“What you, Andrew, my man’s son,  
That you should look so white,
 
That you should neither eat by day,
 
Nor take your rest by night?”
 
“I have no rest when I would sleep,
 
No peace when I would rise,
 
Because of Janet’s yellow hair,
 
Because of Janet’s eyes.”
 
When Elizabeth Chantrey returned to Market Harford, she did so with quite a clear understanding of the difficulties that lay before her. Edward had spoken to her of his uncle’s wishes, and begged her to fulfil them by remaining on in the old house as his and Mary’s guest. it never occurred to him that the situation presented any difficulty, or that few women would find it agreeable to be guest where they had been mistress. Elizabeth was under no illusions. She knew that she was putting herself in an almost impossible position, but she had made up her mind to occupy that position for a year. She had given David Blake so much already, that a little more did not seem to matter. Another year, a little more pain, were all in the day’s work. She had given many years and had suffered much pain. Through the years, through the pain, there had been at the back of her mind the thought, “If he needed me, and I were not here.” Elizabeth had always known that some day he would need her—not love her—but need her. And for that she waited.
 
Elizabeth returned to Market Harford on a fine November afternoon. The sun was shining, after two days’ rain, and Elizabeth walked up from the station, leaving her luggage to the carrier. It was quite a short walk, but she met so many acquaintances that she was some time reaching home. First, it was old Dr. Bull with his square face and fringe of stiff grey beard who waved his knobbly stick at her, and across the road. He was a great friend of Elizabeth’s, and he greeted her warmly.
 
“Now, now, Miss Elizabeth, so you’ve not quite us, hey? Glad to be back, hey?”
 
“Yes, very glad,” said Elizabeth, smiling.
 
 
“And every one will be glad to see you, all your friends. Hey? I’m glad, Edward and Mary’ll be glad, and David—hey? David’s a friend of yours, isn’t he? Used to be, I know, in the old days. allies you were. Always in each other’s pockets. Same books—same walks—same measles—” he laughed , and then broke off. “David wants his friends,” he said, “for the matter of that, every one wants friends, hey? But you get David to come and see you, my dear. He won’t want much persuading, hey? Well, well, I won’t keep you. I mustn’t waste your time. Now that I’m idle, I forget that other people have business, hey? And I see Miss Dobell coming over to speak to you. Now, I wouldn’t waste her time for the world. Not for the world, my dear Miss Elizabeth. Good-day, good-day, good-day.”
 
His eyes twinkled as he raised his hat, and he went off at an astonishing rate, as Miss Dobell picked her way across the road.
 
“Such a fine man, Dr. Bull, I always think,” she remarked in her precise little way. Every word she uttered had the effect of being enclosed in a separate little water-tight . “I really miss him, if I may say so. Oh, yes; and I am not the only one of his old patients who feels it a to have lost his services. Oh, no. Young men are so unreliable. They begin well, but they are unreliable. Oh, yes, sadly unreliable,” repeated Miss Dobell with emphasis.
 
She and Elizabeth were crossing the bridge as she . Away to the left, above the water, Elizabeth could see the sunlight reflected from the long line of windows which faced the river. The trees before them were almost leafless, and it was easy to distinguish one house from another. David Blake lived in the seventh house, and Miss Dobell was gazing very in that direction, and nodding her head.
 
“I dislike gossip,” she said. “I set my face against gossip, my dear Elizabeth, I do not approve of it. I do not talk scandal nor permit it to be talked in my presence. But I am not blind, or deaf. Oh, no. We should be thankful when we have all our , and mine are unimpaired, oh, yes, quite unimpaired, although I am not quite as young as you are.”
 
“Yes?” said Elizabeth.
 
 
Miss Dobell became rather . “I have a little errand,” she said hurriedly. “A little errand, my dear Elizabeth. I will not keep you, oh, no, I must not keep you now. I shall see you later, I shall come and see you, but I will not detain you now. Oh, no, Mary will be waiting for you.”
 
“So you have really come,” said Mary a little later.
 
