“我希望是正确的，因为，如果不是这样，爱情就会变成一件可怕的事。”她说。
“是，是这样——至少对于大部分人来说是这样的。”他回答。
而米丽亚姆以为他是在宽慰自己，心里有了点底。她认为自己在小径上碰到保罗是一个天赐的良机。这番谈话深深地刻在了她的脑海中，就像摩西法律中的文字一样。
现在她和他意见一致，并且支持他。在这段时间里， 他因自己家人对威利农场的不满， 出言伤了全家人的感情。但她支持他，相信他是对的。而且这段时间，她多次梦到了他，梦境生动、令人难忘。这些梦后来还一再重现，促使他俩的感情上升到一个更加微妙的心理阶段。
复活节的星期一那天，又和上次那一帮人旅行到风田庄园。对于米丽亚姆来说，和欢度假日的人们挤在一起，在塞斯利桥乘火车真是一件兴奋激动的事。他们在阿尔弗雷顿下了火车。保罗对这儿的街道和带着狗的矿工很感兴趣。这儿的矿工 与别处的不同。米丽亚姆到了教堂才恢复了生机，他们进去时都有点胆怯。
害怕背着装满食品的包，会被别人赶出来。伦纳德是个很瘦的小伙子，说话者带刺，走在最前面。宁死也不愿被人赶出来的保罗走在最后。因为是复活节，教堂已经被装饰过了。似乎有百朵水仙花长在圣水器里。光线透过玻璃窗户射了进 来，暗淡的光线染上玻璃上的五颜六色，弥漫着一种淡淡的百合和水仙花的清香。在这种气氛下。米丽亚姆兴奋起来。保罗对这儿的气氛也很敏感，生怕做了什么他不该做的事。米丽亚姆转向他，他点头示意，他们俩心心相印地站在一起。他不愿意到领圣餐栅栏前面去。她就喜欢他这样。有他在身边，她才有心思做祈祷，他觉得这个幽暗虔诚的教堂有一种奇怪的魅力，他所有的沈醉于神秘幻想的天性颤动起来了。她为他所吸引，他俩一起祈祷着。
米丽亚姆很少跟别的男孩说话，和她谈话，他们也会觉得非常别扭。因此，她常常保持着沉默。
他们爬上通向庄园的陡峭的山路上时已经中午了。温暖耀眼的阳光下一切都显得那么柔和，白屈菜和紫罗兰已经开花了。大家的心情都极为兴奋。城堡的灰墙壁那么柔和，常春藤染着绿光，古迹周围的一切显得优雅而有格调。
庄园是浅灰色的坚固的石块砌成的。墙壁单调而宁静。年轻人都兴致勃勃、小心翼翼地走了进去，害怕享受不到这个古迹的乐趣。在第一个院子中，高高的残垣里， 有几辆农场的运货马车，车辕乱扔在地上，轮胎上长满了红锈。院子里一片寂静。
大家急切地付了六便士，胆怯地穿过了一个漂亮幽静的拱门，进入了里面的院子。他们都有些却步不前。这块铺着碎石的地方，过去是一个门厅，一棵带刺的老树正在发芽。周围的阴影里是各种奇怪的空旷地和破房子。
午饭后，他们又动身去探索这座古迹。这一回，姑娘们和可以作向导和解 说员的小伙子们一起去了。庄园一角有一座行将倒塌的高塔，有人说苏格兰的玛丽女王曾被囚禁在那里。
“想想吧，女王也曾经爬过这儿！”米丽亚姆爬上空空的楼梯时，她低声说。
“她一定能上得来，”保罗说，“她有风湿病，还是别的什么病， 我想他们一定虐待她。”
“你不觉得她罪有应得吗？”米丽亚姆问。
“不，我不觉得，她只是太活跃了。”
他们继续爬着那曲里拐弯的楼梯，一阵大风从窗里吹了进来，一直冲到塔尖上，吹得姑娘的裙子像个气球，她很感不好意思，保罗抓住裙子褶边，帮她把裙子拉下来，他这么做自然利索，就像替她捡起一付手套似的。她永远忘不了这件事。
常春藤密密层层地环绕着这个残破的塔顶，显得十分古朴典雅。而且，还有几枝冷冷的竹香，上面长着苍白冰冷的花骨朵。米丽亚姆想探身摘一些常春藤，但保罗没让她摘。保罗却骑士气派十足的把采到的常春藤一枝一枝地递给站在他身后等着的她。塔似乎在风中摇荡着。 他们目光望着一望无际树木旺盛的农庄，农庄里不时夹杂着一块草场。
