There came once to Squire Blancove's unoccupied pew a dazzling vision of a fair lady.

They heard that she was a cousin of his third wife, and a widow, Mrs.Lovell by name.

They looked at her all through the service, and the lady certainly looked at them in return; nor could they, with any distinctness, imagine why, but the look dwelt long in their hearts, and often afterward, when Dahlia, upon taking her seat in church, shut her eyes, according to custom, she strove to conjure up the image of herself, as she had appeared to the beautiful woman in the dress of grey-shot silk, with violet mantle and green bonnet, rose-trimmed; and the picture she conceived was the one she knew herself by, for many ensuing years.
Mrs.Fleming fought her battle with a heart worthy of her countrywomen, and with as much success as the burden of a despondent husband would allow to her.

William John Fleming was simply a poor farmer, for whom the wheels of the world went too fast:--a big man, appearing to be difficult to kill, though deeply smitten.

His cheeks bloomed in spite of lines and stains, and his large, quietly dilated, brown ox-eyes, that never gave out a meaning, seldom showed as if they had taken one from what they saw.