'She leaves the cavern, and returns to her home a wiser woman.'

Gwen folded her manuscript up quietly, adding indifferently, 'Now what was it she wanted?'

'I should say, "Work,"' remarked Agatha in her matter-of-fact way. 'She seems to have been a most idle young person.'

'Rest and contentment,' murmured Clare, looking at Gwen with dreamy, thoughtful eyes.

'Sleep, perhaps,' suggested Elfie.

'You're all wrong.'

'Tell us then.'

'She wanted silence.'

And humming an air, Gwen walked into the house without another word.

Elfie began to laugh. 'What a queer subject! Gwen never does write like other people. There is no moral at all.'

Neither of the others spoke for a little. Then Agatha said, folding up her work, 'It may take in certain magazines, but I think she writes far better when she keeps to facts, not fancies.'

'It has a moral,' said Clare, looking away over the meadows.

'What is it?' asked Elfie, regarding her curiously.

'Failure is in self, not circumstances!'

After which slow denunciation, Clare also moved into the house, and when she reached her bedroom she murmured to herself, 'And I know all my unrest and discontent come from within me. It is not my surroundings. Miss Villars must be right.'



CHAPTER VIII

Entertaining a Stranger

'In all things Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burden of others.'—Longfellow.

It was Sunday evening. Agatha sat by the drawing-room window, her Bible on her lap, and her thoughts far away from things of earth. All the rest of the household were at church, and she was enjoying the stillness around her. The sun was setting just behind the pine trees in the distance, and shedding a rosy glow upon their slender stems; the hush of night seemed to be falling on all Nature, and Agatha was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she did not notice the figure of a man quietly and swiftly approaching the house. She was the more startled when a voice broke upon the stillness; and she looked up to see a man standing close outside the window.

'Pardon me, madam, but will you kindly allow me to enter? I wish to have a few words with you.'

Visions of housebreakers, robbing, and perhaps murdering, if their wishes were denied them, flitted through Agatha's perturbed mind. She knew she was alone in the house, and beyond the reach of any help; she also realized that all the three French windows leading out to the verandah were open; but, nevertheless, she showed a brave front. Without rising from her seat, she looked the intruder straight in the face.

'Perhaps, if you will make known your errand, I will comply with your request. You are at present a perfect stranger to me.'

Her visitor smiled. He was an elderly man, with a stoop in his shoulders, and a rather shabby great-coat buttoned tight up under his chin.

'My errand might startle you,' he said; 'I wish to get at something in the study cupboard.'

Poor Agatha's heart beat loudly. 'That you cannot do without the owner's consent,' she replied sternly, 'and he is at present abroad.'

Then with a little old-fashioned bow the stranger took off his hat.

'No, madam, he is not abroad. He is before you!'

Agatha stared at him. She saw rather kindly-looking blue eyes peering at her through thick shaggy eyebrows; a care-worn, smooth-shaven face, with a very broad intellectual brow, and a smile that somehow or other disarmed her suspicions.

'Are you—are you sure?' she faltered stupidly.

'Sure that my name is Thomas Lester, and that instead of being a tramp or burglar molesting a lonely woman, I am now respectfully soliciting admission into my own house? Yes, madam, I assure you on the honour of a gentleman that I am no impostor!'

Agatha rose at once. 'Then please come in, and forgive my suspicions. I never heard of your return.'

'No,' he said, stepping inside and quietly taking a seat; 'I came back hurriedly, and did not wish my visit here to be known. That is why I chose to come down from London to-day, for I knew my respected brother would be safely and piously conducting his devotions in church. Have you made his acquaintance, Miss Dane?'

'No, he has not called upon us.'

'And you have seen nothing of my son? Do you know my story? I see by the book that you are reading that you must be a good woman. I know you are a brave one by my reception. May I confide in you a little?'

Agatha looked up sympathetically.

'We do know something about you,' she said; 'quite enough to make us feel very sorry for you.'

Mr. Lester then told her again much of what she had already heard, with additions, which drew out her sympathy still more for him. He told her that when he reached the farm where his son had been working, he found he had left it, saying he was going to track out his cousin, and would never come back till he had found him.

'My journey was fruitless, and then, after making many useless inquiries, I fancied he might have returned home, as my last letter to him had urged him to be home again without fail before this summer would be over. So I came back, and find from my agents in London that he must be still abroad. My journey out there was a failure; both lads are swallowed up in the Australian bush, but I don't believe they are dead, and I am convinced that Alick will never come back without tidings of his cousin. Their affection for each other was absurd, preposterous, and utterly out of place.'

He paused, and Agatha asked anxiously:—-

'Are you going back to Australia again?'

'I don't know.'

'Perhaps you wish to return here?'

'Not at all. I never will, until things are on a different footing between myself and my brother. He has insulted me openly in this neighbourhood; even daring to hint that I have plotted to get rid of his son! No, I came to get something I want out of my locked cupboard. I conclude you will have no objection to my doing this?'

'Certainly not'; and Agatha rose and led him to the study. She left him there, but as she turned away she heard him quietly lock the door behind her; and again she felt a nervous thrill run through her, as she wondered if he were an impostor after all.

Half an hour later he came back to her in the drawing-room.

'I am going to do a foolish thing,' he said; 'I cannot tell what impels me to do it, but the very thing I was going to take away I am deliberately going to leave here with you.'

'I would rather you took it away, whatever it is,' Agatha said hastily.

'It will not be in your way. I see you are careful tenants, and as long as you keep my wishes respected about that locked cupboard, it will be safe; far safer than if I carried it about with me, as I thought of doing. If you wish to correspond with me at any time, my agents in London will forward anything to me. I will give you their card. One thing I am going to leave with you, and this shows the confidence I place in you. It is the secret of opening that cupboard. I have sealed the directions up in this envelope; and I want you to give me your solemn promise that you will keep it as I give it to you, in trust for my son. When he returns, he will be sure to find his way down here. Be kind to him, and give him the envelope. I have never confided to him the secret of the cupboard, and I wish him to open it as soon as he arrives. It is most important he should.

'You may wonder at my trusting a comparative stranger with such a charge, but I am a good reader of faces, and I do not think you will fail me. Promise me you will keep this envelope from the knowledge of any one, even from your sisters; and promise me you will do what I desire about it!'

But,' objected Agatha, 'we may not live here always. If we leave before your son returns——'

'My son is bound to come back before the end of this year, if he is alive.'

'Then will he wish to come and live here?'

'No. Neither my son nor I will ever live here again, I fancy.'

'Then where will you be when your son returns?'

'I do not know. In my grave, perhaps. I have told you my agents' address.'

So, after a little hesitation and a great deal of wonder, Agatha gave him her promise to act as he wished. Seeing he looked tired and worn, she asked him if he would have any refreshment, but he refused.

'You need not make my visit known throughout the neighbourhood,' he said, standing up and buttoning up his coat; then glancing at her Bible, which lay open on the table by her side, he added rather sarcastically:

'If you want a Bible study, Miss Dane, discover the answer to a proposition made in the Book of Jeremiah. I believe it's in the first verse of the twelfth chapter. You see I know my Bible well.'

'And so do I,' said Agatha, smiling, 'though not so well as I ought. And I can tell you that the same proposition troubled David; but he solved it in the sanctuary.'

'Is that a hint to me?' said Mr. Lester, a little taken aback by her quick reply.

'No; though don't you think it a pity to hold aloof from God's worship on the day set apart for it? Even the heathen are more respectful to their false gods.'

'I did not expect to receive a sermon here,' he responded, with a little dry smile.

'No, and I would not presume to give it,' said Agatha, smiling in her turn. 'And don't be surprised that I knew your verse in Jeremiah so well. I came across it the other day, and thought it fitted in well with a favourite Psalm of ours, the thirty-seventh. We have had an experience something like yours, and it would make one bitter sometimes, if one did not remember that our circumstances are being shaped by God Himself.'

Mr. Lester said nothing, but held out his hand, and Agatha took it, feeling strangely drawn to him. They shook hands, and then, as Mr. Lester stepped out into the verandah, he turned.

'Remember your promise, and offer a prayer sometimes for a disappointed old man who fears he won't live to see his hopes fulfilled.'

He disappeared in the fast-falling twilight, and Agatha sat in her chair, gazing before her as if in a dream. Her sisters found her strangely preoccupied when they returned; but when they were enjoying a cold supper together, and the maids were out of the room, she told them of her strange visitor, begging them to say nothing of it to any one, and purposely omitting to tell them of the envelope entrusted to her.

'Are you perfectly certain he was genuine?' said Gwen anxiously. 'It was a very risky thing to let him have sole possession of the study! Why did you not offer to stay in the room with him?'

'How could I? He locked himself in!'

'Worse and worse! He might have been taking impressions of the locks, and will break into the house another night by the study window!'

Agatha shook her head with a confident smile. 'He was a gentleman, and had a true face; I am not at all afraid of him.'