庄园的地窖十分漂亮，保存完好。保罗在这儿画了一幅画，米丽亚姆和他在一起，她想象着苏格兰的玛丽女王睁着紧张绝望的双眼，看看有没有援兵从小山那边来。那双眼里似乎怎么也无法理解这不幸。或者，她坐在这个地窖里，听着别人告诉她，让她相信那个和她坐的地方一样冰冷的上帝。
他们又高高兴兴地出发了，回头看看那个他们喜欢的庄园，那么整洁，那么高大，耸立在山丘之上。
“想想如果你能拥有这样一个农庄，那会有多好啊。”保罗对米丽亚姆说。
“是啊！”
“那时到这儿来看看你该多好啊！”
这里， 他们正走在石墙环绕的荒地上，他很喜欢这地方，虽然这地方离家只 有十英里，但对米丽亚姆来说，却像是异国他乡一样。他们穿过一大片背阴的草地，走上一条洒满无数点点光斑的小路时，保罗和米丽亚姆肩并肩地走着，保罗的指头勾在米丽亚姆背着的小包带子上。立刻，她感觉到走在后面的安妮嫉妒地盯着这一切。这儿的草地沐浴在骄阳下，小路像镶嵌了珠宝似的。他也没有给她其它任何暗示，她的手指一动不动地抓着小包带子，任凭他的手指抚摸。这地方一片金光宛若仙境。
最后，他们来到地势较高，房屋分散的克瑞奇村。村子前面就是著名的克瑞奇平塔，保罗在家里的花园里就能看到这个平塔。大家急急地 走着。下面不远处就是一片开阔的田野。小伙子们都急切地想爬到小山顶上去。这座小山上面是个圆土堆，如今有一半被削去了。顶上有一座古代的纪念碑，矮墩墩的很坚固，是古时候用来对山下远处诺丁汉郡 和莱斯特郡的平地发信号的。
在这片空旷的地方，风刮得特别猛。确保安全的唯一办法就是顺风紧靠高塔墙站着。脚下就是悬崖，人们常在那儿开采石灰。再往下就是零乱的山丘和很小的村庄——马特洛克村、安伯哥特村、斯通尼、米得尔顿村。小伙子们急于在远处左边鳞次栉比的农庄中找到贝斯伍德教堂。当他们看到教堂坐落在一块平地上，都很扫兴。他们看到德比郡的群山一直往南延伸到平坦的中部，渐渐平缓下来了。
米丽亚姆多少有点害怕这么大的风，但小伙子们很快活，他们走啊走，走了一里又一里，一直走到了沃特斯丹威尔。所有的食物都吃光了，大家都饿了，他们几乎没钱回家了。不过，他们想法买了一只面包和一只葡萄干面包，用小折刀切成块，坐在桥附近的墙上吃着，看着明亮的德温特河水奔腾而过。看着从马特洛克来的马车停在小酒店门口。
保罗现在已经相当疲倦，脸色苍白，这一整天他都为这一伙人操心，现在他已经精疲力尽。米丽亚姆理解他，就紧紧地跟着他，他也任凭她来照顾自己。
他们在安伯哥特车站要等一个小时，火车来了，上面挤满要回曼彻斯特、伯明翰、伦敦去的游客。
“我们或许应该去那儿——人们很容易以为我们去那么远的地方。”保罗 说。
回到家时已经相当晚了。米丽亚姆和杰弗里一起走回去的。看着月亮徐徐升起来了，又大又红又朦胧。她觉得内心的什么东西好象得到满足。
她有个姐姐，阿加莎，是个学校教师。两姐妹长期不和，米丽亚姆认为阿加莎很世俗，不过她希望自己也能当个老师。
一个星期六下午，阿加莎和米丽亚姆在楼上梳妆打扮。她们的卧室就在马厩上面，这是间低矮的房子，也不太大，空荡荡的没什么摆设。米丽亚姆墙上钉了一幅委罗内薛的《圣凯瑟琳》的复制品。她喜欢画中那个窗台上遐 想的女人。她自己的窗户太小了，没法坐，前面的一扇窗爬满了忍冬花和中宅葡萄，透过去可以 看到院子那边的橡树林的树顶；后面有一个手帕那么大小的窗户，是朝东的一个透气孔。从那儿可以看见周围圆丘可爱的黎明景色。
俩姐妹之间不大说话。阿加莎漂亮娇小，但性格果断，她反感家里的那种气氛，反对那种“忍辱负重”的训导。她现在已经走上社会，就要自立了。她坚持那种世俗的价值标准，看外表、看举止、看地位。而这些都是米丽亚姆不屑一顾的。
