The yellow door, as the old woman had said, was not to be mistaken. Again Ellen dismounted and knocked; then she heard a slow step coming along the entry, and the pleasant kind face of Miss Janet appeared at the open door. It was a real refreshment, and Ellen wanted one.

"Why, it's dear little—ain't it—her that lives down to Miss Fortune Emerson's?—yes, it is; come in, dear; I'm very glad to see you. How's all at your house?"

"Is the doctor at home, ma'am?"

"No, dear, he ain't to home just this minute, but he'll be in directly. Come in;—is that your horse?—just hitch him to the post there so he won't run away, and come right in. Who did you come along with?"

"Nobody, ma'am; I came alone," said Ellen, while she obeyed Miss Janet's directions.

"Alone! on that 'ere little skittish creeter?—he's as handsome as a picture too—why do tell if you warn't afraid? it a'most scares me to think of it."

"I was a little afraid," said Ellen, as she followed Miss Janet along the entry, "but I couldn't help that. You think the doctor will soon be in, ma'am?"

"Yes, dear, sure of it," said Miss Janet, kissing Ellen and taking off her bonnet; "he won't be five minutes, for it's a'most dinner time. What's the matter, dear? is Miss Fortune sick again?"

"No, ma'am," said Ellen sadly, "Mr. Van Brunt has fallen through the trap-door in the barn and broken his leg."

"Oh!" cried the old lady, with a face of real horror, "you don't tell me! Fell through the trap-door! and he ain't a light weight neither. Oh, that is a lamentable event! And how is the poor old mother, dear?"

"She is very much troubled, ma'am," said Ellen, crying at the remembrance: "and he has been lying ever since early this morning without anybody to set it; I have been going round and round for a doctor this ever so long."

"Why, warn't there nobody to come but you, you poor lamb?" said Miss Janet.

"No, ma'am; nobody quick enough; and I had the Brownie, there, and so I came."

"Well, cheer up, dear! the doctor will be here now, and we'll send him right off; he won't be long about his dinner, I'll engage. Come and set in this big cheer—do—it'll rest you; I see you're a'most tired out, and it ain't a wonder. There, don't that feel better? now I'll give you a little sup of dinner, for you won't want to swallow it at the rate Leander will his'n. Dear! dear! to think of poor Mr. Van Brunt. He's a likely man too; I'm very sorry for him and his poor mother. A kind body she is as ever the sun shined upon."

"And so is he," said Ellen.

"Well, so I daresay," said Miss Janet, "but I don't know so much about him; howsoever he's got everybody's good word as far as I know; he's a likely man."

The little room in which Miss Janet had brought Ellen was very plainly furnished indeed, but as neat as hands could make it. The carpet was as crumbless and lintless as if meals were never taken there nor work seen; and yet a little table ready set for dinner forbade the one conclusion, and a huge basket of naperies in one corner showed that Miss Janet's industry did not spend itself in housework alone. Before the fire stood a pretty good-sized kettle, and a very appetising smell came from it to Ellen's nose. In spite of sorrow and anxiety her ride had made her hungry. It was not without pleasure that she saw her kind hostess arm herself with a deep plate and tin dipper, and carefully taking off the pot cover, so that no drops might fall on the hearth, proceed to ladle out a goodly supply of what Ellen knew was that excellent country dish called pot-pie. Excellent it is when well made, and that was Miss Janet's. The pieces of crust were white and light like new bread, the very tit-bits of the meat she culled out for Ellen; and the soup-gravy poured over all would have met even Miss Fortune's wishes, from its just degree of richness and exact seasoning. Smoking hot it was placed before Ellen on a little stand by her easy-chair, with some nice bread and butter; and presently Miss Janet poured her out a cup of tea; "for," she said, "Leander never could take his dinner without it." Ellen's appetite needed no silver fork. Tea and pot-pie were never better liked; yet Miss Janet's enjoyment was perhaps greater still. She sat talking and looking at her little visitor with secret but immense satisfaction.

"Have you heard what fine doings we're agoing to have here by-and-by?" said she. "The doctor's tired of me; he's going to get a new housekeeper; he's going to get married some of these days."

"Is he?" said Ellen. "Not to Jenny?"

"Yes, indeed he is—to Jenny—Jenny Hitchcock; and a nice little wife she'll make him. You're a great friend of Jenny, I know."

"How soon?" said Ellen.

"Oh, not just yet—by-and-by—after we get a little smarted up, I guess; before a great while. Don't you think he'll be a happy man?"