'It is quite an adventure,' said Clare, flushing up with excitement. 'Now, what do you think he wanted to get at in the cupboard? Is it a treasure store, or does it hide some ghastly secret? I really think I should have peeped through the key-hole, and seen how he opened it. It would have been such an opportunity.'

'Did you dismiss him with a tract?' asked Gwen mockingly.

'No, I had not one by me,' said Agatha simply. 'I feel very sorry for him. He is in great trouble about his son.'

'And you are sure he does not want to come back and turn us out? It would be very awkward if he did.'

'He seemed quite certain on that point.'

Gwen heaved a sigh of relief. 'I think I will tell you what I purpose doing, she said rather solemnly; 'or shall I put it off till to-morrow?'

'"'Tis the Sabbath,"' quoted Elfie, mimicking old Deb Howitt's tones.

'If it is anything startling, I would rather you kept it till to-morrow,' said Agatha; 'I have had quite enough to startle me already.'

'Oh, very well,' responded Gwen unconcernedly; 'my news will keep.'

But she was disappointed that no one seemed curious enough to press her for more information, and the next day, after working hard all the morning in the garden, went off to see the Howitts in the afternoon.

Gwen had taken a real liking to the sisters, and would often drop in upon Patty, and have a cup of tea with her when her sister was away.

It was a warm day, and she was glad to reach the cottage, with its shady orchard round it, after the blazing meadows she had crossed.

Under an old apple-tree, on a low stool, she found Patty sitting, knitting furiously away at a grey worsted stocking, and muttering to herself as she did so.

'What is the matter?' Gwen asked gaily, as she took a seat on the grass by her side; 'you look quite agitated!'

''Tis one of our bad days,' said Patty, looking up and shaking her head dolefully. ''Tis generally the wash-tub that does it, and Monday is our washing day. I did mean to be careful that my lips didn't offend, but 'tis no good when she's of an argumentative turn! Yes, miss, she's locked me out, and I hope she's enjoyin' herself, for on Mondays I always bakes a cake for tea. Deb never did have a light hand for such things, and she's a-messin' in there with my flour bin, and pilin' tons of coal on the fire, for I've been watchin' the smoke, and I can tell, and if I'm kept out here till dark, I'll maintain a promised wife comes before a sister!'

'Is that the discussion?' asked Gwen, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

'Now let me put it to you, miss, and she'd no business to begin it over the wash-tub, for it wants a cool head and a quiet mind to tackle such things. She was tellin' me of a case that was told her up at Thornicroft Manor, which is three mile the other side of Brambleton; and the housekeeper knew the parties concerned, being first cousin once removed to the young man. He was engaged to be married to an orphan girl, a-tryin' to earn her livin' by dressmakin', but makin' a very poor thing out of it. And they had kept company for six years, and then his mother died and left his only sister on his hands. But mind you, miss, they were a-goin' to be married, and had fixed the day before his mother took ill, and then what does the young fellow do but break it all off with his girl, sayin' he was only able to keep one woman, and that would have to be his sister! Now what do you think, miss? I say it was a cryin' shame of him, and Deb, she will have he did right, for his sister was delicate, and flesh and blood come first, she says. We argued it up and down, and she cried him up, and I cried him down, and we gets hotter and hotter. We couldn't keep off it after we left the wash-tubs and was a-havin' a bit of dinner; but I sticks to it that a promised wife comes first, and then, with a shove, I found myself out of doors, and the key locked behind me!'

Gwen laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Old Patty's intense interest in the unknown young couple, and her warm partisanship for the little dressmaker, together with her tragic tone and injured demeanour, were too much for her gravity.

'You are two foolish old women,' she said at last. 'I suppose it is love of your own opinions, and not the fate of these strangers, that makes you so combative. Which of you has the stronger will?'

'Ay, we're wonderful alike in temper, more's the pity, but I consider myself a fitter judge of right and wrong than Deb, who goes about and hears so much that it's all hearin' and no meditatin', whiles I sit here, and has the time and opportoonity to weigh the matters in and out, without the clack of many tongues to confuse my brain and make me say a man is a saint when he is a fool, not to say a sinner!'

Nothing that Gwen could say would calm the old woman, and when she went up to the cottage door, Deb remained conveniently deaf to all her knocks. She came home, and gave a graphic description of the quarrel to her sisters; but when their obstinacy was being condemned, Agatha said in her quiet way:

'Well, Gwen, you ought to have sympathy with them, for if any one ever goes against you, I am sure you feel as they do.'

'You mean I am fond of my own way and opinions, and won't bear contradiction! Oh, Agatha, how you love to preach to us all! I won't say you are mistaken, for I am not going to get up an argument, and I want you all to be especially agreeable while I lay a plan of mine before you.'

'Now for it,' murmured Clare; and both Agatha and Elfie leant back in their chairs, the one in anxious, the other in amused anticipation of what might follow.



CHAPTER IX

Gwen's Resolve

'How little thou canst tell How much in thee is ill or well! Nor for thy neighbour, nor for thee, Be sure!'—Clough.

Gwen cleared her throat. She sat in a low wicker chair by the open window of the drawing room, and for a minute her eye wandered out into the back garden, which looked in perfect order, and hardly needed the incessant hoeing and weeding of a lanky youth, who was now resting on his hoe and leaning against the wall in a sleepy attitude.

'We have now been here three months, and after the satisfactory evening we had with our accounts, Agatha, last week, we have come to the conclusion that we can live here well within our income. This being the case, and all anxiety for the future——'

'You're talking like a book,' interrupted Elfie saucily; 'don't purse up your mouth so, and look so superior, and like Cousin James.'

'Very well, then, I will come to the point at once. I mean to go out to California and pay Walter a visit, and I want to sail before the end of this month.'

There was a dead silence. Then Agatha said a little drily, 'And you will want your 100 pounds to do that, of course?'

'No, I don't.' Gwen's tone was a little sharp. 'I have some in hand from my writing. I can see from your faces that you don't approve, but I've had it in my mind for a long time, only I have waited to see how things would go. Cousin Jacob's treachery was a bitter blow, as I was afraid you would want me at home to look after you all——'

'We're not the poor fools you think us,' put in Clare indignantly.

Gwen went on as if she had not heard her: 'And now I have got the garden into such excellent condition, and you are all shaking down and finding friends and occupations for yourselves—Agatha, the vicar and the villagers; Clare, her sweet Miss Villars; and Elfie, divided between the church organ and her music at home—I shall not be needed or missed. I don't mean to be away for years, but I am sure from Walter's letters that he is not doing as well as he should. He wants shaking up, perhaps starting in a new groove; and, honestly, I want to see life in the Colonies. It will do me good, and I hope I shall do him good. I may be back in six months' time. That is my idea—to pay him a visit, and then come back to you here.'

'I suppose we should all like to visit him,' said Clare crossly. 'Why shouldn't one of us go, and you stay at home? I am sure a winter here will finish me.'

Walter seems such a stranger to us,' said Elfie, 'that I wonder if he will like it. He was always at a boarding-school, and we only saw him for the holidays, and then he went abroad directly he left school. I hardly know anything about him. Has he any idea you are going, Gwen?

'I will write by the next mail and tell him. I know him a little better than you do, Elfie, for you were but a child when he left England. He has often said how he would like one of us out there to keep house for him. Of course, he will be delighted.'

'I am sorry you want to go,' Agatha said slowly.

'Why? Is there any good reason why I should stay at home?'

Agatha was silent, and though the younger girls plied Gwen with innumerable questions, and were full of excitement about it, she said nothing, and presently walked out of the room.

Gwen looked after her with a mixture of doubtful perplexity and annoyance. She and Agatha had always been much together, and she valued her opinion, though determined not to be swayed by it. She felt this silence meant disapproval, and was by turns uneasy and indignant at it. It was not till after Clare and Elfie had retired to bed that night that Agatha referred to the matter. And Gwen little knew that she had been kneeling at her bedside praying for guidance in offering her advice, for more than an hour that evening.

'Well,' said Gwen, with a little laugh, as she reclined in her favourite wicker chair, and looked up at her sister's grave face, as she turned from her writing-table to speak, 'what does Madam Prudence say to my scheme?'

'I think it is too important a step to take hastily,' said Agatha.

'My dear, I have been thinking of it for months; there has been no haste in the matter. Removal of objection number one! Now for number two!'

'I think,' said Agatha slowly, 'that you are quite as likely to unsettle Walter as to settle him. He is not doing very grandly, but he keeps out of debt; and it seems to me that it is only by steady perseverance that fortunes are made nowadays. Then you may seriously inconvenience him by giving him such short notice of your intentions. A man living by himself on a small farm is not prepared to receive ladies at a day's notice. He may be away from home when you arrive. Oh yes, I know you are not going to be influenced by what I say, but I do ask you to look upon it as a serious matter. And, Gwen, you know I don't often "preach," as you term it, but I do wish you would practise the verse old Nannie gave you just before we left London. It is an important step. Do commit it unto the Lord.'

'I am not religious,' said Gwen, a little lightly.

'Do you never mean to be?'

