"It need not be long," said Flora, "if one could get up a
subscription."

"A penny subscription?" said Norman. "I'd rather have it my own
doing."

"You agree then," said Ethel; "do you, Mr. Ernescliffe?"

"I may safely do so," he answered, smiling. Miss Winter looked at
Etheldred reprovingly, and she shrank into herself, drew apart, and
indulged in a reverie. She had heard in books of girls writing
poetry, romance, history--gaining fifties and hundreds. Could not
some of the myriads of fancies floating in her mind thus be made
available? She would compose, publish, earn money--some day call
papa, show him her hoard, beg him to take it, and, never owning
whence it came, raise the building. Spire and chancel, pinnacle and
buttress, rose before her eyes, and she and Norman were standing in
the porch with an orderly, religious population, blessing the unknown
benefactor, who had caused the news of salvation to be heard among
them.

They were almost at home, when the sight of a crowd in the main
street checked them. Norman and Mr. Ernescliffe went forward to
discover the cause, and spoke to some one on the outskirts--then Mr.
Ernescliffe hurried back to the ladies.

"There's been an accident," he said hastily--"you had better go down
the lane and in by the garden."

He was gone in an instant, and they obeyed in silence. Whence came