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This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1880. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER IV. Into the already numerous displeasures and uneasinesses of Gillian's lot there is now a new element introduced. The seed cast by Sophia's careless hand has germinated and begun to spring. It is with altered and anxious eyes that she now looks at the Squire. God wot she wishes him health and long life; and yet, to her awakened perceptions it is a shock to find how illusory has been the idea of venerable age with which she has been investing him. There is absolutely nothing reverend in the short grizzled hair, thick and upright, that she has been wont to stroke with protecting, tender hand, as if no rough breeze must be allowed to handle anything so venerable and so dear. Still less is there anything that speaks of caducity in the thick-set sturdy figure and the vigorous limbs. 'About how old are you, dear?' she says to him one day, after having been looking at him for a long time, head on hand, with an air of pensive disquiet; 'would you mind telling me?' 'How old I am!' repeats the Squire, in a doubtful voice. 'Ah, there you puzzle me, Gill! That is what I never can recollect myself. I know that I am somewhere in the fifties, and that I was born on a Monday--Monday's child is full of grace, they say --but if you were to kill me for it, I could not tell you to a year.' Somewhere in the fifties. On the sunny side of sixty therefore, as Sophia said. A foreboding misgiving strikes chill to Gillian's heart. If she has been right so far, what is there to hinder her being right altogether? What is there to prevent him from bringing home any day that able-bodied stepmother of whom Miss Tarlton had prophetically spoken? Each time that, in the innocency of his heart, he goes out about his usual business and pleasures, she half expects to see him return leading...