'I don't know. Every one has a different nature. It is natural for you to be good. It is natural for you to trust and lean upon religion, because you have such a humble opinion of your own judgment and powers. Now I feel—I can't help feeling—a confidence in myself. It may be conceit, but it is natural for me to trust in my own judgment, and plan my own course of life, and until disaster attends my attempts I shall continue to act for myself. Of this I am certain!'

'Ah, don't say that!' exclaimed Agatha; 'it would be sad if disaster were to follow this step of yours. I hoped, from your advocating a country life, that you would be content to settle down here quietly. If it is the dulness of the place that is driving you abroad, I am sorry we ever came here.'

'I am never dull anywhere,' Gwen said quickly; 'I have too many resources. It is not that at all. I have wanted to go out to Walter for a long time, and now I have made enough money to do it, nothing will stop me.'

'You are so sure of yourself,' said Agatha, sighing.

'Yes, and I am not ashamed of it. We can't be all alike, and self-confidence is a great blessing sometimes. It saves one from an infinite amount of care and worry.'

Agatha was silent. As is often the case with sisters, there was great reserve between them on matters that lay closely to their hearts, and though Agatha longed to warn Gwen of her besetting fault, she hesitated.

Gwen continued with alacrity: 'I have made inquiries about steamers, and hope to sail the week after next. I have very little preparation to make, for I am not given to much luggage.'

'And you mean to go out quite by yourself?'

'Why not? In these days chaperons are unnecessary. There are always some nice people on board who befriend single women. I am not a young girl.'

'You are not very old,' said Agatha, scanning the bright, handsome face with its wilful mouth and determined chin; 'and as I know vanity is not a failing of yours, I may say that you are too good-looking to be going about the world alone.'

Gwen laughed. 'Oh, you poor old thing! Why will you try to mother us all, when you cannot manage it! You may be perfectly certain I can take care of myself. Now shall we go to bed, or have you any more objections to make?'

'I wish you would pray over it,' were Agatha's parting words; and when Gwen got to her room that night she pondered over them.

She was not actually irreligious. She read her Bible occasionally, and went through a form of prayer by her bedside every night; but religion had never touched her heart. It was but an empty name to her, and she was too secure in her self-confidence and pride to ever feel her need of anything outside herself.

She drew her Bible towards her now, and turned to the 37th Psalm. She first glanced at the verse Nannie gave her, then read the psalm through carefully and steadily.

'It exactly describes Cousin James,' was her inward thought. 'I wish we could always see the good righted in this life, and the wicked cut off. I am afraid I could not follow out these precepts in my life. It is all waiting and trusting and doing nothing oneself, but letting God do it all for one. It is a psalm that must bring wonderful comfort to Agatha. Of course, I shall be able to pray that my visit to Walter may be for good, but I am sure it will. It is not as if I am meditating some very wrong course of action. If they really wanted me here, I would not think of leaving them. I am going out for Walter's good. Oh dear! how often I wish I had been the man in our family!'

With such thoughts as these she presently bent her head, and asked a blessing on her undertaking, and then turned into bed, feeling very virtuous at having done so.

There was a great deal of talk between the sisters about Gwen's proposal, but not one of them now thought to dissuade her, and the only unpleasant criticism she had to bear was from Miss Miller.

Elfie and Gwen met her in the village, and she stopped them at once.

'What is this I hear?' she demanded, tapping Gwen on the shoulder with her stick. 'Are you going off to find a husband abroad, because you haven't been able to pick one up here? I thought you young ladies would be disappointed when you came to know our neighbourhood.'

'Our friends and acquaintances are not limited to this small corner, Miss Miller,' retorted Gwen, holding her head proudly; 'we should be in a poor plight if they were. And if we felt dull, London is not out of reach. I am going out to my brother.'

'So I have been told. You are going to live amongst bushrangers and savages. It shows a refined and modest taste to go where you will be the only woman. But I am surprised at nothing in these days, when everything is topsy-turvy, and society at its worst. Women vie with one another in being conspicuous, and girls go about the world in men's clothes!'

Elfie began to laugh, but Gwen said haughtily,—

'Since it does not surprise you, Miss Miller, I wonder you mention it at all.'

'Husband-hunting!' growled Miss Miller; and she hurried past them without another word.

'She is an impertinent woman!' said Gwen wrathfully.

'I think she is an old dear,' said Elfie merrily. 'You never hear people speak out their thoughts as she does! I always wonder what she is going to say next. The other day I was leaving a message for Agatha at the vicarage, when she came out with Lady Buttonshaw, who had been calling there. She said good-bye to her, and then added with great severity: "It is a good thing for you to be without your maid for a little. I shall not hurry Emma Gray to go to you. A woman might as well turn into a fashion-block as allow her maid to clothe and unclothe her as your maid does you! Bestir yourself, my dear. Find out on which side the buttons on your boots are, and how many hairpins are necessary for the erection of your pretty hair!" Lady Buttonshaw only laughed as she walked away. I suppose everybody knows that her bark is worse than her bite!'

Gwen had a different criticism pronounced upon her departure by old Deb and Patty. She went to wish them good-bye, and their surprise was great when she told them where she was going.

'Is it among the wild beasts and heathens? Well, you're a brave young lady to venture out all alone. But I should be terribly afeared of losin' my way. Are there signposts all the way?'

'There, Patty, you ain't showin' off your knowledge to talk so! Miss Gwen will go all the way in a steamer, and her brother will be meetin' her when she comes to land. It's the steamers are so tryin' to flesh and blood. Mr. Giles told me all about it when he went to America with his master. You have to sleep on shelves up the wall, and there be no washin' your clothes for the whole time you're on the sea, which to a clean, decent body must be dreadful! And the food is shaken out of you as fast as you gets it down, and 'tis a marvel that a body gets to the other side o' the world alive!'

'It's wonderful good of you, miss, to go to take care of your brother!' said Patty, regarding Gwen with an awe-struck face; 'but you gentlefolk seem to be hardier to such things than us should be. And then you'll be able to speak them foreign langwidges. But it's to be hoped the cannibals won't get hold on you. I've only seen one person come back from foreign parts alive, and that was Tom Clark, and he was a sailor. But I reckon there are a few beside him that live to come back!'

'You'll not be marryin' an Indian prince out there, miss?' put in Deb anxiously.

'Miss Gwen is a Christian,' Patty said solemnly. 'She wouldn't be marryin' a heathen who keeps wives by the score, and eats them up by turns!'

And Gwen laughingly assured them that she meant to return as she went—a single woman.

The days slipped by; Gwen, with her usual energy and determination, arranged for her journey in every detail, and when the time came, took leave of her sisters with cheerful equanimity.

'It is not for very long,' she said; 'and if you want me back sooner, you have only to wire and tell me so. I shall be back, I hope, before Christmas.'

But Christmas seemed to Agatha a long way off, and she perhaps of all the sisters felt most depressed at Gwen's departure.



CHAPTER X

Clare's Discovery

'A closed bud containeth Possibilities infinite and unknown.'

Life went on very quietly with the three who were left. Elfie was the sunshine of the house; her ringing laugh and little snatches of song, as she came in and out, cheered all who heard her. And Clare, fitful and uncertain in her bright moods, could not understand Elfie's unfailing good-humour.

'You never will take life seriously,' she said to her one morning after breakfast, as they were waiting for the postman in the garden, and Elfie had seated herself on the top bar of the gate, swinging herself to and fro, and trilling out an old English ditty as she did so.

'I can't make cares when we have none,' she responded laughingly; 'I have never been so happy in my life as I am now.'

'I wish I could be contented with so little.'

'Oh, you! You're always straining after shadows, and won't live in the present at all. Now tell me, what have you to make you unhappy to-day? You're expecting a letter from Hugh, and Miss Villars is coming to tea with us this afternoon. Those are two pleasures for you. And then look at our weather! This is an ideal summer.

"Strange that summer skies and sunshine Never seem one half so fair, As when winter's snowy pinions Shake the white down in the air."

Why don't you live in the present?'

'Don't preach,' said Clare carelessly; 'it's too warm this morning to argue. Here comes that lazy man at last!'

Elfie sprang down and seized the letters with a bright nod of welcome to the stolid-looking postman.

'Here is one from Gwen! Agatha will be pleased; and here is Hugh's! Now, Clare, be happy! And there is not one for me, so I shall go to Agatha to hear how Gwen is getting on.'

She darted into the house, and Clare, sinking into a chair on the shady verandah, prepared herself to enjoy one of Captain Knox's periodical epistles. They were always full of life and interest; and Clare was beginning to feel a sick longing to have him back with her again. Even as she read she let the letter fall in her lap whilst she mused upon the past. 'I used to be so cross to him. I took all his love and attention so coolly. If I only had him back again, how different I would be! He was always so unselfish, and I was so selfish and discontented. I can't think now how I could have been unhappy when I was constantly seeing him. Oh, Hugh! if you could come to me now, I would never grumble again! One touch, one word, one look, if only I could have it!'

