“Oh, how noble is, and how good you are.  Run!  Fly!”

“Such movements are undignified, and unsuited to my figure.  Shall I roll down the hill?  That would be my quickest way.”

This discussion was cut short by a servant, who came to tell the doctor that a carriage was ordered for him, and would be round in a minute.  Dr. Amboyne drove off, and Miss Carden now avoided Coventry:  she retired to her room.  But, it seems, she was on the watch; for, on the doctor’s return, she was the person who met him in the hall.

“Well?” said she, eagerly.

“Well, would you believe it? he declines.  He objects to leave his way of life, and to wait for dead men’s shoes.”

“Oh, Dr. Amboyne!  And you were there to advise him!”

“I did not venture to advise him.  There was so much to be said on both sides.”  Then he went off to Raby with the note; but, as he went, he heard Grace say, in a low voice, “Ah, you never thought of me.”

Little’s note ran thus: 

“Sir,—­I thank you for your proposal; and as to the first part of it, I quite agree, and should be glad to see my mother and you friends again.  But, as to my way of life, I have chosen my path, and mean to stick to it.  I hope soon to be a master, instead of a workman, and I shall try and behave like a gentleman, so that you may not have to blush for me.  Should blush for myself if I were to give up industry and independence, and take to waiting for dead men’s shoes; that is a baser occupation than any trade in Hillsborough, I think.  This is not as politely written as I could wish; but I am a blunt fellow, and I hope you will excuse it.  I am not ungrateful to you for shooting those vermin, nor for your offer, though I can not accept it.  Yours respectfully,

“Henry little.”

Raby read this, and turned white with rage.

He locked the letter up along with poor Mrs. Little’s letters, and merely said, “I have only one request to make.  Never mention the name of Little to me again.”

Dr. Amboyne went home very thoughtful.

That same day Mr. Carden wrote from London to his daughter informing her he should be at Hillsborough next day to dinner.  She got the letter next morning, and showed it to Mr. Raby.  He ordered his carriage after breakfast for Hillsborough.

This was a blow to Grace.  She had been hoping all this time a fair opportunity might occur for saying something to young Little.

She longed to write to him, and set his heart and her own at rest.  But a great shyness and timidity paralyzed her, and she gave up the idea of writing, and had hitherto been hoping they might meet, and she might reinstate herself by some one cunning word.  And now the end of it all was, that she was driven away from Raby Hall without doing any thing but wish, and sigh, and resolve, and give up her resolutions with a blush.

The carriage passed the farm on its way to Hillsborough.  This was Grace’s last chance.