After kissing her sister warmly, she had allowed a slight air of offence to appear. “I had begun to think you had missed your train. I am afraid the tea will be rather strong, I had it made punctually, you see. I was beginning to think that you hadn’t been able to tear yourself away from Agneta after all.”
 
“Now, Molly—” said Elizabeth, protestingly.
 
But Mary was not to be turned aside. “Of course you would much rather have stayed, I know that. Will you have bread and butter or tea-cake? When Mr. Mottisfont died, I said to myself, ‘Now she’ll go and live with Agneta, and she might just as well be dead.’ That’s why I was quite pleased when Edward came and told me that Mr. Mottisfont had said you were to stay on here for a year. Of course, as I said to Edward, he had no right to make any such condition, and if it had been any one but you, I shouldn’t have liked it at all. That’s what I said to Edward—‘It really isn’t fair, but Elizabeth isn’t like other people. She won’t try and run the house over my head, and she won’t want to be always with us.’ You see, married people do like to have their evenings, but as I said to Edward, ‘Elizabeth would much rather be in her own little room, with a book, than sitting with us.’ And you would, wouldn’t you?”
 
 
“Oh, yes,” said Elizabeth laughing.
 
The spectacle of Mary being tactful always made her laugh.
 
“Of course when any one comes in in the evening—that’s different. Of course you’ll join us then. But you’d rather be here as a rule, wouldn’t you?”
 
“Oh, you know I love my little room. It was nice of you to have tea here, Molly,” said Elizabeth.
 
“Yes, I thought you’d like it. And then I wanted the rest of the house to be a surprise to you. When we’ve had tea I want to show you everything. Of course your rooms haven’t been touched, you said you’d rather they weren’t; but everything else has been done up, and I really think it’s very nice. I’ve been quite excited over it.”
 
“Give me a little more tea, Molly,” said Elizabeth.
 
As she leaned forward with her cup in her hand, she asked : “Have you seen much of David lately?”
 
“Oh, yes,” said Mary, “he’s here very often.” She pursed her lips a little. “I think David is a very curious person, Liz. I don’t understand him at all. I think he is very difficult to understand.”
 
“Is he, Molly?”
 
Elizabeth looked at her sister with something between anxiety and amusement.
 
“Yes, very. He’s quite changed, it seems to me. I could understand his being upset just after Mr. Mottisfont’s death. We were all upset then. I am sure I never felt so dreadful in my life. It made me quite ill. But afterwards,” Mary’s voice dropped to a lower tone, “afterwards when the letter had come, and everything was cleared up—well, you’d have thought he would have been all right again, wouldn’t you? And instead, he has just gone on getting more and more unlike himself. You know, he was so odd when Edward went to see him that, really,”—Mary hesitated—“Edward thought—well, he wondered whether David had been drinking.”
 
“Nonsense, Molly!”
 
“Oh, it’s not only Edward—everybody has noticed how changed he is. Have you got anything to eat, Liz? Have some of the iced cake; it’s from a recipe of Miss Dobell’s and it’s quite nice. What was I saying? Oh, about David—well, it’s true, Liz—Mrs. Havergill told Markham; now, Liz, what’s the sense of your looking at me like that? Of course I shouldn’t dream of talking to an ordinary servant, but considering Markham has known us since we were about two—Markham takes an interest, a real interest, and when Mrs. Havergill told her that she was afraid David was taking a great deal more than was good for him, and she wished his friends could stop it, why, Markham naturally told me. She felt it her duty. I expect she thought I might have an influence—as I hope I have. That’s why I encourage David to come here. I think it’s so good for him. I think it makes such a difference to young men if they have a nice home to come to, and it’s very good for them to see married people fond of each other, and happy together, like Edward and I are. Don’t you think so?”
 
“I don’t know, Molly,” said Elizabeth. “Are people talking about David?”
 
 
“Yes, they are. Of course I haven’t said a word, but people are noticing how different he is. I don’t see how they can help it, and yesterday when I was having tea with Mrs. Codri............