And Clare's blue eyes filled with tears, and her sight was dim as she finished reading her letter. She remained motionless for some minutes then, and was rising slowly from her seat to go and hear the news of Gwen, when a slip of paper fluttered out of the envelope. It was a postscript as follows:—

'Here is Mr. Lester's motto on the carved scroll. It was in Arabic, as I thought, and the translation is something like this:—

'A closed bud containeth Possibilities infinite and unknown.'

Clare folded it up with a sigh.

'There is no clue there, that I can see. I will have another look at the cupboard this afternoon.'

She joined her sisters, and heard a racy account of Gwen's experiences on board ship. She had fallen in with nice people—a Mr. and Mrs. Montmorency, going out to California for the third time to look after some property of theirs.

'We are great friends,' Gwen wrote. 'Mr. Montmorency is a clever, well-read man—can talk on any subject, and has been in California for nearly thirty years. His advice would be invaluable to Walter. I am asking them to come and pay us a visit when they are in our neighbourhood, which they hope to be before long, and they have promised to do so. Mr. Montmorency does not think farming pays in Walter's locality. He says there are many things more profitable; but I will not tell you all our talk. I spend most of my time with them. You may be interested in hearing that Clement Arkwright is on board. But I give him a wide berth. He asked some rather impertinent questions the first time we spoke to each other. I showed him it would not answer, and now we pass each other with a bow!'

'Who is Clement Arkwright?' asked Elfie.

Clare laughed.

'One of Gwen's old admirers. He has too much of her self-will and dogged pride to pull with her. Do you remember, Agatha, how we used to enjoy their wordy combats? I always thought that at the bottom of all her antagonism to him she really liked him; but she never would allow it.'

'I dare say he wonders at her going out alone,' said Agatha musingly; 'she does not say where he is going. I remember he had a great idea of shielding women from the brunt of life, as he used to call it, and that was one thing that Gwen could not stand.'

'What more does she say?' asked Clare.

'Not much. She says she means to study farming while she is away, and hopes to get valuable hints from Mr. Montmorency, who seems to be a perfect mine of information.'

'One of Gwen's sudden friendships!' observed Clare. 'I only hope it will last out the voyage!'

She left the room and went to the study, where she spent the rest of the morning in trying to copy Mr. Lester's carving on the cupboard. She was very fond of this occupation, and had decorated several little tables and stools. She found Mr. Lester's handiwork a great help to her, and was ambitious of designing a cupboard herself, very much after the pattern of the study one.

As she was tracing a part of the delicate border edging the panels, she suddenly started, and the thought flashed across her:—

'It must be one of these buds that contains the secret of the lock or spring, and that is the meaning of the words:—

'"A closed bud containeth Possibilities infinite and unknown."'

She passed her fingers over some thick buds that hung in festoons along the border, and then with finger and thumb she tried to move each one in succession. At last one began to revolve; she turned it breathlessly, and after three or four revolutions, a sharp click, and then the panel opened.

For one minute Clare stayed her hand—irresolute. She had discovered the secret, and the contents of the cupboard would be before her eyes.

Surprise, delight, and a little dismay were mingled in the discovery. Stories that Jane had told her of the mysterious cupboard that some thought contained proofs of a crime, came to her mind. The remembrance of the owner's express wish that it should remain locked, made her hesitate.

It was a battle between intense curiosity and the sense of honour; but the latter prevailed. Clare closed the panel hastily, turned round the carved bud till it was closed, and then walked to the window, turning her back on her temptation.

She heaved a sigh of relief.

'I am sure I deserve praise for such virtue. No one can taunt me with a woman's curiosity after this! Now the question is, shall I tell the others? I don't think I will. It wouldn't do to let the maids get wind of it. I shall write and tell Hugh, of course. How interested he will be! It was really rather clever of me to find it out, for it is a wonderfully ingenious device. And I suppose the old man never dreamt of women deciphering his Arabic characters, much less following the ambiguous hint given in his motto.'

And then sitting down at the writing-table, Clare commenced a letter at once to Captain Knox. Her discovery delighted her, and for the rest of the day she was sunshine itself.

Miss Villars arrived in the afternoon, bringing with her two shy, lanky girls of fourteen and fifteen.

'I knew you would let me bring two of my visitors,' she said aside to Agatha; 'they are recovering from influenza. Their father is a curate in Liverpool, and I am trying to feed them up, and get a little colour in their cheeks before they go home again. They are rather shy, but it is such a pleasure for them to be in the country.'

Elfie soon took possession of the girls, and wandered round the garden with them, where their tongues unloosed, and they poured forth such a flood of chatter that she had no difficulty in entertaining them.

'We are having such a lovely time. Miss Villars' house is like one you read of in books. We never thought we should ever stay in one like it. We feel as if we are in fairyland. You see, we are very poor, and only keep one servant, and there are seven of us at home, and our house is in a terrace, and smuts, and soot, and dust fly in at the windows all day long. Miss Villars is awfully nice, and she makes us enjoy ourselves. At home one feels quite wicked if one reads a storybook, because there are so many of the boys' stockings to be mended, and cooking, and our own lessons in between, for we go to a day school for three hours every morning. Now here, Miss Villars takes us out in the garden after breakfast under her shady trees, and puts one of us in a hammock, and the other in an easy chair, and leaves us there with some delicious books for a couple of hours. And then we see a dainty lunch coming out to us about eleven o'clock, and we drive and play tennis, and she treats us just like she might her own sisters!'

Elfie, looking at the radiant faces and sparkling eyes of the two delicate girls, envied Miss Villars the privilege of being able to bring such brightness and happiness into others' lives.

Meanwhile Clare was having a private talk with her friend, for after tea Agatha had sped down to the village on one of her benevolent errands.

'Have you found the true secret of happiness yet?' asked Miss Villars presently. 'You look brighter than when I last saw you.'

'I may be brighter now, but I shall have one of my black moods again soon. No, Miss Villars, I don't think I shall ever be satisfied in this life. The more I have, the more I want, and you couldn't expect me to be happy with Hugh in Africa!'

She laughed as she spoke, but her smile soon died away.

'I want him back dreadfully, Miss Villars. I never dreamt I would miss him so much; and I have a horrible feeling that he will not come back at all. I think I should die if he did not! I long sometimes to go out to him. But I can't. I must just wait, and I hate waiting! I never could wait for anything when I was a child, and it drives me nearly wild!'

Clare spoke with such vehemence and passion that for a moment Miss Villars thought it best not to speak. Then she said slowly,—

'Poor child! you take life's lessons hardly. And I can't help you except by sympathy. There is only One who can, and you will not go to Him for the patience and rest of soul you need.'

Tears filled Clare's blue eyes. She gazed away out of the window up to the sweet summer sky, and her face grew wistful and sad.

'I am seeking Him,' she said in a low voice, 'but it all seems dark, and the Bible seems no help, and prayer a weariness; and then I give up trying, and try to amuse myself, and make the time pass as best I can.'

Then Miss Villars did a thing which Clare owned to herself that no one else but Miss Villars could have done naturally. She took hold of Clare's hand, and with closed eyes and bent head began to pray.

A very short and simple prayer, but a strange thrill ran through Clare as she realized this was indeed speaking to One who was close to them. And nothing jarred her feelings. She only seemed to be drawn into the very presence of her Saviour, who with open arms was waiting to receive and bless her.

When Miss Villars ceased speaking, Clare's head still remained lowered, and there was perfect silence. It was broken by Elfie's return from the garden with the girls; and without a word Clare crept softly away up to her own room, and Miss Villars left without seeing her again.

But up in her room Clare was kneeling by her bedside in a passion of tears.

'O God, help me, help me! I want to be right with Thee, I want this rest of soul; give it to me. Oh, if Thou art waiting to bless, I am ready, I am willing. Forgive me and save me for Christ's sake. Amen.'

She had never prayed so earnestly before.



CHAPTER XI

Agatha's Legacy

One by one, bright gifts from Heaven, Joys are sent thee here below; Take them readily when given, Ready, too, to let them go.'—Adelaide Procter.

'Why, Agatha, what is the matter? You look quite scared! No bad news by the post, is it?'

Elfie asked the question one morning as she came into the dining-room to breakfast, and found Agatha staring out of the window with troubled eyes, and letting the brass kettle boil over on the white tablecloth with the greatest indifference.

She turned round and faced Elfie with pale cheeks.

'Mr. Lester is dead. It seems so sudden. He caught cold and died on the voyage out to Australia. And his lawyer writes to tell me about it.'

Elfie looked startled.

'Must we turn out of the house?'

'That is the strange part of it. The lawyer says he had a visit from Mr. Lester before he went, in which he informed him he was going to leave this house to me unconditionally, and a codicil has been added to his will to that effect.'

'Why, Agatha, I can hardly believe it! He must have fallen in love with you on the spot. Whatever induced him to think of such a thing?'

