"The marble statue of an antique god May win our for a time,
Seeing it lacks not any outward grace,
But stands a type of flesh idealised.
Yet as we gaze in silent wonderment,
We weary of the irresponsive stone,
Because the cold perfection wants a soul."
 
 
It was without doubt a charming cottage--such as one reads of in a fairy tale. Clay walls, thatched roof, wide diamond-paned , and twisted chimney, with all the violent colours to a pleasant neutral by the sun and rain, while , rose-trees and wistaria clambered over all, enclosing it in a network of greenery.
 
And the garden--oh, it was a most garden; not too neat, but all the handiwork of man by the gentle touch of nature. Tall hollyhocks, odorous stocks, crimson-tipped daisies, dahlias, and staring sunflowers grew together in sweetness, breaking bounds here and there as they nodded over the low white fence and across the narrow path leading up to the rose-wreathed trellis of the porch. There was an apple-tree, too, on one side--a gnarled, moss-tufted apple-tree, already snowy with white blossoms, and on the other a low-branched cherry-tree, looking like a frosted twelfth cake. Pigeons fluttered around the eaves of the cottage, among the flowers, and over all blazed the hot sun of summer from the cloud-dappled sky. It was really charming in its , and Mrs. Belswin, pausing at the gate, looked regretfully at this vision of ease so far removed from her own existence.
 
"If I had been a village girl I might have been a good woman," she thought, walking up to the porch; "but I daresay I should have tired of this innocent sweetness and gone up to the evil life of London, as all village beauties have done."
 
On knocking at the door it was opened shortly by a tiny woman, old, shrivelled, and evil-looking enough to have been the witch of the cottage. Not that Mrs. Belk was ill-looking; on the contrary, she must have been pretty when young, for she still retained a sufficiency of beauty to warrant a second glance; but there was a restless look in her dark eyes, a settled on her thin lips, and a generally discontented expression on her face which the . Mrs. Belswin had an intuitive of reading faces, and the first glance she threw on this little figure with the face put her at once on her guard. On her guard against a cottager! Mrs. Belswin would have laughed at the idea. Still, the fact that Mrs. Belk bore her character in her face, and Mrs. Belswin at once put herself on her guard against Mrs. Belk. Hardly probable that these two women would meet again. The cottager could never have it in her power to harm the lady; but in spite of the of the situation, Mrs. Belswin, with that inherent suspicion created by a long life of duplicity and , did not think it beneath her dignity to pick and choose her words while talking to this woman, in case chance should turn her into a possible enemy.
 
"I beg your pardon," she said slowly; "but I am very tired, and would like to rest."
 
"There's a public a little way on, ma'am," replied Mrs. Belk, respectfully, by no means inclined to entertain a stranger.
 
"I prefer to rest here," said Mrs. Belswin, coolly. "You know me, I daresay--Miss Pethram's companion."
 
"Mrs. Belsin?" said the old woman, doubtfully.
 
"Let the lady come in, mother," remarked the slow soft voice of a man inside the cottage. "Don't you see she looks tired?"
 
Whereupon Mrs. Belk with manifest moved to one side, and Miss Pethram's companion entered the room to find herself face to face with the handsomest man she had ever seen. He offered her a chair in silence, and she sat down thankfully, while Mrs. Belk closed the door, and the rustic Apollo stood leaning against the table looking at their visitor.
 
Handsome! yes; splendidly handsome this man, in a massive Herculean fashion. One who would be called a magnificent animal; for there was no intellect in the fresh-coloured face, no intelligence in the bright blue eyes, and his whole figure had but beauty and symmetry after the fashion of a . He was very tall--over six feet--with long limbs, a great breadth of chest, and a small, well-shaped head covered with crisp locks of curly golden hair. His skin was browned by the sun, he had a well-shaped nose, sleepy blue eyes, and his mouth and chin were hidden by a magnificent golden beard which swept his chest. Nature had her gift of physical beauty on this man, but the casket contained no jewel, for the soul which would have lent light to the eyes, expression to the mouth, and noble bearing to the body, was absent, and Samson Belk was simply a fine animal whom one would admire like a soulless picture, but tire of in a few moments. Mrs. Belswin's first thought was, "What a handsome man!" her second, "What a brute he would be to the woman who loved him!"
 
They were a curious couple, the little withered mother and the tall handsome son, dissimilar enough in appearance to negative the relationship except for the expression of the face; for there, in the of the man, appeared the same expression that the face of the woman. The eyes were not so restless, because they had rather a sleepy expression, the sneer on the lips was hidden by the moustache, and the general look was more of ill-humour than discontent: but in spite of the physical difference between them, no one could have helped noticing, by the worst traits of the woman appearing in the man, that this splendid of humanity was the offspring of this feminine personality.
 
"You are Sir Rupert's head bailiff, are you not?" said Mrs. Belswin, when she had admired her host.
 
"Yes, madam, I have that honour."
 
He in a slow sleepy voice, attractive, and suited to his appearance; a voice which, in its and oily softness, had an accent of and culture. Yet this man was a simple rustic, a bailiff, one of the peasant class. It was most perplexing; and Mrs. Belswin, clever woman of the world as she was, felt herself puzzled. She was a woman and , so she set herself to work to solve this problem by a series of artful questions.
 
"Have you been a bailiff here long?"
 
"About four years, madam. I was bailiff to Sir Robert, and when Sir Rupert came into the title he kept me on."
 
"I should think you were fitted for better things."
 
Belk gazed at her in a slow, fashion, and a spark of admiration flashed into his sleepy eyes as he looked at this stately woman who spoke in such a friendly manner.
 
"It's very kind of you to say so, madam, but I have no one to say a good word for me."
 
"Ah! the rich never say a good word for the poor, my lady," said Mrs. Belk, with deprecation. "If looks go for anything, my Samson ought to live in a palace. He's the finest in all the county, and the best shot, and the most daring rider----"
 
"And the poorest man," finished Samson, with a coarse laugh, which betrayed his real nature. "Aye, aye, mother, if I'd money to play the , I'd cut a dash with the best of these fine, lily-handed gents."
 
"What would you do?" asked Mrs. Belswin, curious to find out how different this man's soul was to his body.
 
"Do!" echoed the giant, folding his arms; "why, madam, I'd keep a fine stable, and race my horses at the Derby. I'd marry a lady, and have a fine house with servants, and the finest of wine to drink and food to eat--that's what I'd do."
 
"A very modest ambition, truly," said Mrs. Belswin, with a scarcely sneer. "I presume you would not cultivate your brains."
 
"I've had enough schooling," Belk, stroking his beard. "Mother made me learn things, and a fine time I had of it."
 
"You were never a good boy, Samson," said his mother, shaking her head with a look of pride which her words. "Handsome is as handsome does--that's what I always tells him, my lady."
 
"If it were handsome does as handsome is, your son would be a clever man," replied Mrs. Belswin, rising to go.
 
Neither Mrs. Belk nor Samson were clever enough to understand this remark, but after a time a faint idea of what she me............