All this Caroline knew, partly by instinct, partly by observation; she regulated her conduct by her knowledge, ledge, keeping her pale face and wasted figure as much out of sight as she could. Living thus in complete seclusion, she ceased to receive intelligence of the little transactions of the neighbourhood.

One morning her uncle came into the parlour, where she sat endeavouring to find some pleasure in painting a little group of wild flowers, gathered under a hedge at the top of the Hollow fields, and said to her in his abrupt manner:

‘Come, child, you are always stooping over palette, or book, or sampler; leave that tinting work. By-the- by, do you put your pencil to your lips when you paint?’

‘Sometimes, uncle, when I forget.’

‘Then it is that which is poisoning you. The paints are deleterious, child; there is white lead and red lead, and verdigris, and gamboge, and twenty other poisons in those colour cakes. Lock them up! lock them up! Get your bonnet on. I want you to make a call with me.’

‘With you, uncle?’

This question was asked in a tone of surprise. She was not accustomed to make calls with her uncle; she never rode or walked out with him on any occasion.

‘Quick! quick! I am always busy, you know; I have no time to lose.’

She hurriedly gathered up her materials, asking, meantime, where they were going.

‘To Fieldhead.’

‘Fieldhead! What, to see old James Booth, the gardener? Is he ill?’

‘We are going to see Miss Shirley Keeldar.’

‘Miss Keeldar! Is she come to Yorkshire? Is she at Fieldhead?’

‘She is. She has been there a week. I met her at a party last night—that party to which you would not go. I was pleased with her. I choose that you shall make her acquaintance; it will do you good.’

‘She is now come of age, I suppose?’

‘She is come of age, and will reside for a time on her property. I lectured her on the subject; I showed her her duty. She is not intractable; she is rather a fine girl; she will teach you what it is to have a sprightly spirit—nothing lackadaisical about her.’

‘I don’t think she will want to see me, or to have me introduced to her. What good can I do her? How can I amuse her?’

‘Pshaw! Put your bonnet on.’

‘Is she proud, uncle?’

‘Don’t know. You hardly imagine she would show her pride to me, I suppose? A chit like that would scarcely presume to give herself airs with the Rector of her parish, however rich she might be.’

‘No. But how did she behave to other people?’

‘Didn’t observe. She holds her head high, and probably can be saucy enough where she dare—she wouldn’t be a woman otherwise. There! away now for your bonnet at once.’