuse, people lived a deal longer in those days than they do now, and years made less odds to them. I didn't like to have Dick's love run down like that. I said as much to father; but he wasn't to be moved. 'If he wants you he must earn you,' was all he said. Well, I wrote to Dick-a long letter it was, and I did hope it would give him courage to keep steady for my sake. I put in about Jacob too. I thought it might be a kind of spur; but I took good care not to mention my idea about the time. 'Twas better he should feel the full force of Jacob's example, thought I to myself.

I'm afraid he didn't like it much; for he wrote back rather short that 'twas plain that I did not care for him the half that he did for me, or I could never take things so easy.

After that I heard no more for some time, and letters got always fewer and shorter as the year went Sometimes I was unhappy about it; but I consoled myself by thinking that writing did not come easy to Dick.

on.

At last the summer came round again, and when the mowing began, and business came in thick to father, I began to stand at the smithy door of an evening, as I had done when Dick first came, and to look out for his return.

'Oh, father!'

'My dear, if that's so, and I fear me there's little doubt, thou must give him up.'

I hid my face on his shoulder, and burst into tears.

'Better greet now than afterwards,' said father, as though to himself.

Then I made a great effort, and managed to say that he was coming to-morrow to fix the date of the wedding.

Father looked mightily disturbed when he heard of that. He made a little sound of dismay with his tongue against his teeth; but at last he said

'Well, then, my lass, may I trust you to settle nothing without my leave? If you'll promise that, he may come. Fix the day, indeed! I'll know more than I do now before I'll have any fixings. My lass is not for a drunkard. Wait a bit, I say; don't be in a hurry!'

I gave father the promise he wanted, and the matter rested.

Next morning, as our Rector was reading the second lesson, Dick walked into Rowangill Church. I knew it was Dick before ever I saw him, and my heart began to beat fit to choke me.

When we came out, which was not till after most of the congregation, for we sat up high, Dick was standing by the churchyard-gate, talking to Rose Lester. He held out his hand as I came up, and I gave him mine, and then lingered a little, thinking he would walk home with me. But he made no movement to come; and as father had gone on, I had nothing to do but to follow.

'I say, Nan,' cried Dick, as I turned away, 'meet me down by the burnside rowans this afternoon. I'll be there in an hour's time.'

I nodded, and left the two still talking together. Why could he not have come with me?

At the time appointed I went down to the rowans -they were the same under which Dick had asked me to marry him a year ago, and under which we had divided the sixpence.

He was not there. The burn sang its song among the mossy stones, the breeze rustled the leaves, the birds hopped in the branches, quite undisturbed.

I waited for half-an-hour, and was just thinking, with a very sore heart, of going home again, when Dick came whistling up the burn. He did not even seem to know that he was late!

There was no talk about wagtails, and dragonflies, and such-like, this time. He came to the point

at once.

'I say, Nan, you may have heard tell that I'm going to start business at Cairnthorp. There's a good

opening there, and I'm well able to keep a wife. So fix the day, my lass, and I'll tell parson to put up the banns at once.'

'Come up and speak to father, Dick,' I answered. 'I can't fix anything without his leave.'

'Houts, lass!' returned Dick. 'What more would you have? I've waited my year, to please you and him, and it's time we came to terms. Nay, then, what ails you now?' For the tears had rushed to my eyes.

'Father seems to want us to wait a bit,' I faltered. 'Wait!' cried Dick. I call that good, I do. Haven't I waited a year already? Come, Nan, no nonsense. I'm going to set up for myself, you see, and I want a wife at once.'

'Oh, Dick, don't be angry! Come up to father and tell him it's not true-it'll be all right then.'

'What's not true? Oh, I say, if this isn't too bad! You've been listening to tales against me, I can see that. Well, and supposing they're partly true, who's fault is that? Didn't I tell you honest enough how it would be?'

He waited a moment, and, as I made no answer, he began tearing little bits of moss from off the bank and tossing them into the water.

A wagtail flitted by.

His action and the sight of the bird seemed to recall something to Dick's mind, for his face changed suddenly. He turned to me with a quick movement and took my hands, just as he had done a year ago; and when he began to speak my heart went out to him, for he seemed like the old Dick come back again.

'Nan,' he said, 'Nan, don't try me like this. Say you'll come home at once; you don't know how much I want a wife to take care of me. You'd be the making of me, Nan, I know you would; for you're as steady as old time, my girl, and you'd keep me steady too!'

Ah, how I longed to give in! But there was my promise to father.

'Dick,' I said, and my voice was all of a shake— 'Dick, don't tempt me! Let father settle it, do.'

He dropped my hands, and turned away, muttering something under his breath. It made me shiver, for it sounded like an oath.

Dick waited a moment, his face darkening all the time; at last he went on :-

'Now look here, Nan Kindred, I'll give you till next Sunday to make up your mind. There's others will have me, if you won't; be sure of that. Only please to remember I've acted honourable, whatever happens. It shall never be said of me that I broke my word to a lass, however else folks may please to blacken me. Now, good day, and remember next Sunday.'

He turned away without another word, and left me alone by the burn. Could it have been my Dick who spoke so cruelly? Where was the love he had sworn me there? 'Well for her that I'm not a wagtail to spoil her life for her afterwards; eh, Nan?' What was it that brought those words back to me with such a pang of despair? 'Spoil her life!' was he going to do it after all?

With a cry of misery I fell upon the bank, and buried my face in the ferns. I could not bear to look on the sunshine. What should I do? Oh! what should I do?

