Shirley

penetrate a hedge, he piloted her by a short cut which led to no gate. The consequence was he had to help her over some formidable obstacles, and, while he railed at her for helplessness, he perfectly liked to feel himself of use.
    »Martin, before we separate, assure me seriously, and on your word of honour, that Mr. Moore is better.«
    »How very much you think of that Moore!«
    »No – but – many of his friends may ask me, and I wish to be able to give an authentic answer.«
    »You may tell them he is well enough, only idle: you may tell them that he takes mutton-chops for dinner, and the best of arrowroot for supper. I intercepted a basin myself one night on its way up-stairs, and ate half of it.«
    »And who waits on him, Martin? Who nurses him?«
    »Nurses him? – the great baby! Why, a woman as round and big as our largest water-butt – a rough, hard-favoured old girl. I make no doubt she leads him a rich life: nobody else is let near him: he is chiefly in the dark. It is my belief she knocks him about terribly in that chamber. I listen at the wall sometimes when I am in bed, and I think I hear her thumping him. You should see her fist: she could hold half a dozen hands like yours in her one palm. After all, notwithstanding the chops and jellies he gets, I would not be in his shoes. In fact, it is my private opinion that she eats most of what goes up on the tray to Mr. Moore. I wish she may not be starving him.«
    Profound silence and meditation on Caroline's part, and a sly watchfulness on Martin's.
    »You never see him, I suppose, Martin?«
    »I? No: I don't care to see him, for my own part.«
    Silence again.
    »Did not you come to our house once with Mrs. Pryor, about five weeks since, to ask after him?« again inquired Martin.
    »Yes.«
    »I dare say you wished to be shown up-stairs?«
    »We
did
wish it: we entreated it; but your mother declined.«
    »Ay! she declined: I heard it all: she treated you as it is her pleasure to treat visiters now and then: she behaved to you rudely and harshly.«
    »She was not kind; for, you know Martin, we are relations, and it is natural we should take an interest in Mr. Moore. But here we must part: we are at your father's gate.«
    »Very well – what of that? I shall walk home with you.«
    »They will miss you, and wonder where you are.«
    »Let them ... I can take care of myself, I suppose.«
    Martin knew that he had already incurred the penalty of a lecture, and dry bread for his tea. No matter, the evening had furnished him with an adventure: it was better than muffins and toast.
    He walked home with Caroline. On the way he promised to see Mr. Moore, in spite of the dragon who guarded his chamber, and appointed an hour on the next day, when Caroline was to come to Briarmains Wood and get tidings of him: he would meet her at a certain tree. The scheme led to nothing: still he liked it.
    Having reached home, the dry bread and the lecture were duly administered to him, and he was dismissed to bed at an early hour. He accepted his punishment with the toughest stoicism.
    Ere ascending to his chamber he paid a secret visit to the dining-room, a still, cold, stately apartment, seldom used; for the family customarily dined in the back parlour. He stood before the mantel-piece, and lifted his candle to two pictures hung above – female heads: one, a type of serene beauty – happy and innocent; the other, more lovely – but forlorn and desperate.
    »She looked like
that,
« he said, gazing on the latter sketch, »when she sobbed, turned white, and leaned against the tree.«
    »I suppose,« he pursued, when he was in his room, and seated on the edge of his pallet-bed, – »I suppose she is, what they call, ›
in love;
‹ yes,
in love
with that long thing in the next chamber. Whisht! is that Horsfall clattering him? I wonder he does not yell out. It really sounds as if she had fallen on him tooth and nail; but I suppose she is making the bed. I saw her at it once – she hit into the mattresses as if she was boxing. It is queer, Zillah (they call her Zillah) – Zillah Horsfall is a woman, and Caroline Helstone is a woman: they are two individuals of the same species – not much alike though. Is she a pretty girl, that Caroline? I suspect she is – very nice to look at – something so clear in her face – so soft in her eyes. I approve of her looking at me; it does me good. She has long eyelashes: their shadow seems to rest where she gazes, and to instil peace and