one to notice the expression of displeasure that overspread her
features. She did not, however, show it to the child, but she never
invited her there again, and from that evening was much more vigilant
over my movements, lest I should go to Wynne's cottage. I still,
however, continued to meet Winifred in Graylingham Wood during her
stay with her father; and at last, when she again left me, I felt
desolate indeed.

I wrote her a letter, and took it to him to address. He was very fond
of showing his penmanship, which was remarkably good. He had indeed
been well educated, though from his beer-house associations he had
entirely caught the rustic accent. I saw him address it, and took it
myself to the post-office at Rington, where I was not so well known
as at Raxton, but I never got any reply.

And who was Tom Wynne? Though the organist of the new church at
Raxton, and custodian of the old deserted church on the cliffs, he
was the local ne'er-do-well, drunkard, and scapegrace. He was,
however, a well-connected man, reduced to his present position by
drink. He had lived in Raxton until he returned to Wales, which was
his birthplace--having obtained there some appointment the nature of
which I never could understand. In Wales he had got married; and
there his wife had died shortly after the birth of Winnie. It was no
doubt through his intemperate habits that he lost his post in Wales.
It was then that he again came to Raxton, leaving the child with his
sister-in-law.

Raxton stands on that part of the coast where the land-springs most
persistently disintegrate the hills and render them helpless against
the ravages of the sea. Perhaps even within the last few centuries