Ellen could not help wondering, as the doctor just then came in, and she looked up at his unfortunate three-cornered face, whether Jenny would be a happy woman. But as people often do, she only judged from the outside; Jenny had not made such a bad choice after all.

The doctor said he would go directly to Mr. Van Brunt after he had been over to Mrs. Sibnorth's; it wouldn't be a minute. Ellen meant to ride back in his company; and having finished her dinner, waited now only for him. But the one minute passed—two minutes—ten—twenty—she waited impatiently, but he came not.

"I'll tell you how it must be," said his sister, "he's gone off without his dinner, calculating to get it at Miss Hitchcock's; he'd be glad of the chance. That's how it is, dear; and you'll have to ride home alone. I'm real sorry. S'pose you stop till evening, and I'll make the doctor go along with you. But, oh dear! maybe he wouldn't be able to neither; he's got to go up to that tiresome Mrs. Robin's; it's too bad. Well, take good care of yourself, darling. Couldn't you stop till it's cooler? Well, come and see me as soon as you can again, but don't come without some one else along! Good-bye! I wish I could keep you."

She went to the door to see her mount, and smiled and nodded her off.

Ellen was greatly refreshed with her rest and her dinner; it grieved her that the Brownie had not fared as well. All the refreshment that kind words and patting could give him she gave, promised him the freshest of water and the sweetest of hay when he should reach home, and begged him to keep up his spirits and hold on for a little longer. It may be doubted whether the Brownie understood the full sense of her words, but he probably knew what the kind tones and gentle hand meant. He answered cheerfully; threw up his head and gave a little neigh, as much as to say, he wasn't going to mind a few hours of sunshine; and trotted on as if he knew his face was towards home—which no doubt he did. Luckily it was not a very hot day; for August it was remarkably cool and beautiful; indeed, there was little very hot weather ever known in Thirlwall. Ellen's heart felt easier, now that her business was done; and when she had left the town behind her and was again in the fields, she was less timid than she had been before; she was going towards home; that makes a great difference; and every step was bringing her nearer. "I am glad I came after all," she thought; "but I hope I shall never have to do such a thing again. But I am glad I came."

She had no more than crossed the little bridge, however, when she saw what brought her heart into her mouth. It was Mr. Saunders, lolling under it tree. What could he have come there for at that time of day? A vague feeling crossed her mind that if she could only get past him she should pass a danger; she thought to ride by without seeming to see him, and quietly gave the Brownie a pat to make him go faster. But as she drew near Mr. Saunders rose up, came to the middle of the road, and taking hold of her bridle, checked her pony's pace so that he could walk alongside, to Ellen's unspeakable dismay.

"What's kept you so long?" said he; "I've been looking out for you this great while. Had hard work to find the doctor?"

"Won't you please to let go of my horse?" said Ellen, her heart beating very fast; "I am in a great hurry to get home; please don't keep me."

"Oh, I want to see you a little," said Mr. Saunders; "you ain't in such a hurry to get away from me as that comes to, are you?"

Ellen was silent.

"It's quite a long time since I saw you last," said he; "how have the merinoes worn?"

Ellen could not bear to look at his face, and did not see the expression which went with these words, yet she felt it.

"They have worn very well," said she; "but I want to get home very much—please let me go."

"Not yet—not yet," said he—"oh no, not yet. I want to talk to you. Why, what are you in such a devil of a hurry for? I came out on purpose; do you think I am going to have all my long waiting for nothing?"

Ellen did not know what to say; her heart sprang with a nameless pang to the thought, if she ever got free from this! Meanwhile she was not free.

"Whose horse is that you're on?"

"Mine," said Ellen.

"Your'n! that's a likely story. I guess he ain't your'n, and so you won't mind if I touch him up a little; I want to see how well you can sit on a horse."

Passing his arm through the bridle as he said these words, Mr. Saunders led the pony down to the side of the road where grew a clump of high bushes, and with some trouble cut off a long stout sapling. Ellen looked in every direction while he was doing this, despairing, as she looked, of aid from any quarter of the broad quiet open country. Oh for wings! But she could not leave the Brownie if she had them.

Returning to the middle of the road, Mr. Saunders amused himself as they walked along with stripping off all the leaves and little twigs from his sapling, leaving it when done a very good imitation of an ox-whip in size and length, with a fine lash-like point. Ellen watched him in an ecstasy of apprehension, afraid alike to speak or to be silent.

"There! what do you think of that?" said he, giving it two or three switches in the air to try its suppleness and toughness; "don't that look like a whip? Now we'll see how he'll go!"

