by a boy a little ragged boy, as well as he could judge. Mr Poringer was indignant with the boy for having made him afraid, and turning away without a word, pursued his journey as rapidly as the darkness allowed. While walking on, however, he began to think it strange that he should be dogged in this manner by such footsteps. There was no little ragged boy on his side of the common, he was sure; and this one, if he belonged to the village, was old enough to know his way home.

'Boy!' said he, stopping again suddenly-' what are you after?'

'You,' replied the boy.

'Where are you come from?'

'Nowhere.'

'Where are you going to?' 'Anywhere.'

'Who do you belong to ?'

'Nobody. Mr Poringer was more perplexed than ever; but not knowing what to say, he walked on again more slowly. For a boy who belonged to nobody, who had come from nowhere, and was going anywhere, to plump down in the dark and give himself to him—was a wild idea. He questioned whether the like had ever happened to a respectable man before. But the thing was a very awkward thing, and must be put a stop to. 'Boy,' said he at length, 'do you see this path to the left? if not, you can feel it with your feet. That's your way; it is the shortest cut out of the common. Come, trot!' and having so spoken in a commanding tone, he pursued his walk more confidently than ever, for the landmark he had discovered shewed that he was now not far from the road. But the little footfalls still followed close at his heels. Mr Poringer would not care. He ignored them. What were they to him? He thought of the parlour at the Plough—of the ale-of the cheers of the captain and the supper-tray-of Mrs Margery the cook; and as he at length emerged from the common, crossed the road, and mounted the steps of the house he sought, he thought faster and faster, and in the confusion escaped into the interior by means of the latch-key, and shut the door upon the mist and its gifts.

But he could not shut them entirely out of his reflections, for, as we have said, he was a meditative person. He was often seen that evening by the,denizens of the kitchen to sink into a brown study; and sometimes he got up, paced softly to the kitchen-door, and stood for some time in an attitude of listening. Mrs Margery, a round jolly-looking woman, did not know what to make of it. She would have set it down at once as a mystery, a thing she was particularly fond of; but Mr Poringer, she knew, was the most matter-of-fact of serving-men, and she calculated, therefore, that he was somewhat bemused in beer; for, indeed, there was no other way of telling when this was the case, than by his more than usual gravity and taciturnity, and his soft, reflective, and steady step. Mrs Margery was greatly annoyed by the prosaic character of Mr Poringer; for she herself delighted in everything romantic, more especially if there was a mystery in it. Her passion for novel-reading was so great, that long before this time she would have got to the end of the village circulating library, and so have been obliged to change her situation, that she might remove to fresh fields and pastures new; but, luckily, she was a slow and reflective, as well as a determined reader. She was accustomed to read aloud to Molly, and explain the narrative as she went on. Frequently she laid the book down upon the table; and the two would tax their ingenuity to find out how the adventure would terminate, and whether She was to be married at last, and to whom.

Molly was no great hand at reading herself, but she did love to listen; many a hearty laugh, and many a shower of tears, did she join her patroness in; and, indeed, having a natural bent towards hysterics, the

lecture was quite a scene. How they did admire the spirit of the heroine-how they did criticise her dress -how they did abhor the villain-and how uproariously they did triumph in the detection of his treachery; Mrs Margery, all the while,'disclosing the evolution of the mystery beforehand! As for Molly in her person, she was of that uncertain age when one does not know what the girl will grow into. In the meantime, her only noticeable features were an extremely broad and flat nose-though not at all an unamiable nose-and a pair of great, prominent, well-opened eyes, as round as a shilling, that made her look as if she was always astonished at something. The readings, which were the great solace of her existence, usually began in the evening, when Mr Poringer had betaken himself to the Plough. It was then the cook and her protégée rioted in their intellectual liberty; it was then that Mrs Margery triumphed in the necromantic art she had acquired to absolute perfection, of reading the decrees of destiny; and it was then that Molly fixed her astonished eyes upon her face, now sitting in calm enjoyment, now struggling between a giggle and a sob, and now, heart-brokenly, wiping away her tears with her bare arms. When Mr Poringer returned, they were still in the midst of it, but, being a meditative man, his presence was but little interruption. Margery sometimes thought, from his steady silence, that he must be listening; but if so, he somehow never succeeded in acquiring the faintest notion of what the story was about.

Mrs

When Mr Poringer was summoned to the parlour, he paused again to listen as he crossed the hall; and then, as if obeying an uncontrollable impulse, he crept stealthily to the hall-door, opened it, and looked out. The mist was as thick as ever-thicker if possible; yet he stood for some time, looking down upon the landing; and then closing the door softly, he walked with a slow and meditative pace to answer a second summons of the bell. Captain Semple and his sister, Miss Semple, were seated, one on each side of the fireplace; and if a stranger had witnessed the steady manner in which Mr Poringer faced his master, he would have thought our words true indeed, when we said that the former was no coward. Captain Semple had as formidable a look as any captain of banditti in Mrs Margery's novels. His face was almost covered with long bushy hair, of an iron-gray colour; and such shaggy and threatening brows overhung his eyes, that one dreaded to look what kind of eyes they were. In fine, his voice was harsh, and his manner sudden; and there was a mobility in the muscles of his face which, communicating the agitation as he spoke to the iron-gray hair, imparted a character of ferocity to the whole head.

'Well, sir,' said the captain, bending his ominous brows upon Mr Poringer-you are come at last! Where have you been?'

'I have been in for some time, sir,' replied Mr Poringer undauntedly. Before then I was a-giving orders in the village.'

'You should take less time to your orders,' said the captain, with one of his terrible looks. 'Don't you know that when Molly is compelled to come into the parlour, and is desired to do anything, she says nothing but "Yes, sir," and then goes off hysterically to the kitchen without doing it?'

'I could not get through the mist quicker, sir,' explained Mr Poringer-without I had a pickaxe. It was as thick as a stone-wall.'

'That's very extraordinary!' said the formidable captain. I remember just such a circumstance when I was in the Peninsula. Elizabeth, the thing is worth hearing.' Elizabeth, who was a tall lank maiden well on to forty, moved her chair a little, as she always did in such circumstances, turned her light-gray eyes upon her brother, and sat in the attitude, though without the expression, of expectancy.