and still wet with yesterday's immersion in the deep transparent
water beneath. They clambered the little hill, not yet fully
shaded by the overarching elms; and then Ruth checked Mr.
Bellingham, by a slight motion of the hand which lay within his
arm, and glanced up into his face to see what that face should
express as it looked on Milham Grange, now lying still and
peaceful in its afternoon shadows. It was a house of
after-thoughts; building materials were plentiful in the
neighbourhood, and every successive owner had found a necessity
for some addition or projection, till it was a picturesque mass
of irregularity--of broken light and shadow--which, as a whole,
gave a full and complete idea of a "Home." All its gables and
nooks were blended and held together by the tender green of the
climbing roses and young creepers. An old couple were living in
the house until it should be let, but they dwelt in the back
part, and never used the front door; so the little birds had
grown tame and familiar, and perched upon the window-sills and
porch, and on the old stone cistern which caught the water from
the roof.

They went silently through the untrimmed garden, full of the
pale-coloured flowers of spring. A spider had spread her web over
the front door. The sight of this conveyed a sense of desolation
to Ruth's heart; she thought it was possible the state-entrance
had never been used since her father's dead body had been borne
forth, and without speaking a word, she turned abruptly away, and
went round the house to another door. Mr. Bellingham followed
without questioning, little understanding her feelings, but full
of admiration for the varying expression called out upon her
face.