THE house in which Aldyth Lorraine lived with her aunt was scarcely ten minutes' walk from Mrs. Bland's. The High Street took a turn just above the Blands' door, and winding round to the left, ended at an open space where three roads met. To the left diverged the Tolleshunt and Longbridge roads. The road, which was almost a continuation of the High Street, was known as the London Road, and was the more fashionable part of Woodham. Here were the newest and smartest villas that the little town could boast; but here and there amongst them stood a house with a history, a history which went back through many generations, so that one might imagine the old dwelling to look with contempt on its modern, upstart neighbours.

Miss Lorraine's house was one of the old ones, and was known as Myrtle Cottage. It was not very convenient, but it was picturesque, having a thatched roof, and walls tapestried with ivy. It stood in a pretty garden, sheltered by a thick hawthorn hedge, and, as it was the last of the houses, and the road dipped sharply on the other side, it had a fine view of a wide expanse of flat country, green meadows and hedgerows, cornfields and copses, melting away into the exquisite blue of distance.

Leaving the Blands, Aldyth walked quickly to the cottage, but her haste did not prevent her pausing for a moment with her hand on the gate to gaze at the far-reaching prospect bathed in the mellow light of the lovely September afternoon. There was something to Aldyth very heart-satisfying in that broad, fair landscape, and she never wearied of looking at it.

But as she gazed now, she became aware that a young man was seated on the low bank at the other side of the road. For a moment she imagined that he was merely sitting there to enjoy the prospect, but another glance showed her that he was very pale, and there was blood on the handkerchief he was pressing to his temple; his cap lay in the dust, and leaning against the hedge, a few paces down the bill, was a bicycle, which seemed to have come to grief. Instantly Aldyth crossed the road, saying, kindly—

"I fear you have had an accident. Are you much hurt?"

"Oh, it is nothing, thank you," said the stranger, in refined, courteous tones; "I have had an awkward fall and cut my forehead, but the pain is nothing, if only it would stop bleeding."

"Won't you come in and let my aunt see what she can do for you?" said Aldyth. "This is her house, and she is rather clever at dressing wounds."

"You are very kind," said the young man, meeting Aldyth's glance with a pair of clear blue eyes that had a very penetrative gaze; "but I think there is no need to trouble your aunt; I shall be all right in a few minutes."

But a fresh spurt of blood from the wound made him press the handkerchief closer to his face, and the colour which had returned to it died away.

"Indeed, you had better come in," said Aldyth, earnestly. "You know you really cannot go home like that. People would stare at you so."

The last words had their effect. The young man's face broke into a merry smile.

"They would indeed," he said. "I had not thought of that. And the boys! What entertainment for them! Thank you, I will avail myself of your kindness."

"That is right," said Aldyth, making a movement as though she would pick up his cap, but he saw her intention and was before her, though stooping brought a return of the giddiness which he had at first experienced. She had to help him bring his bicycle within the garden, then she hurried on to the house, the stranger following with a slow and somewhat uncertain step.

Happily Miss Lorraine was at home. She was seated at her desk in the little drawing room which opened at one side of the front door. A great talker, Miss Lorraine was not less great as a correspondent. When not paying calls or entertaining visitors, she was generally to be found writing letters.

"Aunt Lucy, here is a gentleman I met at the gate. He has had an accident; he fell from his bicycle. Do come and see what you can do for him."

"My dear! An accident?" cried Miss Lorraine, springing up with alacrity.

She came bustling into the hall, a comely little woman, whose age it would have been difficult to determine, for her black hair was scarce touched with grey, her eyes bright; she moved and spoke briskly, and was always dressed in a dainty, becoming style. Of great energy, she loved to be of use in any way, and, as Aldyth knew well, was delighted by this unexpected call to render surgical aid.

Aldyth had not given a thought to the individuality of the stranger, but Miss Lorraine recognized the gentleman who had been pointed out to her that morning as the new master at the Woodham Grammar School. She welcomed him heartily, took him in hand at once in her quick, energetic fashion, and had soon sponged the wound and dressed it, not unskilfully, with lint and plaster.

"Now, Mr. Glynne, you must stay and take tea with me and Aldyth. Yes, indeed you must rest after such a shock, and the quieter you keep, the sooner the wound will heal."