"Please don't do anything with it," said Ellen earnestly; "I never touch him with a whip—he doesn't need it—he isn't used to it; pray, pray do not!"

"Oh, we'll just tickle him a little with it," said Mr. Saunders coolly; "I want to see how well you'll sit him; just make him caper a little bit."

He accordingly applied the switch lightly to the Brownie's heels, enough to annoy without hurting him. The Brownie showed signs of uneasiness, quitted his quiet pace, and took to little starts and springs and whiskey motions, most unpleasing to his rider.

"Oh, do not!" cried Ellen, almost beside herself; "he's very spirited, and I don't know what he will do if you trouble him."

"You let me take care of that," said Mr. Saunders; "if he troubles me I'll give it to him! If he rears up, only you catch hold of his mane and hold on tight, and you won't fall off; I want to see him rear."

"But you'll give him bad tricks!" said Ellen. "Oh, pray don't do so! It's very bad for him to be teased. I am afraid he will kick if you do so, and he'd be ruined if he got a habit of kicking. Oh, please let us go!" said she, with the most acute accent of entreaty—"I want to be home."

"You keep quiet," said Mr. Saunders coolly; "if he kicks I'll give him such a lathering as he never had yet; he won't do it but once. I ain't agoing to hurt him, but I am agoing to make him rear; no, I won't—I'll make him leap over a rail, the first bar-place we come to; that'll be prettier."

"Oh, you mustn't do that," said Ellen; "I have not learned to leap yet; I couldn't keep on; you mustn't do that, if you please."

"You just hold fast and hold your tongue. Catch hold of his ears, and you'll stick on fast enough; if you can't you may get down, for I am going to make him take the leap whether you will or no." Ellen feared still more to get off and leave the Brownie to her tormentor's mercy than to stay where she was and take her chance. She tried in vain, as well as she could, to soothe her horse; the touches of the whip coming now in one place and now in another, and some of them pretty sharp, he began to grow very frisky indeed; and she began to be very much frightened for fear she should suddenly be jerked off. With a good deal of presence of mind, though wrought up to a terrible pitch of excitement and fear, Ellen gave her best attention to keeping her seat as the Brownie sprang and started and jumped to one side and the other; Mr. Saunders holding the bridle as loose as possible so as to give him plenty of room. For some little time he amused himself with this game, the horse growing more and more irritated. At length a smart stroke of the whip upon his haunches made the Brownie spring in a way that brought Ellen's heart into her mouth, and almost threw her off.

"Oh, don't!" cried Ellen, bursting into tears for the first time; she had with great effort commanded them back until now. "Poor Brownie! How can you! Oh, please let us go!—please let us go!"

For one minute she dropped her face in her hands.

"Be quiet!" said Mr. Saunders. "Here's a bar-place—now for the leap!"

Ellen wiped away her tears, forced back those that were coming, and began the most earnest remonstrance and pleading with Mr. Saunders that she knew how to make. He paid her no sort of attention. He led the Brownie to the side of the road, let down all the bars but the lower two, let go the bridle, and stood a little off prepared with his whip to force the horse to take the spring.

"I tell you I shall fall," said Ellen, reining him back. "How can you be so cruel? I want to go home!"

"Well, you ain't agoing home yet. Get off if you are afraid," said Mr. Saunders.

But though trembling in every nerve from head to foot, Ellen fancied the Brownie was safer so long as he had her on his back; she would not leave him. She pleaded her best, which Mr. Saunders heard as if it was amusing, and without making any answer kept the horse capering in front of the bars, pretending every minute he was going to whip him up to take the leap. His object, however, was merely to gratify the smallest of minds by teasing a child he had a spite against; he had no intention to risk breaking her bones by a fall from her horse; so in time he had enough of the bar-place; took the bridle again and walked on. Ellen drew breath a little more freely.

"Did you hear how I handled your old gentleman after that time?" said Mr. Saunders.

Ellen made no answer.

"No one ever affronts me that don't hear news of it afterwards, and so he found to his cost. I paid him off, to my heart's content. I gave the old fellow a lesson to behave in future. I forgive him now entirely. By the way, I've a little account to settle with you. Didn't you ask Mr. Perriman this morning if Dr. Gibson was in the house?"

"I don't know who it was," said Ellen.

"Well, hadn't I told you just before he warn't there?"

Ellen was silent.

"What did you do that for, eh? Didn't you believe me?"

Still she did not speak.

"I say!" said Mr. Saunders, touching the Brownie as he spoke, "did you think I told you a lie about it?—eh?"