'I am sure I don't know, unless he was afraid of his cupboard. When I say he leaves the house to us unconditionally, that is the only condition he makes, that we live in the house and keep that cupboard locked till his son returns, and then let him have the contents. He told the lawyer he had left it to me as a trust, and he knew I was a woman of honour, so he would have no anxiety about it. And in return for this he bequeaths to us the house for good and all. I wonder what his son will say to it, if he ever does come back! I hardly know what to do about it. It seems so very extraordinary!'

But, extraordinary as it was, Agatha found on further correspondence that it was a fact. The house was legally bequeathed to her; and, after the first excitement of it was over, she thanked God with all her heart that she had now a certain dwelling. She had a great dislike to change, and was so wedded to the country round her, and had made so many friends amongst the poor, that it had been a secret dread for a long time that the owner would return, and they would have to move. She was telling Elfie something of the relief it was to her, when the latter remarked,—

'Ah, well, Agatha, Nannie's text for you is true: "Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed!" You are provided for, at any rate.'

'And don't you find your verse true, too?' asked Agatha quietly.

Elfie coloured a little, then laughed.

'Yes, I do; but life is so pleasant that I have had nothing to put my happiness to the test.'

'And I hope it never need be,' was Agatha's response.

Not long after this Agatha was surprised by a visitor one afternoon, and this was no other than Major Lester.

He bowed stiffly to her when she entered the room.

'I have heard from my lawyer that the strange report flying about this neighbourhood is true,' he began abruptly. 'You will excuse my coming to you to make a few inquiries, but had you any acquaintance with my poor brother before you came here?'

'None whatever,' was Agatha's prompt reply.

'Then he is a perfect stranger to you?'

Agatha hesitated; then she said slowly,—

'I do not suppose it will matter now my mentioning it, but Mr. Lester came here about a month ago.'

Major Lester looked astonished.

'I was unaware that my brother had been in England at all since his visit abroad; but he always was most erratic. And may I ask why his visit was to be kept a mystery?'

'I don't think there was any mystery about it. He simply asked me not to mention it.'

'Did he leave no message for me? May I ask his errand?'

'He left no message.'

Agatha was dignity itself. She was going to reveal nothing more, and Major Lester saw as much, and resented it accordingly.

'Well, I see you and my brother came to some understanding together; and, I suppose, this freak of his is the result.'

Then, pulling himself up, as he felt his temper was getting the better of him, he added, more blandly, 'Pray do not think I object to you as permanent neighbours. If I had any ladies in my household, they would have called on you before this. I came to you this morning because there is a locked cupboard of my brother's, which, as his nearest relative, I presume I have a right to open. I believe there are family papers in it of great importance. Perhaps you will kindly allow me to go into the study at once, as I am rather pressed for time.'

'I am sorry to have to refuse you, Major Lester, but I promised your brother that that cupboard should remain closed till his son came to open it.'

Major Lester glared at her, but Agatha maintained her quiet composure.

'He must have been as mad as a hatter!' he muttered; then turned angrily to her.

'And may I ask when my nephew is to be back, as you seem fully conversant with the affairs of our family?'

'I do not know. Your brother thought he would return this year. Have you heard anything of your son?'

'My son has met his death by the hands of my nephew, at the instigation of his father! I warn you, Miss Dane, you may suffer the penalty of the law by refusing to let me have access to that cupboard. It is a mere question of time. If my nephew does not return soon, I shall insist upon having it opened, and I shall bring a lawyer with me to enforce my authority! I will not detain you longer now. Good-morning!' And Major Lester took his leave literally trembling with passion; so Agatha told her sisters afterwards.

'It is very unpleasant for us,' she added; 'I feel quite anxious lest Major Lester should insist upon having his way.'

'Have you nothing in writing from Mr. Lester himself about it?' asked Clare; 'I thought the lawyer sent you a written statement by him.'

'Yes, I have that; and, after all, the house is mine, and I suppose that includes the cupboard.'

'Of course it does. What did Mr. Lester say about the cupboard?'

'That it was not to be opened till his son came; and in this paper he bequeaths to me a certain portfolio of his that is in it. He says I can make what use I like of the contents. But of course I shall not get that till his son appears.'

'It is very romantic altogether,' said Clare; then, trying to speak indifferently, she added: 'Does Major Lester know how to open the cupboard, Agatha? I fancy it is not a very easy task.'

'I don't know,' said Agatha; 'perhaps he does not. In that case it is safe.'

And she thought with satisfaction of her sealed envelope safe at the bottom of her dressing-case. 'Well,' she added, after a pause, 'I am not going to worry over it. One must just do what is right, and leave the result.'

'But,' said Clare dreamily, 'supposing there is a hidden crime in that cupboard—papers that tell of the whereabouts of Major Lester's son—should we be right in keeping it hidden? Supposing I were to find a way to open that cupboard, Agatha, should I be wrong in doing it?'

Agatha looked startled.

'What do you mean? Are you trying to open it, Clare? I should hope you would not be so dishonourable. It is given as a charge to us. In fact, it is the condition of our keeping this house. And do you think anything would make it right for us to betray such a trust? I know an honest, upright man when I see him, and Mr. Lester was that, whatever Major Lester may be!'

Clare laughed a little confusedly.

'You are getting quite excited. I never said I intended opening it. I wish this wandering son would come back. Couldn't we advertise for him?'

Their conversation was here interrupted by another visitor, and this was Miss Miller.

She came hurriedly and breathlessly in, pulling out the bows of her bonnet-strings, which was a way of hers when excited.

'Miss Dane, what is the meaning of this? No; I cannot stay to sit down. I'm off to a committee meeting in Brambleton, for the "Friendly Girls." The pony cart is waiting at the top of the lane. I have just met Major Lester. He is terribly put out by his visit here. Would not tell me particulars, but said you were siding with his nephew, who was hiding from the hands of justice, and refused him admittance into his brother's study. You are new-comers, my dear, and this will not do. How did you get acquainted with Mr. Lester? The major says he has been paying you secret visits. Very improper—single young women cannot be too careful. Why have you been keeping it a mystery? And what is it all about? And what is the secret of this mysterious cupboard?'

'That I cannot tell you, Miss Miller,' said Agatha, answering only the last of her questions; 'for I do not know it myself.'

'But you know something! We are not accustomed to mysteries here, and the major is an upright man, and a regular churchgoer, and his brother was a ne'er-do-well, But we won't say anything against him now, poor man! Only I assure you, you will make yourselves the talk of the neighbourhood if you three unmarried women scrape acquaintance with his son, and espouse his cause with such hot vehemence!'

'Miss Miller,' said Clare, with burning cheeks, 'you have no business to say such things of us; we have given you no cause to do so!'

Miss Miller just nodded her head up and down excitedly.

'I say just what I like, my dear, and no one is to dictate to me as to my manner of speech, least of all a young chit of a girl who knows nothing of life!'

Then Elfie came to the rescue, whilst Clare flounced out of the room in great indignation.

'Don't be cross with us, Miss Miller,' she said, in her pretty coaxing way. 'Major Lester left us when very angry, and you mustn't believe all he said about us.'

But Miss Miller would not be appeased, and she left very soon, declaring that it was all very 'strange indeed, and most mysterious,' and that 'people who could not be straightforward, and made their own plans without reference to their spiritual guide, were a great trial to have in the neighbourhood!'

'It really seems,' said Agatha, with a weary sigh, 'that Mr. Lester's legacy will prove anything but a blessing! I do wish people would leave us alone.' But a short time afterwards Major Lester's wrath and Miss Miller's strong partisanship in his cause were quite eclipsed by a greater trouble.

Agatha took in The Times, and it was generally delivered at their house about twelve o'clock in the morning, by the postmistress's little boy, directly he came home from school.

One morning Clare met him at the gate, and opened it herself. She was feeling anxious and uneasy. For the first time Captain Knox had missed the mail, and she was full of gloomy forebodings.

Agatha was tying up some straggling rose branches in the verandah, and Elfie practising away in the drawing-room.

'Any news, Clare?' Agatha asked carelessly.

There was no answer. She looked up. Clare slowly came towards her, paper in hand. She was in a fresh white dress, with a bunch of crimson roses in her belt, her golden hair shining in the sun, but her face was as white as her dress itself, and she stared at Agatha as if she did not see her. Agatha dropped her hammer and nails with a crash to the ground.

'What is it, Clare? anything about Gwen?' she asked, in frightened tones.

Clare handed her the paper without a word, and still gazed before her, as if she were in a dream.

Agatha soon found it. Only a terse, short telegram, mentioning that reports of a massacre of a surveying party had just reached the African coast, and it was feared that none had escaped alive.

Captain Knox's name was amongst those of the party.

'It is only a report,' faltered Agatha.

'I know it is true,' said Clare steadily; and then she passed Agatha by, and went up to her room.

She locked her door, and seated herself in an easy chair by her window with the calmness of despair.

'He is dead, he is murdered, and he will never come back! I shall never see him again, and my life is at an end with his!'

These thoughts burnt themselves into her brain.

She leant out of her window, and gazed over the sunny meadows, noticing the smoke appearing from Patty's chimney, and a flock of swallows flying through it. Then she watched the motions of a frisky colt in the next field, and wondered if life seemed one long bright holiday to him.

