There appeared on the borders of the festivity a young woman, the daughter of a Wrexby cottager, who had left her home and but lately returned to it, with a spotted name.

No one addressed her, and she stood humbly apart.

Dahlia, seeing that every one moved away from her, whispering with satisfied noddings, wished to draw her in among the groups.

She mentioned the name of Mary Burt to her father, supposing that so kind a man would not fail to sanction her going up to the neglected young woman.

To her surprise, her father became violently enraged, and uttered a stern prohibition, speaking a word that stained her cheeks.