“I wonder what’s become of Miss Bedford!” said the cook at Mrs Brandon’s, as she sat with her fellow-servants enjoying the genial warmth of the fire before retiring to rest.

It was about half-past ten, and, probably to soften Edward the hard, the stewpan was in use, and steaming mugs of hot spiced liquid were being from time to time applied to lips.

“Married long before this, I should think,” said the housemaid, tossing her head. “You don’t suppose she’s like some people I know, going on shilly-shallying year after year, as if they never meant to get married at all.”

“Never you mind about that,” said Edward gruffly; “perhaps we shall get married when it suits us, and perhaps we sha’n’t. I don’t see no fun in going away from a good home and a good missus, to hard lines and spending all your savings, like some people as ain’t old enough to know better.”

“Does missus ever talk about her, Mr Eddard?” said Cook persuasively.

“Not often,” said Edward; “but I know one thing,—she ain’t had a letter from her for ever so long, now.”

“How do you know?” said the housemaid.

“How do I know?” exclaimed Mr Eddard contemptuously. “Why, don’t I see all the envelopes, and can’t I tell that way? But there’s something wrong about her, I believe; for there came a letter about three weeks or a month ago, and it seemed to cut missus up a good deal, and I heard her say something out aloud.”

“What did she say?” said Cook and Mary in a breath, for the recounter had stopped.

“Well, I didn’t catch it all,” said Edward, speaking in his mug; “but it was something like: ‘Gone with Mr Bray? Impossible!’”

“But what made her say that?” exclaimed Cook.

“Why, from what she read in a letter from London, to be sure, stupid. Why else should she say it?”

“There, didn’t I tell you so!” exclaimed Cook triumphantly.

“What are you up to now?” said Edward in a tone of gruff contempt. “What do you mean?”

“Why, I always thought she’d have Mr Bray, as was so wonderful attentive. Why, Mrs Pottles, down at the Seven Bells, has told me lots of times about how he used to come and put his horse up there, and then follow her about.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Edward. “When did you see Mother Pottles last?”

“Yesterday,” said Cook. “And she said she thought that Pottles would take the twenty pounds off the good-will, and—”

“Why didn’t you tell me so before?” said Edward gruffly.

“Because she said Mr Pottles would come over and see you, and you do snub me so for interfering.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Edward again.

“What, you are going to have the Seven Bells, then?” said the housemaid. “O, I am glad; it will be nice! And you’re going to be married, after all.”

“Don’t you be in a hurry,” growled Edward. “We ain’t gone yet, and perhaps we shan’t go at all; so now then. There goes the bell; now, then, clear off. Missus is going to bed.”

“Did you fasten the side-door, Mr Ed-dard?” said the housemaid.

“Slipped the top bolt, that’s all,” said the footman, as he went to answer the bell.

“Let’s lay them bits of lace out on the lawn, Cook, and leave ’em all night; the frost ’ll bleach ’em beautiful,” said the housemaid.

“Ah, so we might,” said Cook; and taking some wet twisted-up scraps of lace from a basin, cook and housemaid tied their handkerchiefs round their necks, placed their aprons over their heads, and ran down a passage, unbolted the side-door, and went over the gravel drive to lay the lace upon the front lawn.

“I’ll pop out and take them in when I light the breakfast-room fire,” said the housemaid. “My, what a lovely night! it must be full moon.”

“Scr-r-r-r-r-r-r-eech—screech—screech!” went the cook.

“Scre-e-e-e-e-ch-h-h-h!” went the housemaid, giving vent to a shrill cry that would have made an emulative locomotive burst in despair; and, still screaming, the two women clung together, and backed slowly to the hou............