It seemed to me that Max was a little different this evening.  He was always kind, always cheerful; he never wrapped himself up in gloomy reserve like other people, however depressed or ill at ease he might be; but Mrs. Drabble was right, he was certainly thinner, and there was an anxious careworn look about his face when he was not speaking.  I was certain, too, that his cheerfulness and ready flow of conversation were not without effort.  I had asked him once if he were quite well, and he had looked at me in evident astonishment.

’Perfectly well, thank you,—­in a state of rude health.  Nothing ever ails me.  Why do you ask?’ But I evaded this question, for I knew Max hated to be watched; and, after all, what right had I to intrude into his private anxieties? doubtless he had plenty of these, like other men.  The management of a large parish was on his shoulders, and he was too conscientious and hard-working to spare himself; but somehow the shadow lying deep down in Max’s honest brown eyes haunted me as I unlatched the cottage door.

I heard Nathaniel’s voice in the kitchen, and went in to bid him and his mother good-night.  Mrs. Barton was not there, however, but, to my chagrin, Mr. Hamilton occupied her seat.  He looked up with a rather quizzical glance as I entered:  he and Nathaniel had the round table between them, strewn with books and papers; Nathaniel was writing, and Mr. Hamilton was sitting opposite to him.

‘I beg your pardon,’ I said hurriedly.  ‘I thought Mrs. Barton was here.’

‘She has gone to bed,’ returned Mr. Hamilton coolly:  ’my friend Nathaniel and I are hard at work, as you see.  Do you know anything of mathematics, Miss Garston?—­no, you shake your head—­’ I do not know what more he would have said, but I escaped with a quick good-night.

As I went upstairs I made a resolution to avoid the kitchen in future:  I might at any moment stumble upon Mr. Hamilton.  I had forgotten that he gave Nathaniel lessons sometimes in the evening.  What a ubiquitous mortal this man appeared, here, there, and everywhere!  It had given me rather a shock to see him so comfortably domiciled in Mrs. Barton’s cosy kitchen; he looked as much at home there as in Uncle Max’s study.  How bright Nathaniel had looked as he raised his head to bid me good-night!  I was obliged to confess that they had seemed as happy as possible.

It was very late when he left the cottage; I was just sinking off to sleep when I heard his voice under my window.  Tinker heard it too, and barked, and then the gate shut with a sudden sharp click and all was still.  Nathaniel must have crept up to bed in his stocking-feet, as they say in some parts, for I never heard him pass my door.

I was glad to be greeted by sunshine the next morning; the day seemed to smile on my new work like an unuttered benison, as I went down to my solitary breakfast.  I resolved that nothing Mr. Hamilton could say should damp or put me out of temper, and then I sat down and read a sad rambling letter from Jill, which was so quaint and original, in spite of its lugubriousness, that it made me smile.