"I didn't know but he might be there," Ellen forced herself to say.

"Then you didn't believe me?" said he, always with that same smile upon his face; Ellen knew that.

"Now that warn't handsome of you; and I am agoing to punish you for it, somehow or 'nother; but it ain't pretty to quarrel with ladies, so Brownie and me'll settle it together. You won't mind that, I dare say."

"What are you going to do?" said Ellen, as he once more drew her down to the side of the fence.

"Get off, and you'll see," said he, laughing. "Get off, and you'll see."

"What do you want to do?" repeated Ellen, though scarce able to speak the words.

"I'm just going to tickle Brownie a little, to teach you to believe honest folks when they speak the truth. Get off!"

"No, I won't," said Ellen, throwing both arms round the neck of her pony. "Poor Brownie! You shan't do it. He hasn't done you any harm, nor I either. You are a bad man!"

"Get off!" repeated Mr. Saunders.

"I will not!" said Ellen, still clinging fast.

"Very well," said he coolly, "then I will take you off; it don't make much difference. We'll go along a little further till I find a nice stone for you to sit down upon. If you had got off then I wouldn't ha' done much to him, but I'll give it to him now! If he hasn't been used to a whip he'll know pretty well what it means by the time I have done with him; and then you may go home as fast as you can."

It is very likely Mr. Saunders would have been as good, or as bad, as his word. His behaviour to Ellen in the store at New York, and the measures taken by the old gentleman who had befriended her, had been the cause of his dismissal from the employ of Messrs. St. Clair and Fleury. Two or three other attempts to get into business had come to nothing, and he had been obliged to return to his native town. Ever since, Ellen and the old gentleman had lived in his memory as objects of the deepest spite;—the one for interfering, the other for having been the innocent cause; and he no sooner saw her in the post-office than he promised himself revenge, such revenge as only the meanest and most cowardly spirit could have taken pleasure in. His best way of distressing Ellen, he found, was through her horse; he had almost satisfied himself; but very naturally his feelings of spite had grown stronger and blunter with indulgence, and he meant to wind up with such a treatment of her pony, real or seeming, as he knew would give great pain to the pony's mistress. He was prevented.

As they went slowly along, Ellen still clasping the Brownie's neck, and resolved to cling to him to the last, Mr. Saunders making him caper in a way very uncomfortable to her, one was too busy and the other too deafened by fear to notice the sound of fast approaching hoofs behind them. It happened that John Humphreys had passed the night at Ventnor; and having an errand to do for a friend at Thirlwall, had taken that road, which led him but a few miles out of his way, and was now at full speed on his way home. He had never made the Brownie's acquaintance, and did not recognise Ellen as he came up; but in passing them, some strange notion crossing his mind, he wheeled his horse round directly in front of the astonished pair.

Ellen quitted her pony's neck, and stretching out both arms towards him, exclaimed, and almost shrieked, "Oh, John, John! send him away! make him let me go!"

"What are you about, sir?" said the new comer sternly.

"It's none of your business!" answered Mr. Saunders, in whom rage for the time overcame cowardice.

"Take your hand off the bridle!" with a slight touch of the riding-whip upon the hand in question.

"Not for you, brother," said Mr. Saunders sneeringly. "I'll walk with any lady I've a mind to. Look out for yourself!"

"We will dispense with your further attendance," said John coolly. "Do you hear me? Do as I order you!"

The speaker did not put himself in a passion, and Mr. Saunders, accustomed for his own part to make bluster serve instead of prowess, despised a command so calmly given. Ellen, who knew the voice, and still better, could read the eye, drew conclusions very different. She was almost breathless with terror. Saunders was enraged and mortified at an interference that promised to baffle him; he was a stout young man, and judged himself the stronger of the two, and took notice besides that the stranger had nothing in his hand but a slight riding-whip. He answered very insolently and with an oath; and John saw that he was taking the bridle in his left hand and shifting his sapling whip so as to bring the club end of it uppermost. The next instant he aimed a furious blow at his adversary's horse. The quick eye and hand of the rider disappointed that with a sudden swerve. In another moment, and Ellen hardly saw how, it was so quick, John had dismounted, taken Mr. Saunders by the collar, and hurled him quite over into the gully at the side of the road, where he lay at full length without stirring. "Ride on, Ellen!" said her deliverer.

She obeyed. He stayed a moment to say to his fallen adversary a few words of pointed warning as to ever repeating his offence; then remounted and spurred forward to join Ellen. All her power of keeping up was gone, now that the necessity was over. Her head was once more bowed on her pony's neck, her whole frame shaking with convulsive sobs; she could scarce with great effort keep from crying out aloud.

