Armadale

cutter had lost his boat, he would have been as completely isolated from all communication with town or village as if his place of abode had been a light-vessel instead of a cottage. Neither he nor his family complained of their solitude, or looked in any way the rougher or the worse for it. His wife received the visitors hospitably, in a snug little room, with a raftered ceiling, and windows which looked like windows in a cabin on board ship. His wife's father told stories of the famous days when the smugglers came up from the sea at night, rowing through the net- work of rivers with muffled oars till they gained the lonely Broads, and sank their spirit casks in the water, far from the coast-guard's reach. His wild little children played at hide-and-seek with the visitors; and the visitors ranged in and out of the cottage, and round and round the morsel of firm earth on which it stood, surprised and delighted by the novelty of all they saw. The one person who noticed the advance of the evening—the one person who thought of the flying time and the stationary Pentecosts in the boat—was young Pedgift. That experienced pilot of the Broads looked askance at his watch, and drew Allan aside at the first opportunity.

'I don't wish to hurry you, Mr. Armadale,' said Pedgift Junior; 'but the time is getting on, and there's a lady in the case.'

'A lady?' repeated Allan.

'Yes, sir,' rejoined young Pedgift. 'A lady from London; connected (if you'll allow me to jog your memory) with a pony-chaise and white harness.'

'Good heavens, the governess!' cried Allan. 'Why, we have forgotten all about her!'

'Don't be alarmed, sir; there's plenty of time, if we only get into the boat again. This is how it stands, Mr. Armadale. We settled, if you remember, to have the gypsy tea-making at the next 'Broad' to this—Hurle Mere?'

'Certainly,' said Allan. 'Hurle Mere is the place where my friend Midwinter has promised to come and meet us.'

'Hurle Mere is where the governess will be, sir, if your coachman follows my directions,' pursued young Pedgift. 'We have got nearly an hour's punting to do, along the twists and turns of the narrow waters (which they call The Sounds here) between this and Hurle Mere; and according to my calculations we must get on board again in five minutes, if we are to be in time to meet the governess and to meet your friend.'

'We mustn't miss my friend on any account,' said Allan; 'or the governess, either, of course. I'll tell the major.'

Major Milroy was at that moment preparing to mount the wooden watch-tower of the cottage to see the view. The ever useful Pedgift volunteered to go up with him, and rattle off all the necessary local explanations in half the time which the reed-cutter would occupy in describing his own neighborhood to a stranger.

Allan remained standing in front of the cottage, more quiet and more thoughtful than usual. His interview with young Pedgift had brought his absent friend to his memory for the first time since the picnic party had started. He was surprised that Midwinter, so much in his thoughts on all other occasions, should have been so long out of his thoughts now. Something troubled him, like a sense of self-reproach, as his mind reverted to the faithful friend at home, toiling hard over the steward's books, in his interests and for his sake. 'Dear old fellow,' thought Allan, 'I shall be so glad to see him at the Mere; the day's pleasure won't be complete till he joins us!'

'Should I be right or wrong, Mr. Armadale, if I guessed that you were thinking of somebody?' asked a voice, softly, behind him.

Allan turned, and found the major's daughter at his side. Miss Milroy (not unmindful of a certain tender interview which had taken place behind a carriage) had noticed her admirer standing thoughtfully by himself, and had determined on giving him another opportunity, while her father and young Pedgift were at the top of the watch-tower.

'You know everything,' said Allan, smiling. 'I was thinking of somebody.'

Miss Milroy stole a glance at him—a glance of gentle encouragement. There could be but one human creature in Mr. Armadale's mind after what had passed between them that morning! It would be only an act of mercy to take him back again at once to the interrupted conversation of a few hours since on the subject of names.

'I have been thinking of somebody, too,' she said, half-inviting, half-repelling the coming avowal. 'If I tell you the first letter of my Somebody's name, will you tell me the first letter of yours?'

'I will tell you anything you like,' rejoined Allan, with the utmost enthusiasm.

She still shrank coquettishly from the very subject that she wanted to approach. 'Tell me your letter first,' she said, in low tones, looking away from him.

Allan laughed. 'M,' he said, 'is my first letter.'

She started a little. Strange that he should be thinking of her by her surname instead of her Christian name; but it mattered little as long as he was thinking of her.

'What is your letter?' asked Allan.

She blushed and smiled. 'A—if you will have it!' she answered, in a reluctant little whisper. She stole another look at him, and luxuriously protracted her enjoyment of the coming avowal once more. 'How many syllables is the name in?' she asked, drawing patterns shyly on the ground with the end of the parasol.

No man with the slightest knowledge of the sex would have been rash enough, in Allan's position, to tell her the truth. Allan, who knew nothing whatever of woman's natures, and who told the truth right and left in all mortal emergencies, answered as if he had been under examination in a court of justice.

'It's a name in three syllables,' he said.

Miss Milroy's downcast eyes flashed up at him like lightning. 'Three!' she repeated in the blankest astonishment.

Allan was too inveterately straightforward to take the warning even now. 'I'm not strong at my spelling, I know,' he said, with his lighthearted laugh. 'But I don't think I'm wrong, in calling Midwinter a name in three syllables. I was thinking of my friend; but never mind my thoughts. Tell me who A is—tell me whom you were thinking of?'

'Of the first letter of the alphabet, Mr. Armadale, and I beg positively to inform you of nothing more!'

With that annihilating answer the major's daughter put up her parasol and walked back by herself to the boat.