保罗来时，这姐妹俩都喜欢躲在楼上避开，她们宁愿到时候跑下来，打开楼梯口的门，欣赏他期待和寻找她们的神情。米丽亚姆站在那儿急急地把他送给她的一串念珠往头上套，但念珠被她头发缠住了，最后她还是套进去了，那褐红色的木头念珠衬着她光洁的褐色的颈部，煞是好看。她发育良好，漂亮迷人。可是从挂在白墙上的那面小镜子里，她一次只能看到自己的一小部分。阿加莎自己买了一面小镜子，可以支起来称心如意地照。这天，米丽亚姆在窗户附近，突然听见熟悉的链条咯嗒咯嗒地响，她看见保罗撞开大门，推着自行车进了院子。她看见他冲屋子看了看，她退开了。他若无其事地走着，自行车在他身边好像是个活的东西。
“保罗来了！”她叫了一声。
“你难道不高兴吗？”阿加莎尖刻地说。
米丽亚姆呆不住了，坐也不是，站也不是。
“那么，你呢？”她问。
“高兴。但我可不会让他看出来，以为我盼着他来呢。”
米丽亚姆有些吃惊。她听到他在下面马厩里停放自行车，和那匹原先在矿上干活，现在已经掉了膘的马——吉姆说着话。
“噢，我的伙伴吉姆，你好吧，别总是病秧秧，垂头丧气的样子。哦，这样子不好，我的好伙伴。”
这匹马由于小伙子的抚摸抬起头来，她听见了缰绳抖动的声音。她非常喜欢 听在他以为只有马才听得见时的他的说话声。但她的伊甸园里有一条引诱她的蛇。她真诚地反省自己。是不是在盼着保罗·莫瑞尔。她觉得这些感情是不正经的。她心情很复杂，害怕自己真是在盼他。她站在那里，自觉 有罪，接着内心又涌起一种羞愧之情，她的内心被这些苦恼纠缠成一团。她是在盼保罗吗？他知道她在盼他吗？这多让她丢人啊！她觉得她整个心灵都被重重羞辱纠缠着。
阿加莎先梳妆完，跑下楼去。米丽亚姆听到她放荡地冲着小伙子打着招呼，她知道阿加莎用这种口气说话时那双灰眼睛会变得多么明亮。如果她这么招呼他，她一定会觉得自己太冒失大胆。她仍旧站在那儿谴责自己不应该盼着他，心灵饱受折磨，她困惑不解地站在那里祈祷着。
“哦，主啊，别让我爱上保罗·莫瑞尔，如果我不应该爱他，就别让我爱上他吧。”
祷告里有些不合情理的话引起她的深思，她抬起头来思索着。我爱他有什么错吗？爱情是上帝赐予的礼物。然而爱情却让她羞愧。这都是因为他，保罗·莫瑞尔。但是，这又不关他的事，是她自己的事，是她和上帝之间的事。她准备成为一个牺牲品。不过这是给上帝的牺牲品，不是给保罗·莫瑞尔的，也不是给她自己的。过了一阵，她把脸埋在枕头里说：
“主啊，如果我爱他是您的意愿，那么，就让我爱他吧——像基督一样，为拯救灵魂而死，让我正大光明地爱他吧，他是您的儿子啊。”
她仍旧站在那里，一动不动，被自己深深地感动了，一头黑发贴在红方块和淡紫色小枝叶图案方块拼缀起来的被面上。祈祷对她来说几乎是非常重要。祈祷之后，她就进入自我牺牲的极乐境界， 认为上帝作出牺牲，赐给芸芸众生的灵魂最大的幸福，而自己和上帝是一样伟大。
她下楼时，保罗正靠在一张扶手椅上，拿着一幅小画热心地给阿加莎看，阿加莎正在讽刺他。米丽亚姆看了他俩一眼，不愿看见他们这种轻浮神态，进了起居室一个人呆在那里。
到喝茶的时候，她才能跟保罗说话，态度很冷淡，保罗以为自己得罪了她。
米丽亚姆不再每星期四晚上去贝斯伍德图书馆了，整个春天，她都按时去叫保罗一起去。但从很多小事，从他家里人的冷嘲热讽中她明白了他家对她的态度。因此她决定再也不去他家了。一天傍晚，她对保罗声明以后的星期四晚上，她再也不去叫他了。
“为什么？”他不太在意地问。
“没什么，只是我觉得还是不去的好。”
“好吧。”
“但是，”她有些支支吾吾，“如果你愿意见到我，我们还是可以一起去的。”
“在哪儿跟你见面？”
“随便什么地方——你愿意在哪儿就在哪儿。”
“我不 想在别的地方跟你见面，我不明白你为什么不继续 来叫 我。不过既然你不来叫我，我也不想跟你见面了。”
就这样，对她和他都十分宝贵的星期四晚上就这么中断了。 他用工作代替了以前星期四晚上的活动，莫瑞尔太太对这个安排十分满意。
"Yes, but it IS--at least with most people," he answered.