"You are very kind," said John Glynne, feeling the attraction of the bright little home in which he found himself, and inclined to accept the invitation; "but you have the advantage of me, since you know my name, whilst I have yet to learn to whom I am indebted for such kind services."

"Oh, no one can be long a stranger at Woodham," said Miss Lorraine; "we have a curious faculty—have we not, Aldyth?—of finding out the history of everybody, and if you had been here more than one day, Mr. Glynne, you would have learned that I am Miss Lorraine, and this is my niece Aldyth. I am pretty well-known, having lived at Woodham all my life. And there are few persons in the neighbourhood who have not heard of my father, Dr. Lorraine, who practised as a physician here for many years. People would come miles to consult him."

"And did he leave no son to succeed to his practice?" asked Mr. Glynne.

"No," said Miss Lorraine, a shadow falling on her face; "I had but one brother, Aldyth's father, and he chose the army as his profession. Charlie Bland was my father's partner, and he succeeded him; but he died, poor fellow, a few years later. His widow and family live in that large house with bow-windows at the top of the High Street."

But Mr. Glynne had to confess that he was so new to Woodham that he had not yet observed the Blands' house.

"I fancy the name Bland has come before me to-day," he said. "Is there a boy at the school belonging to the family?"

"Yes, Charlie Bland goes to the school," said Aldyth. "He is a nice boy. I know him well, for the Blands are great friends of mine."

Miss Lorraine was moving to and fro between dining room and drawing room on hospitable thoughts intent. Nothing could please her better than that she should be the first lady at Woodham to make the acquaintance of the new master. As for John Glynne, he was beginning to regard his accident as a fortunate occurrence, since it had introduced him to this bright, good-natured woman and her charming niece. Aldyth felt considerable inward amusement as she talked to this wholly unexpected visitor.

"What will Kitty say?" she thought. "She will wish he had fallen from his bicycle at their door."

"Tea is ready. Will you come into the next room, Mr. Glynne?" said Miss Lorraine, rising to lead the way. "Now had you not better rest on the sofa? No, won't you really? Then you must take this easy-chair. There! You look quite interesting with your head bandaged."

At this remark the young man sprang to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror above the mantelshelf He coloured, and laughed as he saw the effect of the bandage.

"I hope it will not be necessary to appear before my pupils in this headgear," he said.

Catching his half-rueful, half-humorous expression, Aldyth broke into a merry laugh, in which her aunt joined.

"You need not fear that," said Miss Lorraine. "The wound will have stanched by and by, and I can remove that unsightly bandage. It really makes you look as if you had been fighting."

And the three laughed again.

"It is a punishment for reckless riding," said Mr. Glynne. "But I was unprepared for such a sudden descent. I thought Essex roads were guiltless of hills."

"So many persons suppose," said Miss Lorraine. "But Essex is really not so flat as it is represented to be. There are many hills about Woodham, are there not, Aldyth?"

"They seem considerable hills to us," replied Aldyth. "But I dare say people coming from hilly districts would not think much of them. From what part of the country do you come, Mr. Glynne?"

"I was brought up in Norfolk," he said, "but we have lived in London now for many years."

"Norfolk!" exclaimed Miss Lorraine, eagerly. "Was your father a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Yarmouth?"

"He was," said Mr. Glynne, looking surprised; "did you know him?"

"And your mother's name was Susan Staines before she married?" said Miss Lorraine, in her eagerness passing by his question.

"It was—then you know my mother?" said the young man, his face lighting up with pleasure. "How strange!"

"We were girls at school together; she was my great friend in those days," said Miss Lorraine; "but she went abroad to perfect herself in the foreign languages, and gradually our correspondence dropped. I heard some years later that she had married a clergyman, and was living near Yarmouth; then, after a while, I heard that her husband was dead. I have often longed to see her again. And now I see her son. How strange it seems!"

"My mother will be delighted to hear that I have met with an old friend of hers," said John Glynne. "I will tell her when I write to-morrow."

"Yes, do," said Miss Lorraine, "and give her my love—Lucy Lorraine's love. Tell her I mean to be your friend, if you will let me, for your mother's sake. For indeed you seem no stranger now."