And then crushing her roses up in one hand, she flung them out of the window.

'What are roses and sunshine to me now?' she thought passionately, her whole soul swelling in protest at the black cloud enveloping her. 'What a bitter mockery this peaceful scenery is, when one remembers the awful fate that has fallen on Hugh and me!'

And then bending her head in her arms, she laid them on the low window-sill, and sobs began to come that shook her from head to foot. Dry, tearless sobs they were at first, and she got up and paced her room in hot rebellion.

'It is cruel—cruel of God! He does not care! He might have let me have him back, when I was trying to be a true Christian! Such an awful death! Oh, Hugh, Hugh! my heart is broken!'

She seized hold of a cabinet photo that stood on her dressing-table. It was Captain Knox in his regimentals; and as his frank, fearless gaze met hers, the flood of her tears was loosed, and they came thick and fast, relieving her brain, but exhausting all her strength by their vehemence. Luncheon time came, but no one could get her out of her room, and Agatha wisely let her alone. At five o'clock she tried her door again, and this time Clare unlocked it, and met her on the threshold with tumbled hair, flushed face, and defiant eyes.

'What do you want? Can't you leave me alone?'

'Oh, Clare darling, how I wish I could comfort you! You will be ill if you don't take any food. Will you not have a cup of tea?'

Agatha's eyes were red with crying, and her lips quivered as she spoke. She laid her hand gently on Clare's arm, but it was shaken off, and Clare turned her back upon her and walked to the window.

Then she burst forth passionately.

'I am not surprised! I knew when he went he would never come back again. I believe it is this house that is a curse to us! I always felt from the first night we entered it that it would bring us trouble; and why I am to be the victim I don't know! I hate and loathe it! Leave me alone. You needn't be afraid of my starving myself. I wish I could; but I have got to live, and I shall have to drag through it as best I can. There is no chance of my dying of a broken heart. People never do. I shall outlive you all, I expect. What are you waiting for? Do you want me to come downstairs?'

'No, I have some tea for you here.'

And Agatha disappeared, to bring in a dainty little meal on a tray.

As she put it down she said slowly: 'I wonder if you know where to take your trouble, Clare? God Himself will comfort you, if you let Him.'

'You needn't waste your breath in uttering platitudes, Agatha. I know that is the correct thing to say, but it doesn't do me an atom of good.' And Agatha left her with a sigh, and went to her own room to pray for her, and to ask that her trouble should soften, and not harden, her heart against the only Comforter.



CHAPTER XII

Out in California

'A woman will, or won't, depend on't; If she will do't, she will, and there's an end on't.'

On the wooden verandah of Walter Dane's ranch in Southern California sat Gwen one evening, enjoying the orange-flamed sunset in front of her. And lounging opposite her, smoking his pipe, was Walter—a good-looking young fellow, whose usual expression was supreme good-humour, but whose brow now was furrowed with anxious thought.

'You see, Gwen,' he said, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and ramming in a fresh supply of tobacco in a slow, meditative fashion, 'it has been very good of you to come out and look me up. I've been longing for a sight of my own flesh and blood for years, and if I was only a sight better off, I'd offer you a home for good.'

'That I would not take, with many thanks,' said Gwen, laughing. 'Now come, ever since I arrived I have seen you have had something on your mind, so unburden! What is it?'

Walter looked across the great sweep of uncultivated ground outside his ranch to the landmark of another ranch in the distance—a windmill which pumped up the water necessary for use from a great depth below.

'You saw the Setons yesterday. What did you think of them?'

As he asked the question he pulled at his heavy moustache rather nervously.

'I thought they were wonderfully nice people for colonials. The girl is a pretty little thing.'

'They are not colonials,' her brother returned quickly; 'at least, not more than I am: for they haven't been in this country as long. Meta only came out a couple of years ago. She was educated at home in Brighton.'

'Was she?'

Gwen was looking at her brother with keen eyes now. There was silence for a minute, then Walter said in a very quiet voice,—

'We have been engaged, she and I, for a twelvemonth, and the wedding is fixed some time next month.'

Another dead silence, then Gwen said, with a little laugh, 'Well, I am surprised. I did not think you were a marrying man. You never gave us a hint of this in your letters home.'

'No; for I foresaw a long engagement, and thought it might be deemed rash.'

'And how do you intend to support a wife?'

'I can manage it now. My ground is improving. The great difficulty in this part of the country is want of water, and I have overcome that. Of course, it will be hard work for some time yet, but Meta knows what the life will be like, and an aunt in England has lately died, and left her a legacy. She does not come to me portionless!'

Gwen gazed in front of her with compressed lips. She would not show her consternation and discomfiture to her brother, though to herself she was saying, 'I made a mistake in coming out to him!'

Aloud she said,—

'Well, I suppose I must congratulate you. And I will not stay out here after your marriage; you will have one of your family at the ceremony, which ought to comfort you.'

'You will like her as a sister, will you not?' asked Walter, with anxiety in his eyes, as he turned and faced his sister.

'Oh yes. I thought she was a nice little thing. Not much character, I suppose; but you men prefer that style of woman. She struck me as a lady.'

'Rather!' And with a short laugh Walter put his beloved pipe in his mouth, and with a sigh of relief at getting through his news, sank into a lounge chair, prepared to give his full confidence to his sister, now that the worst was over.

But Gwen disappointed him by rising carelessly from her seat.

'I am very tired. Your early hours here make the day interminable. Good-night.'

She passed into the house humming the air of a song, but once in her room her expression changed.

'He will marry and have a large family, and only just make his farming pay to support them all. He has no ambition, no desire to make his fortune and come back to England. It means a thorough colonial life for always. Oh, what fools men are!'

She paced her room with clenched hands.

'I never dreamt of such a thing. I came out here to shake him up, to make him better himself. And I find he is perfectly content, and considers my coming a decided nuisance, though he doesn't like to say so. He can barely afford to live comfortably himself, and yet he meditates a speedy marriage. I should like to postpone it. I suppose if I asked him to let me stay out here for three or four months and let his marriage wait till after I left him, he might agree, but then what should I gain by that? I want him to give up this farming, which will never make his fortune; but if he has a wife in view he will cling to it! How I wish he had heard Mr. Montmorency talk of the certainty of finding fresh goldfields, if only men of push and a certain amount of money could be forthcoming! I will not let my journey out here be all in vain! Walter must be roused, and made to do something better with his life than his present existence. I wish Mr. Montmorency would pay us a visit soon. He would advise him for his good. He says this country is teeming with riches under the surface, only colonists are often content with so little that they do not develop half the resources so close to them. After all, it won't hurt that girl to wait another year longer. She looks a simple, stupid little thing; and if Walter can be got to postpone his marriage, we may be able to do something with him yet.'

As Gwen thus cogitated, the scene in the cottage garden at home came before her, when she found Patty Howitt locked out by her irate sister, and her words flashed across her with clear distinctness now,—

'If I'm kept out here till dark, I'll maintain a promised wife comes before a sister!'

A shadow crossed Gwen's determined face at this recollection.

'It is not a case of me or the promised wife,' she muttered to herself with a little laugh. 'I would willingly go home again at once and leave the young couple to themselves, but it is of their future that I am thinking; and they will thank me in the end for it, I know.'

Not a doubt crossed her mind of the wisdom or expediency of trying to upset her brother's plans and purposes. She knew what influence she possessed over him. His was a placid, rather weak nature, true and steadfast in his dealings with others, and quite capable of holding his own as long as he kept in a certain groove; but for a man he was strangely uncertain and distrustful of himself, and one who always found it easier to take advice than to give it.

Gwen had a restless night. Her head was full of plans, and when the next morning there was a stir outside the house, and she was told that a 'strange gentleman and lady' had arrived, she was quite enough versed in colonial ways to show no surprise when she went out upon the verandah and greeted 'Mr. and Mrs. Montmorency.'

Walter was a capital host, and was genuinely pleased to see any friends of his sister. And Gwen felt that fortune had indeed favoured her, and sent to her aid the very one who could help best at this crisis.

Mr. Montmorency inspired most people with confidence, and it was not long before he was deep in discussions of the country with Walter, telling him many valuable facts about agriculture that had come under his own observation, and from that drifting on to talk of the mineral wealth that had as yet hardly been touched.

He remembered the gold rush in Northern California, and prophesied the same would take place in the part they were in. Walter listened, but said little, and even when Mr. Montmorency went on to unfold a scheme of his shortly to be put into project, he showed little interest.

'It is very well for men of means to venture on such undertakings. It wants capital, and there are few about here who would risk their hardly-earned savings on a speculation which might fail.'

Then Gwen, with her clear head and quick brain, took the matter up. Even bright little Mrs. Montmorency could talk well on the subject, and for the next few days little else was mentioned but a certain region a few hundreds of miles away, where Mr. Montmorency intended to begin operations, and where he had already found proof enough of the existence of gold to make it worth his while to start a company and set to work in earnest.

