"You are, are you?" said the old man. “And you're a good one to work, I can see. That's the right sort, Job; that's better than all your fine ladies, with their dancing-masters and music lessons and Frenchified ways. As bonny as a mountain-rose, too!"

There was a laugh at the table, and Job, seeing the colour mount to Margie's cheek

"D'ye hear, Margic, it's a Marden hoss that's carried off the first prize?

"I'm very glad to hear it, uncle," replied Margie. "Whose did you say it was?"

"Young Cornelius Maynard's, who lives at the Manor-house now. It is a chestnut, isn't it, Mr. Williams?" continued Job, too intent on helping the pudding to pay much heed to what he was saying.

"Yes, a bad colour, to my mind; but it's a good-looking horse altogether," was the old man's reply.

A buzz of voices at the street door now attracted general attention.

"Here comes the winner himself!" said the landlord of the Boar's Head, laying down his knife and fork.

Margie looked up and saw Cornelius entering the room, surrounded by a knot of friends, who were all wishing him joy of his good luck.

"Come in, come in, Mr. Maynard," said Job.

"We were all talking about your horse, and there are several gentlemen here who would like to drink to your good health to-day."

"Thank you, Mr. Marston," said Cornelius, accepting a glass of ale from the landlord's hand. "And thank you all, gentlemen."

"I'm more than half a Marden man myself," said Job, "and I'm proud the prize horse should come from the old place. Sit down, sir-sit down, sir, and take a slice of ham; it's one of the missus's best home-cured."

Cornelius declined the honour civilly. "Thank you, Mr. Marston, I have already dined."

Meanwhile Margie stood behind her aunt with hot cheeks. She was convinced Cornelius had seen her on entering, whether or not he meant to include her in the bow which he gave her aunt, and she could not understand why he did not speak to her now. A suspicion crossed her mind that he might not care to recognize her among his smart friends, especially before his brother, who had returned with him, and was engaged in familiar conversation with no less a personage than Squire Russell, of West Marden, himself. Presently the little group broke up. Cornelius walked out arm-in-arm with his brother, and Margie remained lost in wonder at his strange conduct.

At that moment another Marden acquaintance, Bob Stannard, walked in with some of his friends, and catching sight of Margie greeted her warmly.

"What! you here, Miss Margie? This is an unexpected pleasure! Of course you've heard Maynard's horse has won? Marden is all to the front to-day."

His boisterous laugh jarred unpleasantly on Margie's ears, but the cordiality of his greeting formed a marked contrast to Cornelius's behaviour.

They talked together a few minutes, at the end of which a fresh batch of visitors arrived, and Margie was kept busily occupied for the next half hour in waiting upon them.

The rush of the day was over now. Job Marston stood at the door exchanging a last word with his guests as the ostler led round their horses; and Mrs. Marston, exhausted by her labours, had retired to the back parlour, where she sat fanning herself with her handkerchief, and calling to Margie to come and rest a bit. But Margie had taken up her stand at the window, and was watching Edmund Maynard drive off in his dog-cart. She still stood looking rather listlessly into the street when she heard a step behind her, and looking round to see if she was wanted saw Cornelius close by her. "Is it you, Mr. Maynard?” she said. "I thought you had gone long ago."

"You don't think I was going without one word from you?" said Cornelius. "Why, you have never even wished me joy of my good luck today!"

"I should have thought you had received congratulations enough without mine," answered Margie, coldly.

He saw by her manner she was vexed, and tried to excuse himself by saying, "You have had your hands so full to-day, that when I came in there was no getting at you to say word."

She made no reply. And presently he asked, "Are you going home to-night?"

"No; I'm wanted here to help," was her curt

answer.

He saw that he should get nothing further from her that evening, and as Job Marston came in just then he thought it wiser to beat a retreat, and wished her a hasty good-night. Margie went to bed that night with her head full of anxious doubts and fears. She was tired and unhappy, and the day to which she had so much looked forward had not been one of unmixed enjoyment,

CHAPTER XII.

"O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love's coming
That can sing both high and low;

Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting-
Every wise man's son doth know."

SHAKSPEARE.

N the days when King's Marden church was first built there had been for many hundred years a priory of Benedictine nuns in the neighbourhood. The site was still pointed out in the meadows, at the foot of the hill, behind Luke Chaplin's house, and one field to this day bore the name of the Lady-ground. Traces of what had once been a noble avenue of ash trees were to be seen, and a stream of running waters trickled through the marshy hollow which had once been the convent fish ponds. Here the greenest moss was always to be found, and the first aconites peeped out of their leafy beds, and