The shepherd on the east hill could shout out lambing intelligence to theshepherd on the west hill, over the intervening town chimneys, withoutgreat inconvenience to his voice, so nearly did the steep pasturesencroach upon the burghers' backyards. And at night it was possible tostand in the very midst of the town and hear from their native paddockson the lower levels of greensward the mild lowing of the farmer'sheifers, and the profound, warm blowings of breath in which thosecreatures indulge. But the community which had jammed itself in thevalley thus flanked formed a veritable town, with a real mayor andcorporation, and a staple manufacture.

During a certain damp evening five-and-thirty years ago, before thetwilight was far advanced, a pedestrian of professional appearance,carrying a small bag in his hand and an elevated umbrella, was descendingone of these hills by the turnpike road when he was overtaken by aphaeton.

'Hullo, Downe--is that you?' said the driver of the vehicle, a young manof pale and refined appearance. 'Jump up here with me, and ride down toyour door.'

The other turned a plump, cheery, rather self-indulgent face over hisshoulder towards the hailer.

'O, good evening, Mr. Barnet--thanks,' he said, and mounted beside hisacquaintance.

They were fellow-burgesses of the town which lay beneath them, but thoughold and very good friends, they were differently circumstanced. Barnetwas a richer man than the struggling young lawyer Downe, a fact which wasto some extent perceptible in Downe's manner towards his companion,though nothing of it ever showed in Barnet's manner towards thesolicitor. Barnet's position in the town was none of his own making; hisfather had been a very successful flax-merchant in the same place, wherethe trade was still carried on as briskly as the small capacities of itsquarters would allow. Having acquired a fair fortune, old Mr. Barnet hadretired from business, bringing up his son as a gentleman-burgher, and,it must be added, as a well-educated, liberal-minded young man.

'How is Mrs. Barnet?' asked Downe.

'Mrs. Barnet was very well when I left home,' the other answeredconstrainedly, exchanging his meditative regard of the horse for one ofself-consciousness.

Mr. Downe seemed to regret his inquiry, and immediately took up anotherthread of conversation. He congratulated his friend on his election as acouncil-man; he thought he had not seen him since that event took place;Mrs. Downe had meant to call and congratulate Mrs. Barnet, but he fearedthat she had failed to do so as yet.

Barnet seemed hampered in his replies. 'We should have been glad to seeyou. I--my wife would welcome Mrs. Downe at any time, as you know . . .Yes, I am a member of the corporation--rather an inexperienced member,some of them say. It is quite true; and I should have declined thehonour as premature--having other things on my hands just now, too--if ithad not been pressed upon me so very heartily.'

'There is one thing you have on your hands which I can never quite seethe necessity for,' said Downe, with good-humoured freedom. 'What thedeuce do you want to build that new mansion for, when you have alreadygot such an excellent house as the one you live in?'

Barnet's face acquired a warmer shade of colour; but as the question hadbeen idly asked by the solicitor while regarding the surrounding flocksand fields, he answered after a moment with no apparent embarrassment -

'Well, we wanted to get out of the town, you know: the house I am livingin is rather old and inconvenient.' Mr. Downe declared that he hadchosen a pretty site for the new building. They would be able to see formiles and miles from the windows. Was he going to give it a name? Hesupposed so.

Barnet thought not. There was no other house near that was likely to bemistaken for it. And he did not care for a name.

'But I think it has a name!' Downe observed: 'I went past--when wasit?--this morning; and I saw something,--"Chateau Ringdale," I think itwas, stuck up on a board!'

'It was an idea she--we had for a short time,' said Barnet hastily. 'Butwe have decided finally to do without a name--at any rate such a name asthat. It must have been a week ago that you saw it. It was taken downlast Saturday . . . Upon that matter I am firm!' he added grimly.

Downe murmured in an unconvinced tone that he thought he had seen ityesterday.