The next mail that left for England contained the following letter from Gwen to Agatha;—

'DEAREST AGATHA,—

'This is purely a business letter, and a very important one. I have told you all about Walter and his surroundings already, so will not go into that again. Mr. Montmorency has been staying with us. He is a clever, able man, very well connected, a nephew of Lord D——, and has spent most of his life out here. He is starting a company for working a gold-mine in this neighbourhood. There is a certain prospect of its being a grand success. I send you a bundle of prospectuses and papers, which I want you to look carefully through. I know how cautious you are where investments are concerned, and, of course, one cannot be too careful. You will see the directors are all wealthy men, and their names well known at home. Show the papers to old Mr. Watkins if you like, and if you're afraid of acting without legal advice. Now I come to the point. Mr. Montmorency has taken a great liking to Walter. He says he is too good to rust in this part as he is doing, and waste the best years of his life in slaving to earn a livelihood, with no prospect of anything better in years to come. And he has asked him to join him in his undertaking, and become an active partner in the concern. I won't waste time by going into it all, but it is a grand chance for Walter, and he is certain to make his fortune. The one condition is that he must have capital to invest. He is going to sell his farm, but that will not bring in much. What I propose is that we four should invest our capital in this. Hand it over to Walter, and then Mr. Montmorency will be able to take him into the concern. We shall not lose, but be gainers by this. Mr. Montmorency can assure us 5 per cent. interest from the first, and that is more than we are getting now. There is not the slightest risk or speculation in the matter, and Walter is fortunate to have found such a friend in Mr. Montmorency. I have already promised my portion. Talk it over with Clare and Elfie, and show them that it will not only be benefiting themselves, but will be the making of Walter.

'I must tell you that he is engaged to be married to a very nice girl out here, and she is going to invest a legacy of hers in the same company. Every one round here has the greatest confidence in Mr. Montmorency. He is still staying with us, and Walter quite enjoys his society. If you want any more information about the company, you can get it by applying at their office in London. I do hope, for Walter's sake, that you will not be long in making up your minds. It seems so wonderfully fortunate that I should have come out in the same steamer with the Montmorencys. The mail is going. I must stop. If Walter gets the capital he needs, he will go off with Mr. Montmorency to the centre of operations next month, and I shall then return home. I may tell you that he was thinking of getting married shortly, but he and Meta Seton have wisely settled to postpone it until he has a good income. I believe myself that he will soon be a rich man. If he is, I shall be well repaid for my journey out here. Love to all. Will write again soon.

'Your affectionate sister, 'GWEN.'



CHAPTER XIII

His Last Message

I hold it true whate'er befall, I feel it when I sorrow most: ''Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.'—Tennyson.

This letter reached Agatha soon after the sad news had come to Clare of Captain Knox's death. At first his relatives hoped there might be some mistake, but when further details came to hand, they corroborated the first tidings received, and some weeks after his baggage was sent home, and as much information was given to his sorrowing relatives as could be gleaned from the one or two survivors of the fated party.

His mother wrote kindly to Clare, and gave her as much information as she had herself received, but that was not much. The little party had been surprised one day when out surveying, and were shot down one after the other by an unfriendly tribe who surrounded them. Two escaped to tell the tale, but when a punitive force was sent out at once, there were no signs of the fray. The enemy had carried off the bodies of their victims, and escaped beyond the reach of justice.

For days Clare was almost beside herself with grief, and in despair Agatha sent over for Miss Villars.

'She is so fond of you, that you may be able to comfort her as we cannot,' said Agatha, when Miss Villars promptly arrived on the scene. Miss Villars shook her head sadly.

'No human comfort is of much use in a case like this,' she said; but she went upstairs, and remained two hours with Clare, and when she left Clare begged her to come to her again.

'You do me good. You make me think there is a God, after all. I have been doubting everything. I feel it is a judgment on all my discontent and bad temper. I often used to tire of him, and wish he were different; and now I feel it would be heaven itself to see him standing before me as he used to do!'

To her sisters Clare preserved a stolid, impassive demeanour. She would not leave the house for three weeks after the tidings had come, and then unfortunately meeting Miss Miller, she was subjected to questionable sympathy.

'Very glad to see you out, my dear. Why haven't you been to church lately? It's a very bad sign to keep away from the means of grace when in trouble. Have you heard the particulars of Captain Knox's death? I hope you are quite certain about it, you seem to have gone into mourning very quickly. In cases like this there are often mistakes made. Was the body identified? Well—well, I am very sorry for you; but you would have felt it more if you had been his wife!'

Clare turned and fled from her, and stayed away from church for a month longer, then only going at Agatha's most earnest request.

When Gwen's letter was received, and Clare heard the contents, she said listlessly,—

'Walter can have my money if he likes; it will make no difference to me. You can write to Mr. Watkins, and get him to see to it, Agatha.'

'And mine, too,' put in Elfie brightly. 'Gwen has a good head for business, and if she is going to venture hers, I am sure we can ours.'

But cautious Agatha shook her head, and spread the papers out before her with a grave and anxious face. Then she disappeared for a short time. She knelt at her bedside and asked for guidance about such an important step. And when she rose from her knees she thought sadly that Gwen had planned and purposed without prayer, and wondered if she were too intent upon her own schemes to be wise in her judgment and decisions.

'I am going up to town to talk it over with Mr. Watkins,' she announced, a short time afterwards. 'I do not wish to be ill-natured, and selfish, and prevent Walter from getting on, but I have a horror of these gold-mining companies; and if it should come to a crash, we should literally have nothing left. Of course, you must do as you please, only don't act hastily. Let me hear what Mr. Watkins says.'

So to town she went, and came back very tired, but quite decided in her own mind. Mr. Watkins had not scoffed at the company. He had heard a good deal about it, and had clients who were taking shares in it. He thought it might prove a very good speculation, and there were sound business men backing it up. 'But,' said Agatha, 'he said most emphatically that it was a speculation, and that no one could be positively certain of its success; and, after a great deal of consideration, I have made up my mind to have nothing to do with it.'

'Did Mr. Watkins advise your not having anything to do with it?' asked Elfie.

'No; he was quite neutral. He would not commit himself either way.'

The result was that Clare and Elfie transferred their capital to Mr. Montmorency's company, trusting entirely to the assurances of the prospectuses that their dividends would be paid within the first twelvemonth.

And Agatha had the unpleasant task of writing her refusal to Walter, who had written by the same mail as Gwen, painting his future in glowing colours, and loud in praise of Mr. Montmorency.

'Clare,' said Elfie one afternoon, coming into the study, where Clare was reading in a dreary manner, 'come and see Deb and Patty with me, will you? Agatha wants some honey, and we haven't seen anything of them for ages!'

Clare put down her poetry-book with a sigh, but said she would go, and they were soon sauntering over the meadows to Beehive Cottage, as it was called by the villagers.

They found both sisters at home, and Deb was busy remaking two merino skirts for herself and Patty.

''Tis not very often I do dressmakin' at home, but we're gettin' rather shabby, and so I'm turnin' our Sunday bests. Sit down, young ladies, and Patty will get you a glass o' milk.'

'And how is your sister gettin' on over the sea?' asked Patty, when she had brought the milk and taken a seat opposite her visitors. 'Deb and me often wonders of her, and how she be likin' it.'

'Oh, she is all right—very busy, making us send our money out to invest in a gold-mine.'

'To buy a gold-mine!' ejaculated Deb.

'No; to put our money in it.'

'Ay; why the need for buryin' it down so deep? The earth is everywhere; it be a safe bank, 'tis true, but safer close to one, than in furrin parts, it seems to me.'

Patty spoke emphatically in her breathless manner; and Elfie laughed outright.

'No, she doesn't want us to bury it. We have taken shares in a company that is working the gold-mine.'

Deb and Patty shook their heads doubtfully over this statement.

'The company pickin' up gold is generally a low, bad set,' said Deb. 'I heard tell at Squire Johnson's of a young gentleman who was nigh murdered by a rascally set of men, and all because of gold in his pocket. Gold ofttimes brings a curse, my dears; 'tis best to spend as you goes. And if so be as you put a little by for your burial, well, the earth won't tell tales, and a flower will mark the spot. Did I ever tell you o' my great-gran'mother's money pot?'

'No,' said Clare, with interest, for any old tale delighted her; 'tell it to us now.'

