Shirley

whole, I relish the position.«
    »I dare say you do; that is evident: you relish the work which lies before you still better than you would relish the execution of a government order for army-cloth.«
    »I certainly feel it congenial.«
    »So would old Helstone. It is true there is a shade of difference in your motives: many shades, perhaps. Shall I speak to Mr. Helstone? I will, if you like.«
    »Act as you please: your judgment, Miss Keeldar, will guide you accurately. I could rely on it myself, in a more difficult crisis; but I should inform you, Mr. Helstone is somewhat prejudiced against me at present.«
    »I am aware, I have heard all about your differences: depend upon it they will melt away; he cannot resist the temptation of an alliance under present circumstances.«
    »I should be glad to have him: he is of true metal.«
    »I think so also.«
    »An old blade, and rusted somewhat; but the edge and temper still excellent.«
    »Well, you shall have him, Mr. Moore: that is, if I can win him.«
    »Whom can you not win?«
    »Perhaps not the Rector; but I will make the effort.«
    »Effort! He will yield for a word – a smile.«
    »By no means. It will cost me several cups of tea, some toast and cake, and an ample measure of remonstrances, expostulations, and persuasions. It grows rather chill.«
    »I perceive you shiver. Am I acting wrongly to detain you here? Yet it is so calm: I even feel it warm; and society such as yours is a pleasure to me so rare. – If you were wrapped in a thicker shawl –«
    »I might stay longer, and forget how late it is, which would chagrin Mrs. Pryor. We keep early and regular hours at Fieldhead, Mr. Moore; and so, I am sure, does your sister at the cottage.«
    »Yes; but Hortense and I have an understanding the most convenient in the world, that we shall each do as we please.«
    »How do you please to do?«
    »Three nights in the week I sleep in the mill: but I require little rest; and when it is moonlight and mild, I often haunt the Hollow till daybreak.«
    »When I was a very little girl, Mr. Moore, my nurse used to tell me tales of fairies being seen in that Hollow. That was before my father built the mill, when it was a perfectly solitary ravine: you will be falling under enchantment.«
    »I fear it is done,« said Moore, in a low voice.
    »But there are worse things than fairies to be guarded against,« pursued Miss Keeldar.
    »Things more perilous,« he subjoined.
    »Far more so. For instance, how would you like to meet Michael Hartley, that mad Calvinist and Jacobin weaver? They say he is addicted to poaching, and often goes abroad at night with his gun.«
    »I have already had the luck to meet him. We held a long argument together one night. A strange little incident it was: I liked it.«
    »Liked it? I admire your taste! Michael is not sane. Where did you meet him?«
    »In the deepest, shadiest spot in the glen, where the water runs low, under brushwood. We sat down near that plank bridge. It was moonlight, but clouded, and very windy. We had a talk.«
    »On politics?«
    »And religion. I think the moon was at the full, and Michael was as near crazed as possible: he uttered strange blasphemy in his Antinomian fashion.«
    »Excuse me, but I think you must have been nearly as mad as he, to sit listening to him.«
    »There is a wild interest in his ravings. The man would be half a poet, if he were not wholly a maniac; and perhaps a prophet, if he were not a profligate. He solemnly informed me that hell was foreordained my inevitable portion; that he read the mark of the beast on my brow; that I had been an outcast from the beginning. God's vengeance, he said, was preparing for me, and affirmed that in a vision of the night he had beheld the manner and the instrument of my doom. I wanted to know further, but he left me with these words, ›The end is not yet.‹«
    »Have you ever seen him since?«
    »About a month afterwards, in returning from market, I encountered him and Moses Barraclough both in an advanced stage of inebriation: they were praying in frantic sort at the roadside. They accosted me as Satan, bid me avaunt, and clamoured to be delivered from temptation. Again, but a few days ago, Michael took the trouble of appearing at the counting-house door, hatless, in his shirt-sleeves, – his coat and castor having been detained at the public-house in pledge: he delivered himself of the comfortable message that he could wish Mr. Moore to set his house in order, as his