'He that loveth father, mother, son or daughter-ay, and husband, wife, lover, friend,-aught indeed on earth-more than Christ, is not worthy of Him, preached our clergyman that evening, and his words. went to my heart. For I had told my story to father, and father had bid me have no more to say to such a lad.

'He's a bad one, that,' said father very decidedly. 'I knew it before, and he's proved it now, by the way he's behaved. He's afraid to face me, Nan; that's why he won't come up to me like an honest chap. He knows what I've heard. I'll never give a daughter of mine to a godless fellow like that. And don't you think, my lass, that you could save him,-he'd drag you down to misery instead. A man who doesn't keep straight for the sake of his God, will never do so long for the sake of a woman. Doesn't Scripture say we're only to marry in the Lord, little lass? and if you take a fellow like that with your eyes open, are you not sinning against your soul? Little lass, I'm no preacher, but that's so, as I see it; and if my little lass can't see it just now, she must just trust her old father.'

I did as he bade me. But, oh, it was hard! I kept indoors next Sunday afternoon, for I could not trust myself to meet with Dick. Presently light began. to break-bitter, cruel light. I need not have feared the effect of my refusal on Dick. It mattered little to him, apparently. Others will have me, be sure of that, if you won't,' he had said. Now I began to see

what he meant. He was constantly over at Rowangill; but it was not to see me. Before the end of the month there was a wedding in the church. Dick Nicholson was the bridegroom, but I was not the bride. He had wanted a wife at once, and a mistress for his house at Cairnthorp. He had what he wanted. What right had I to complain that her name was Rose and not Nan? I had had the chance and refused it. No one could say that he had broken his word-only my heart was broken (or I thought so then). *

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For a time all went well at the Cairnthorp smithy. Dick got the custom of the place, his forge being handy, and he a good workman. But father did not mind that. He had always as much as he could do with comfort; and even had it not been so, he was not the man to regret having done what he thought right because of consequences.

For a time, too, Dick kept fairly steady. He was proud of his pretty wife, and was more at home of an evening than at the public-house. But it did not last. Before the birth of their first child, Rose lost her health, and with it the freshness of her pretty looks. Ill-health made her fretful, and Dick's love for her (such as it was), was not proof against the change. The downward course, already begun, went on rapidly. He was seldom sober for long together. Custom began to drop off-misery came on.

Poor, pretty Rose! If once I had felt bitter against her, I pitied her then.

And now to-night she is a widow, and they are dressing Dick in his grave-clothes, in that little cottage on the hill where the candle is shining below the star.

It is just six months since the accident happened which caused his death. He was shoeing a horse when the worse for drink. It kicked him on the head, and after that he never spoke a sensible word.

They had to leave the smithy at Cairnthorp and come to the little cottage across our burn. There Dick got worse and worse, and there he now lies dead. His wife is a widow and his child is fatherless.

Poor, pretty Rose! but for father I should have been in her place to-night. Thank God I am not ; for I think I could never have borne what she is bearing now. To have seen him lying there-as I have seen him, for Rose and I are friends again, and I have shared her watch sometimes-to have seen him lying there, I say, struck down in his sins, without a moment given for repentance, and to have felt that I was his wife! Yet I loved him once, oh, dearly, dearly! Oh, Dick! Dick! in all the days of that long sad illness, when you lay so quiet, so unconscious, was there never a moment when God spoke to your soul, and, in the great blank and silence, you heard His voice? I cannot tell. But when I look up at that star, shining so calm and steadfast in the immensity of the evening sky, and think of the immensity of God's mercy and of His steadfast love, I hope that so it may have been.

E now come to Manufactures of the present time; and first stop at the Louis velveteen stall, where a piece of white material is laid out flat, and a woman runs a sharp spear-like knife quickly down the material to cut the pile. All the velveteen is cut thus by hand, and it requires the greatest accuracy and skill to do it properly: a slight slip would damage the whole fabric.

Next in order we come to Messrs. Dent's glovemakers. All the process of cutting and sewing is

hamshire lace; while cases full of lovely specimens of both kinds attest the beauty of the design and workmanship. The accompanying engravings (Figs. 1, 2) are given here by kind permission of Messrs. Marshall and Snelgrove, from their interesting little book on Honiton lace.

One of the Buckinghamshire women was making a border for a handkerchief two inches and a half in width; for this she required 250 bobbins, and could only make an inch a-day. The bobbins are all

seen here. The leather is prepared by men, and is brought here only for the finishing touches; then it is cut into sizes by one man, and punched into shape by another, every sized glove requiring its own knife or punch, which, with admirable ingenuity, cuts out the whole glove, including the little gussets required for the fingers. After this the work is done by women. The backs are done first, either crochet stripes or stitching, the glove being stretched on a frame. The cheaper kinds of gloves are sewn by machine, and only finished off by hand, but the best gloves are sewn entirely by hand, the seam being held in a machine, which keeps it even and regular, and the rapidity with which the needle flies in and out astonished me.

Further on, in the Conservatory, are four pillow-lace workers, two making Honiton and two fine Bucking

weighted with coloured beads, and it is pretty to see the worker's hands moving so quickly and deftly among their many bobbins, and adding one pin after another to the thick cluster on the pillow. Wider laces can be made separately and then joined, or else the amount of bobbins required would be too great; as many as 500 are, however, used for one pattern.

Returning through the gardens to the Machinery Gallery, we come to the Working Laundry of Messrs. Bradford. The napkins and tablecloths used in the refreshment-rooms are all washed here: such steaming caldrons, boiling, soaping, blueing, rinsing the clothes, which, after passing through the drying-closets, are ironed by a huge steel roller, which only requires to have the cloth guided on and off. appliances are arranged close by

Other ironing a huge iron