"How far is it from his home ?" the lady
inquired of Sally. "The High House in
Wathendale! You will not get him there
to-night at this rate."

The farm-house people promised a cart, if
the party could wait till it came by.

"How could such a thing happen ?" said
the lady. "Is there no one to teach this man
his duty better than this? Does he know
the clergyman?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Sally,—adding, very
simply, "but there would be no use in the
clergyman speaking to him now, he would
not understand."

"No, indeed," replied the lady. "But he
will feel ill enough to-morrow, and then I
hope somebody that he respects will speak to
him in a way that he will remember."

"To think," she said to her companions, as
they walked away past the cistern where the
grovelling bridegroom was undergoing his
ducking, "that that is the creature whom the
poor girl bound herself this morning to love,
cherish, and obey ! What a beginning of the
cherishing!"

Fell and his wife had not expected the
young people home early; but it was much
later than the latest time they had fixed,
before they heard anything of them. When
at last the party appeared, emerging from the
night mist, all the three sober ones were dreadfully
weary. The ascent had been terrible;
for Raven had not yet begun to recover.

No fine sentiment was wasted upon the
occasion; for the indifference which had
rather shocked the ladies, was the real state
of mind of people too much accustomed to
the spectacle of intemperance. Mrs. Fell
declared she was vexed with him— that she
was; and then she put on her bedgown, in
order to sit up with her daughter, for Raven
was now so sick that he must be waited on
all night. Mrs. Fell said repeatedly, as so
often before, that all men were apt to take
too much now and then; and it would happen
less often now he had come to live up here.
Yet, her husband's words would run in her
head, that it was all right, and very pleasant.
When, in the dawn of the morning, her
daughter made her go to bed, she dropped
asleep with those words in her ears; while
poor Janet, chilly, sick at heart, and worn
out, was at length melting into tears.

When, the next afternoon, her husband sat
nursing his aching head beside the fireplace,
he was struck with some compunction at the
sight of her red eyes. Of course, he declared,
as drunkards always do, it should never
happen again. Of course, he laid the blame,
as drunkards always do, on other people. Of
course, he said, as drunkards always do, that
it was no habit of his; and that this was an
accident— for once and away. Of course, his
wife believed him, as young wives always do.

For some time it appeared all true, and
everything went on very cheerfully. On the
fine days there was as much field-work as
both men could do; and so many repairs
were needed, of gates and posts, cart and
cowhouse, dwelling-house and utensils, that
all the rainy days for six months were too
little for the carpentering Raven had upon
his hands. He had not been tipsy above
twice in all that time: once on a stormy day,
when he had sat lazily scorching him-
self before the fire, with the labourer and
cow-boy, who were driven in by stress of
weather, and who yawned till they made the
whole party weary. Raven disappeared for a
couple of hours in the afternoon, and came
out of the barn to supper in a state far from
sober. The other time was when he had
gone to market in October, to sell oats. At
all other times he worked well, was kind to
the old people, and very fond of Janet, and
justified Fell's frequent declaration that it
was all right now, and very pleasant.

The winter was the trying season.
Sometimes the dwellers in the high house were
snowed up, and many days were too stormy
for work. The men grew tired of sitting
round the fire all day, hearing the wind blow,
and the rain pelt; and the women were yet
more tired of having them there. There
were no books; and nobody seemed to think
of reading. There were some caricatures of
the Pope and of Buonaparte, and a portrait
of King George the Third, on the walls; and
these were all the intellectual entertainment
in the house, unless we except four lines of a
hymn which Janet had marked on her
sampler, when she was a child. Raven went
more and more to the barn, sometimes on
pretence of working; but his hammer and
saw were less and less heard; and instead of
coming in cheerfully to supper, he was apt to
loiter in, in a slouching way, to hide the
unsteadiness of his gait, and was quarrelsome
with Fell, and cross to Janet. He never
conducted himself better, however; never
was more active, affectionate, helpful, and
considerate, than at the time when old Fell
sank and died,—during that month of early
spring when Janet was confined. He was
like son and daughter at once, Mrs. Fell
declared— and doctor and nurse, too, for that
matter: and his father-in-law died, blessing
him, and desiring hirn to take care of the
farm, and prosper on it, as it had been in the
family for five hundred years.

When the old man was buried, and the seed
all in the ground, and Janet about again,
Raven not only relaxed in his industry, but
seemed to think some compensation due to
him for his late good behaviour. Certain
repairs having been left too long untouched,
and Mrs. Fell being rather urgent that they
should not be further neglected, it came out
that Eaven had sold his tools. Sold his tools!
—Yes; how could he help it? It was necessary,
as they had all agreed, to change away
the old cow for a spring calver; and what
could he do but sell his tools to pay the
difference? Janet knew, and so did her mother,