"You have shown yourself a good friend to me already," said John Glynne; "but I am glad that you know my mother. It makes me feel at home with you."

"Are you her only child?" asked Miss Lorraine.

"No; there are three of us. I have a brother and a sister. I am the eldest. My mother was left with very limited means, and she has had a struggle to bring us up. But things are easier for her now, I am thankful to say."

"You have helped to make them easier," was Aldyth's quick thought, as she saw the expression his face wore when he spoke of his mother.

It was a good face, and more and more it won on her, despite the ugly bandage which concealed the square compact forehead, betokening a high order of intellect. The features were not handsome, but they were strong; the blue eyes had the kindest, frankest look in them, and the curves of the mouth and the peculiarly sweet smile told of a warm, true heart.

"He is a good son," was the conclusion at which Aldyth arrived intuitively, and the thought deepened the friendly regard in which she already held him. His age she judged to be about seven-and-twenty.

"So you have come to the Grammar School," said Miss Lorraine, after a moment's reflection. "Are you fond of teaching?"

"Yes," he said; but Aldyth saw that his face clouded a little. "I believe I like teaching, but I cannot say that I am very fond of the drudgery of teaching small boys. I had hoped to obtain a different kind of appointment, but it fell to another, and being offered this post at the Woodham School, I thought it right to take it. My mother does not like it for me, but I tell her the experience will be very salutary. I have lately been attempting University Extension Lectures."

"Have you?" exclaimed Aldyth, greatly interested. "Oh, I have heard of them—lectures on literature and science, with classes afterwards for those who are earnest students. How I wish we could have something of the kind here!"

"Why should you not?" he asked. "Surely there are enough people at Woodham to form a centre."

"There are people enough, no doubt," said Aldyth; "but I fear they are not sufficiently intellectual. They would not care to improve their minds. On what subjects do you lecture, Mr. Glynne?"

"Literature is my subject," he said. "I have lectured chiefly on Shakespeare and the poets."

"On Shakespeare! How delightful!" exclaimed Aldyth. "I would give anything to study Shakespeare with one who really understood him. I always feel my own narrowness and ignorance when I come to Shakespeare. And Wordsworth, I long to read him intelligently. I have always loved his poetry, though I hardly know why I love it so much. I should like to be able to appreciate it rightly. Some of his poems seem to me so much grander than others."

"There is no doubt that his work was unequal, and it is curious how unable he was to discern his own highest work," said Mr. Glynne; "but I am glad you love Wordsworth, Miss Lorraine, for I have a great enthusiasm for him, and it is but rarely I meet any one who shares the feeling. It is a bond of sympathy between us."

He looked at her with frank, boyish pleasure in his clear, bright eyes. Aldyth met his gaze unshrinkingly, but she too was conscious of a thrill of pleasure. To one whose life is bounded by a narrow circle, it is a great gain to find a friend who shares one's intellectual tastes and predilections.

"We must have some lectures this winter; I see no reason why we should not," said Miss Lorraine, in her quick, decisive way. "It would be a capital thing for the young people. Tell me how to set about it, Mr. Glynne, and I will see what I can do."

"Auntie!" cried Aldyth, in a tone of delight.

"You must get together a committee of ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Glynne. "Appoint a local secretary, hire a room for the lectures, choose your subject, and apply to the University Extension Society for a lecturer, arrange the terms for the course of lectures, making them as low as you can without incurring debt, and issue bill and circulars announcing the lectures."

"All that is not difficult," said Miss Lorraine. "I will speak to some of my friends on the subject to-morrow. But you must give the lectures, Mr. Glynne. I will only move in the matter on that condition."

But Mr. Glynne would make no promise, though he appeared not unwilling to fill the post of lecturer if he found that his other engagements would permit him to do so. He sat talking to Miss Lorraine and her niece till long after it grew dusk, and when at last he walked away to his lodgings, there was no fear of any one's seeing the patch upon his temple.

The day's incident had given a brighter colour to the prospect of his sojourn at Woodham. Already he had made friends in the little town, and he felt sure that its inhabitants were simple-hearted, good-natured people, acquaintance with whom could yield only pleasure.

As for Aldyth, after he had gone, she awoke to the fact that she had quite forgotten the long letter to her mother which should have been finished that evening.