"Ellie!" said her adopted brother, in a voice that could hardly be known for the one that had last spoken. She had no words, but as he gently took one of her hands, the convulsive squeeze it gave him showed the state of nervous excitement she was in. It was very long before his utmost efforts could soothe her, or she could command herself enough to tell him her story. When at last told, it was with many tears.

"Oh how could he! how could he!" said poor Ellen; "how could he do so—it was very hard!"

An involuntary touch of the spurs made John's horse start.

"But what took you to Thirlwall alone?" said he; "you have not told me that yet."

Ellen went back to Timothy's invasion of the cabbages, and gave him the whole history of the morning.

"I thought when I was going for the doctor at first," said she, "and then afterwards when I had found him, what a good thing it was that Timothy broke down the garden fence and got in this morning; for if it had not been for that I should not have gone to Mr. Van Brunt's; and then again after that I thought, if he only hadn't!"

"Little things often draw after them long trains of circumstances," said John, "and that shows the folly of those people who think that God does not stoop to concern Himself about trifles; life, and much more than life, may hang upon the turn of a hand. But, Ellen, you must ride no more alone. Promise me that you will not."

"I will not to Thirlwall, certainly," said Ellen, "but mayn't I to Alice's? how can I help it?"

"Well—to Alice's—that is a safe part of the country; but I should like to know a little more of your horse before trusting you even there."

"Of the Brownie?" said Ellen; "oh, he is as good as he can be; you need not be afraid of him; he has no trick at all; there never was such a good little horse."

John smiled. "How do you like mine?" said he.

"Is that your new one? Oh, what a beauty!—oh me—what a beauty! I didn't look at him before. Oh, I like him much! he's handsomer than the Brownie; do you like him?"

"Very well! this is the first trial I have made of him. I was at Mr. Marshman's last night, and they detained me this morning, or I should have been here much earlier. I am very well satisfied with him so far."

"And if you had not been detained," said Ellen.

"Yes, Ellie, I should not have fretted at my late breakfast, and having to try Mr. Marshman's favourite mare, if I had known what good purpose the delay was to serve. I wish I could have been here half-an-hour sooner, though."

"Is his name the Black Prince?" said Ellen, returning to the horse.

"Yes, I believe so; but you shall change it, Ellie, if you can find one you like better."

"Oh, I cannot! I like that very much. How beautiful he is! Is he good?"

"I hope so," said John, smiling; "if he is not I shall be at the pains to make him so. We are hardly acquainted yet."

Ellen looked doubtfully at the black horse and his rider, and patting the Brownie's neck, observed with great satisfaction that he was very good.

John had been riding very slowly on Ellen's account; they now mended their pace. He saw, however, that she still looked miserable, and exerted himself to turn her thoughts from everything disagreeable. Much to her amusement he rode round her two or three times, to view her horse and show her his own; commended the Brownie; praised her bridle hand; corrected several things about her riding; and by degrees engaged her in a very animated conversation. Ellen roused up; the colour came back to her cheeks; and when they reached home and rode round to the glass door she looked almost like herself.

She sprang off as usual without waiting for any help. John scarce saw that she had done so, when Alice's cry of joy brought him to the door, and from that together they went into their father's study. Ellen was left alone on the lawn. Something was the matter, for she stood with swimming eyes and a trembling lip rubbing her stirrup, which really needed no polishing, and forgetting the tired horses, which would have had her sympathy at any other time. What was the matter? Only—that Mr. John had forgotten the kiss he always gave her on going or coming. Ellen was jealous of it as a pledge of sistership, and could not want it; and though she tried as hard as she could to get her face in order, so that she might go in and meet them, somehow it seemed to take a great while. She was still busy with her stirrup, when she suddenly felt two hands on her shoulders, and looking up, received the very kiss, the want of which she had been lamenting. But John saw the tears in her eyes, and asked her, she thought, with somewhat of a comical look, what the matter was. Ellen was ashamed to tell, but he had her there by the shoulders, and besides, whatever that eye demanded, she never knew how to keep back, so with some difficulty she told him.

"You are a foolish child, Ellie," said he gently, and kissing her again. "Run in out of the sun while I see to the horses."

Ellen ran in and told her long story to Alice; and then feeling very weary and weak she sat on the sofa and lay resting in her arms in a state of the most entire and unruffled happiness. Alice, however, after a while, transferred her to bed, thinking, with good reason, that a long sleep would be the best thing for her.