And Miriam, thinking he had assured himself, felt strongin herself. She always regarded that sudden coming upon himin the lane as a revelation. And this conversation remainedgraven in her mind as one of the letters of the law.
Now she stood with him and for him. When, about this time,he outraged the family feeling at Willey Farm by some overbearing insult,she stuck to him, and believed he was right. And at this time shedreamed dreams of him, vivid, unforgettable. These dreams cameagain later on, developed to a more subtle psychological stage.
On the Easter Monday the same party took an excursionto Wingfield Manor. It was great excitement to Miriam to catch atrain at Sethley Bridge, amid all the bustle of the Bank Holiday crowd. They left the train at Alfreton. Paul was interested in thestreet and in the colliers with their dogs. Here was a new raceof miners. Miriam did not live till they came to the church. They were all rather timid of entering, with their bags of food,for fear of being turned out. Leonard, a comic, thin fellow,went first; Paul, who would have died rather than be sent back,went last. The place was decorated for Easter. In the font hundredsof white narcissi seemed to be growing. The air was dim and colouredfrom the windows and thrilled with a subtle scent of liliesand narcissi. In that atmosphere Miriam's soul came into a glow. Paul was afraid of the things he mustn't do; and he was sensitiveto the feel of the place. Miriam turned to him. He answered. They were together. He would not go beyond the Communion-rail. Sheloved him for that. Her soul expanded into prayer beside him. He felt the strange fascination of shadowy religious places. All his latent mysticism quivered into life. She was drawn to him. He was a prayer along with her.
Miriam very rarely talked to the other lads. They at oncebecame awkward in conversation with her. So usually she was silent.
It was past midday when they climbed the steep path to the manor. All things shone softly in the sun, which was wonderfully warmand enlivening. Celandines and violets were out. Everybody wastip-top full with happiness. The glitter of the ivy, the soft,atmospheric grey of the castle walls, the gentleness of everythingnear the ruin, was perfect.
The manor is of hard, pale grey stone, and the other wallsare blank and calm. The young folk were in raptures. They wentin trepidation, almost afraid that the delight of exploring thisruin might be denied them. In the first courtyard, within the highbroken walls, were farm-carts, with their shafts lying idle onthe ground, the tyres of the wheels brilliant with gold-red rust. It was very still.
All eagerly paid their sixpences, and went timidly throughthe fine clean arch of the inner courtyard. They were shy. Here on the pavement, where the hall had been, an old thorn treewas budding. All kinds of strange openings and broken rooms werein the shadow around them.
After lunch they set off once more to explore the ruin. This time the girls went with the boys, who could act as guidesand expositors. There was one tall tower in a corner, rather tottering,where they say Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned.
"Think of the Queen going up here!" said Miriam in a low voice,as she climbed the hollow stairs.
"If she could get up," said Paul, "for she had rheumatismlike anything. I reckon they treated her rottenly."
"You don't think she deserved it?" asked Miriam.
"No, I don't. She was only lively."