Talking thus they drove into the town. The street was unusually stillfor the hour of seven in the evening; an increasing drizzle had prevailedsince the afternoon, and now formed a gauze across the yellow lamps, andtrickled with a gentle rattle down the heavy roofs of stone tile, thatbent the house-ridges hollow-backed with its weight, and in someinstances caused the walls to bulge outwards in the upper story. Theirroute took them past the little town-hall, the Black-Bull Hotel, andonward to the junction of a small street on the right, consisting of arow of those two-and-two windowed brick residences of no particular age,which are exactly alike wherever found, except in the people theycontain.

'Wait--I'll drive you up to your door,' said Barnet, when Downe preparedto alight at the corner. He thereupon turned into the narrow street,when the faces of three little girls could be discerned close to thepanes of a lighted window a few yards ahead, surmounted by that of ayoung matron, the gaze of all four being directed eagerly up the emptystreet. 'You are a fortunate fellow, Downe,' Barnet continued, as motherand children disappeared from the window to run to the door. 'You mustbe happy if any man is. I would give a hundred such houses as my new oneto have a home like yours.'

'Well--yes, we get along pretty comfortably,' replied Downe complacently.

'That house, Downe, is none of my ordering,' Barnet broke out, revealinga bitterness hitherto suppressed, and checking the horse a moment tofinish his speech before delivering up his passenger. 'The house I havealready is good enough for me, as you supposed. It is my own freehold;it was built by my grandfather, and is stout enough for a castle. Myfather was born there, lived there, and died there. I was born there,and have always lived there; yet I must needs build a new one.'

'Why do you?' said Downe.

'Why do I? To preserve peace in the household. I do anything for that;but I don't succeed. I was firm in resisting "Chateau Ringdale,"however; not that I would not have put up with the absurdity of the name,but it was too much to have your house christened after Lord Ringdale,because your wife once had a fancy for him. If you only knew everything,you would think all attempt at reconciliation hopeless. In your happyhome you have had no such experiences; and God forbid that you evershould. See, here they are all ready to receive you!'

'Of course! And so will your wife be waiting to receive you,' saidDowne. 'Take my word for it she will! And with a dinner prepared foryou far better than mine.'

'I hope so,' Barnet replied dubiously.

He moved on to Downe's door, which the solicitor's family had alreadyopened. Downe descended, but being encumbered with his bag and umbrella,his foot slipped, and he fell upon his knees in the gutter.

'O, my dear Charles!' said his wife, running down the steps; and, quiteignoring the presence of Barnet, she seized hold of her husband, pulledhim to his feet, and kissed him, exclaiming, 'I hope you are not hurt,darling!' The children crowded round, chiming in piteously, 'Poor papa!'

'He's all right,' said Barnet, perceiving that Downe was only a littlemuddy, and looking more at the wife than at the husband. Almost at anyother time--certainly during his fastidious bachelor years--he would havethought her a too demonstrative woman; but those recent circumstances ofhis own life to which he had just alluded made Mrs. Downe's solicitude soaffecting that his eye grew damp as he witnessed it. Bidding the lawyerand his family good-night he left them, and drove slowly into the mainstreet towards his own house.

The heart of Barnet was sufficiently impressionable to be influenced byDowne's parting prophecy that he might not be so unwelcome home as heimagined: the dreary night might, at least on this one occasion, makeDowne's forecast true. Hence it was in a suspense that he could hardlyhave believed possible that he halted at his door. On entering his wifewas nowhere to be seen, and he inquired for her. The servant informedhim that her mistress had the dressmaker with her, and would be engagedfor some time.

'Dressmaker at this time of day!'

'She dined early, sir, and hopes you will excuse her joining you thisevening.'

'But she knew I was coming to-night?'

'O yes, sir.'

'Go up and tell her I am come.'

The servant did so; but the mistress of the house merely transmitted herformer words.

Barnet said nothing more, and presently sat down to his lonely meal,which was eaten abstractedly, the domestic scene he had lately witnessedstill impressing him by its contrast with the situation here. His mindfell back into past years upon a certain pleasing and gentle being whoseface would loom out of their shades at such times as these. Barnetturned in his chair, and looked with unfocused eyes in a directionsouthward from where he sat, as if he saw not the room but a long waybeyond. 'I wonder if she lives there still!' he said.