They continued to mount the winding staircase. A high wind,blowing through the loopholes, went rushing up the shaft,and filled the girl's skirts like a balloon, so that she was ashamed,until he took the hem of her dress and held it down for her. He did it perfectly simply, as he would have picked up her glove. She remembered this always.
Round the broken top of the tower the ivy bushed out,old and handsome. Also, there were a few chill gillivers,in pale cold bud. Miriam wanted to lean over for some ivy,but he would not let her. Instead, she had to wait behind him,and take from him each spray as he gathered it and held it to her,each one separately, in the purest manner of chivalry. The towerseemed to rock in the wind. They looked over miles and milesof wooded country, and country with gleams of pasture.
The crypt underneath the manor was beautiful, and inperfect preservation. Paul made a drawing: Miriam stayed with him. She was thinking of Mary Queen of Scots looking with her strained,hopeless eyes, that could not understand misery, over the hillswhence no help came, or sitting in this crypt, being told of a Godas cold as the place she sat in.
They set off again gaily, looking round on their beloved manorthat stood so clean and big on its hill.
"Supposing you could have THAT farm," said Paul to Miriam.
"Yes!"
"Wouldn't it be lovely to come and see you!"
They were now in the bare country of stone walls, which he loved,and which, though only ten miles from home, seemed so foreignto Miriam. The party was straggling. As they were crossing alarge meadow that sloped away from the sun, along a path embeddedwith innumerable tiny glittering points, Paul, walkingalongside, laced his fingers in the strings of the bag Miriamwas carrying, and instantly she felt Annie behind, watchful and jealous. But the meadow was bathed in a glory of sunshine, and the pathwas jewelled, and it was seldom that he gave her any sign. She held her fingers very still among the strings of the bag,his fingers touching; and the place was golden as a vision.
At last they came into the straggling grey village of Crich,that lies high. Beyond the village was the famous Crich Standthat Paul could see from the garden at home. The party pushed on. Great expanse of country spread around and below. The lads wereeager to get to the top of the hill. It was capped by a round knoll,half of which was by now cut away, and on the top of which stoodan ancient monument, sturdy and squat, for signalling in old days fardown into the level lands of Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire.
It was blowing so hard, high up there in the exposed place,that the only way to be safe was to stand nailed by the windto the wan of the tower. At their feet fell the precipicewhere the limestone was quarried away. Below was a jumble ofhills and tiny villages--Mattock, Ambergate, Stoney Middleton. The lads were eager to spy out the church of Bestwood, far awayamong the rather crowded country on the left. They were disgustedthat it seemed to stand on a plain. They saw the hills of Derbyshirefall into the monotony of the Midlands that swept away South.
Miriam was somewhat scared by the wind, but the lads enjoyed it. They went on, miles and miles, to Whatstandwell. All the foodwas eaten, everybody was hungry, and there was very little money to gethome with. But they managed to procure a loaf and a currant-loaf,which they hacked to pieces with shut-knives, and ate sitting onthe wall near the bridge, watching the bright Derwent rushing by,and the brakes from Matlock pulling up at the inn.
Paul was now pale with weariness. He had been responsiblefor the party all day, and now he was done. Miriam understood,and kept close to him, and he left himself in her hands.
They had an hour to wait at Ambergate Station. Trains came,crowded with excursionists returning to Manchester, Birmingham,and London.
"We might be going there--folk easily might think we're goingthat far," said Paul.
They got back rather late. Miriam, walking home with Geoffrey,watched the moon rise big and red and misty. She felt somethingwas fulfilled in her.
She had an elder sister, Agatha, who was a school-teacher.Between the two girls was a feud. Miriam considered Agatha worldly. And she wanted herself to be a school-teacher.
One Saturday afternoon Agatha and Miriam were upstairs dressing. Their bedroom was over the stable. It was a low room, not very large,and bare. Miriam had nailed on the wall a reproduction of Veronese's"St. Catherine". She loved the woman who sat in the window, dreaming. Her own windows were too small to sit in. But the front one wasdripped over with honeysuckle and virginia creeper, and lookedupon the tree-tops of the oak-wood across the yard, while thelittle back window, no bigger than a handkerchief, was a loopholeto the east, to the dawn beating up against the beloved round hills.
The two sisters did not talk much to each other. Agatha,who was fair and small and determined, had rebelled againstthe home atmosphere, against the doctrine of "the other cheek".She was out in the world now, in a fair way to be independent. And she insisted on worldly values, on appearance, on manners,on position, which Miriam would fain have ignored.
Both girls liked to be upstairs, out of the way, when Paul came. They preferred to come running down, open the stair-foot door,and see him watching, expectant of them. Miriam stood painfullypulling over her head a rosary he had given her. It caughtin the fine mesh of her hair. But at last she had it on, and thered-brown wooden beads looked well against her cool brown neck. She was a well-developed girl, and very handsome. But in the littlelooking-glass nailed against the whitewashed wall she could only seea fragment of herself at a time. Agatha had bought a little mirrorof her own, which she propped up to suit herself. Miriam was nearthe window. Suddenly she heard the well-known click of the chain,and she saw Paul fling open the gate, push his bicycle into the yard. She saw him look at the house, and she shrank away. He walkedin a nonchalant fashion, and his bicycle went with him as if itwere a live thing.
"Paul's come!" she exclaimed.
"Aren't you glad?" said Agatha cuttingly.
Miriam stood still in amazement and bewilderment.
"Well, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes, but I'm not going to let him see it, and think I wanted him."
Miriam was startled. She heard him putting his bicycle in thestable underneath, and talking to Jimmy, who had been a pit-horse,and who was seedy.
"Well, Jimmy my lad, how are ter? Nobbut sick an'sadly, like? Why, then, it's a shame, my owd lad."
She heard the rope run through the hole as the horse lifted itshead from the lad's caress. How she loved to listen when he thoughtonly the horse could hear. But there was a serpent in her Eden. She searched earnestly in herself to see if she wanted Paul Morel. She felt there would be some disgrace in it. Full of twisted feeling,she was afraid she did want him. She stood self-convicted. Thencame an agony of new shame. She shrank within herself in a coilof torture. Did she want Paul Morel, and did he know she wanted him? What a subtle infamy upon her. She felt as if her whole soul coiledinto knots of shame.
Agatha was dressed first, and ran downstairs. Miriam heardher greet the lad gaily, knew exactly how brilliant her greyeyes became with that tone. She herself would have felt it boldto have greeted him in such wise. Yet there she stood under theself-accusation of wanting him, tied to that stake of torture. In bitter perplexity she kneeled down and prayed:
"O Lord, let me not love Paul Morel. Keep me from loving him,if I ought not to love him."
Something anomalous in the prayer arrested her. She liftedher head and pondered. How could it be wrong to love him? Love wasGod's gift. And yet it caused her shame. That was because of him,Paul Morel. But, then, it was not his affair, it was her own,between herself and God. She was to be a sacrifice. But it wasGod's sacrifice, not Paul Morel's or her own. After a few minutesshe hid her face in the pillow again, and said:
"But, Lord, if it is Thy will that I should love him,make me love him--as Christ would, who died for the souls of men. Make me love him splendidly, because he is Thy son."
She remained kneeling for some time, quite still, and deeply moved,her black hair against the red squares and the lavender-spriggedsquares of the patchwork quilt. Prayer was almost essential to her.Then she fell into that rapture of self-sacrifice,identifying herself with a God who was sacrificed, which givesto so many human souls their deepest bliss.
When she went downstairs Paul was lying back in an armchair,holding forth with much vehemence to Agatha, who was scorning a littlepainting he had brought to show her. Miriam glanced at the two,and avoided their levity. She went into the parlour to be alone.
It was tea-time before she was able to speak to Paul, and thenher manner was so distant he thought he had offended her.
Miriam discontinued her practice of going each Thursday eveningto the library in Bestwood. After calling for Paul regularlyduring the whole spring, a number of trifling incidents and tinyinsults from his family awakened her to their attitude towards her,and she decided to go no more. So she announced to Paul one eveningshe would not call at his house again for him on Thursday nights.
"Why?" he asked, very short.
"Nothing. Only I'd rather not."
"Very well."
"But," she faltered, "if you'd care to meet me, we could stillgo together."
"Meet you where?"
"Somewhere--where you like."
"I shan't meet you anywhere. I don't see why you shouldn'tkeep calling for me. But if you won't, I don't want to meet you."
So the Thursday evenings which had been so precious to her,and to him, were dropped. He worked instead. Mrs. Morel sniffedwith satisfaction at this arrangement.
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