'Great-gran'mother were livin' alone, and gran'mother, she were married four mile off, and used to come in on market days, and see the old lady. Great-gran'mother, she were rather snappy and short, and one day she says to gran'mother, "Sally, my girl, when you come to want, pull up a yaller marigold by the roots"; and gran'mother, she laughs, and says she, "What old wife talk be that, mother? Do marigolds bring luck?" Great-gran'mother, she died soon after, and gran'mother were sore disappointed not to find a few shillin's tied up in a stockin'. The cottage were sold, but gran'father bought it hisself, and moved into it with his family; and years passed, and then gran'father, he died of a fever, and gran'mother brought up eleven boys and girls wi' credit. But times got bad, and she were left wi' a cripple daughter, and the t'others scattered away from her, and work failed her, and they were close on comin' to the House. Gran'mother, she had selled most on her furniture, and there were at last but a crust o' bread in the place, and she were makin' tea-kettle broth—for she were Devonshire, and they folk is great at that—when all on a sudden, as she were a-sayin', "Now, Alice, this be our last meal in this dear place," the words of great-gran'mother come surgin' and rushin' through her brain. "Sally, my girl, when you come to want, pull up a yaller marigold by the roots!" and with a hop and a skip, though she were turned seventy-five, she goes straight down the garden, and tugs at a fine yaller marigold. It took a power o' strength to pull it up; and there to the bottom o' the roots was a pot. She pulled of it up, and it were full o' silver and gold, and kept her and her daughter in ease for ever after.'

'Till they went to the grave,' put in Patty solemnly.

'And do you bury your savings?' asked Elfie, laughing.

Deb looked at Patty, and Patty looked at Deb with grave consideration. Then Deb spoke:

'There is things we can't just confide to every one, young ladies. Will you be havin' a taste of Patty's hot cake before you leave? It's just time for it to be comin' out of the oven!'

Patty bustled forward to procure it. Nothing pleased the old women more than to show hospitality to any visitors who came to see them.

While the cake was being got ready, Clare went out to look at the beehives with Deb.

They chatted over them for a few minutes, and then Deb put her hand gently on Clare's arm.

'We've heard o' your sad loss, my dear, and our old hearts have ached for you. 'Tis a heavy cross to have the hope of bein' a happy wife snatched away, and a lone and loveless spinster's lot instead stretchin' out in front o' you. 'Tis a long and weary road for young feet to travel!'

Poor Clare burst into tears. She could not bear, as yet, to be reminded of her trouble.

'Don't talk of it, Deb,' she said between her sobs; 'it only makes it worse.'

'Ay, ay,' said the old woman, wiping a sympathetic tear away from her own eye with the corner of her apron; 'ye'll be feelin' it sore for a time. But the good Lord will comfort you, if no one else will.'

'It is so dreadful to have to live, whether you like it or not,' said Clare, in that little burst of confidence she sometimes showed to strangers, though never to her sisters.

'But seems as if it would not be easier to die if one left the work that has been set us to others to finish,' said Deb gravely.

'I have no work at all,' Clare responded quickly, almost passionately. 'I could have been a good wife—I hope I could—but there's nothing left me now; no one wants me, and there's nothing to do, and I'm sick of everybody and everything!'

'I'm no preacher,' said Deb meditatively, 'and I don't live a saintly life, so it's no good my settin' myself above my fellows, but Patty and me has our Bibles out once every weekday, and most of all Sundays we're readin' it, so I'll make so bold as to pass you a verse that I did a powerful lot of thinkin' over last Sunday. 'Tis this, and maybe, with your quick, eddicated brain, you'll take it in quicker nor I did—"Strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering, with joyfulness." Maybe that's your work just at present, my dear. Shall we go in now?'

Clare's eyes shone through her tears. Slowly and dimly she was seeing light through her darkness. Miss Villars had done much to help her. But nothing seemed to have shown her the grandeur of suffering as this one verse, uttered in slow, halting accents by an uncultured woman. She never forgot it. The verse—God's message to her—was then and there engraved upon her heart; and though she had not yet found her 'rightful resting-place,' though she was still alternately halting and groping her way towards the Light, yet the possibilities of a noble life, a life in the midst of crushing sorrow, such as represented by Deb's text, had a wonderful attraction for her. She was very silent all the way home that afternoon, and shut herself into the study for some hours' more reading; but this time her poems were laid aside, and the Bible had taken their place. It was only a day or two after that she had a great joy.

She received a little parcel from Mrs. Knox, containing a small Testament, a gift of her own to her lover, and inside a letter addressed to her in his handwriting. It had been written just before that fatal day when he had sallied forth so unthinkingly to his death.

'MY DARLING,—

'Just a line to-night, for I may not have much time to write again before the mail. We are off into the bush tomorrow on one of our business expeditions. How I have longed lately for our work to be done, and the steamer to be bringing me back to you! I have been having grave talks lately with one of our fellows who is a religious chap. It has brought vividly before me your sweet gravity in the quaint old study that last night we spent together just before I left, when you told me that you thought we both might have more comfort if we had more religion. Do you remember? What will you say when I tell you that I have found out that you are right? I cannot express myself, darling, as I should wish, but I can tell you that your little Testament is my best friend. I have discovered that religion is something more than a head belief. And here, in the stillness of my tent, I confess——'

This was all. He had evidently broken off hurriedly, and the letter had found its way to Clare to give her its unfinished message of hope. She bowed her head over it in the silence of her room, and then down on her knees she dropped in a burst of thankfulness for the mercy and tenderness shown her in letting her receive such a message. All rebellion and mistrust faded away, and in true humility and penitence Clare was enabled to take the final step towards the realization of that peace she had longed for all her life—that peace that only comes to a soul that has truly sought and found its Saviour.



CHAPTER XIV

The Cousins' Return

''Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come.'—Byron.

'Agatha! Clare! I have had an adventure! Where are you? Oh, here you are; now listen!'

Elfie ran breathlessly into the house one afternoon in great excitement. She had been for a walk, and had come in late for tea. Agatha was writing letters at her davenport in the drawing-room, and Clare was still toying with her cup of tea. A book was in her lap, but her thoughts were far away. Her face still wore its sad and somewhat wistful look; yet there was gradually dawning upon it the sense of repose and rest. Her sisters noted the old fretfulness and restlessness had gone out of her tones, and whilst Elfie wondered, Agatha rejoiced that trouble had not hardened or embittered her.

Elfie threw herself into a seat, looking the picture of health and fresh young beauty.

'I have been to the pine woods,' she began eagerly, 'and I was rejoicing in my solitude, and walking along through the very darkest part, when I heard voices coming towards me. I wondered if it would turn out to be Major Lester and any of his friends, for I knew he had a private gate into the wood from his grounds. So, not wanting to meet any one, I turned down a side path, and then if you please came plump against the very man I wanted to avoid—Major Lester himself. He quite started when he saw me, but took off his hat and tried to be civil. You know I have been introduced to him at the Millers'. I apologised if I were trespassing, and then he said with a little bow, "I do not wish to keep my neighbours at a distance, Miss Dane; you are welcome to use any foot-path through my woods. I have no secrets on my property, I am thankful to say!" I thought that rather nasty of him, for I knew he meant our cupboard, but I murmured something polite, and was just going to turn back, when the voices I had heard came nearer, and suddenly two strange young men came down the path in front of us. You should have seen Major Lester's face; he stared as if he couldn't believe his eyes, and his hand resting on his stick trembled as if he had the palsy. Then he made a step forward,—

"Roger, my boy, is it you, or do my eyes play me false?"

'Before I could get away, one young man said in a most emphatic voice, and rather sternly too, I thought, "I have brought him back to you, uncle, and he will tell you for himself whether my poor father or I had any hand in his disappearance!" Then I made my escape; I heard them all talking at once. Isn't it exciting? The lost ones have come back. I think they had walked from Brambleton station—taken the short cut through the woods. They looked as if they had roughed it. So weather-beaten and worn!'

'This is an excitement,' Agatha said, turning round from her writing; 'what is Alick Lester like, Elfie?'

'Oh, I didn't notice, I hadn't time. They were both tall, broad-shouldered men in rough shooting clothes, I think. Do you think they will be paying us a visit, Agatha?'

'I suppose Mr. Alick Lester will,' and Agatha's face assumed rather an anxious expression, as she remembered her charge.

'Where is he going to live, I wonder?' said Clare; 'it may seem to him that we are usurpers. Do you think he knows about his father's legacy to you, Agatha?'

Agatha shook her head doubtfully.

'I don't know. I suppose his lawyer will have told him, if he has been to see him. I expect he will stay up at the Hall. Major Lester would be hard-hearted indeed if he did not make him welcome after finding his long-lost son!'

The next morning the whole village was in excitement with the news. Miss Miller tore here and there, pulling at her bonnet strings, and quite incoherent in her speech.

'The vicar is asking Alick to put up with us,' she said, meeting Agatha out. 'It is very trying for him, poor fellow, to find both his father and home taken from him, and it's not to be expected that he would stay long at the Hall, and if his father hadn't died, you wouldn't be where you are, and I suppose we did misunderstand him; but if he had come to church regularly he would have found us his friends, and what he will do now I can't think! I can't stop a minute; I must see Major Lester before our quarterly meeting about church expenses, which takes place this afternoon at two o'clock; and I have just remembered that the bed-hangings of the spare room bed are at the laundry, and if Alick is to sleep there to night I must superintend the cleaning of the room myself!'

Agatha smiled as she returned home, and wondered if there was anything in the vicarage or parish that Miss Miller did not superintend.

Early in the afternoon Clare, who was doing a little gardening, was startled by the sudden appearance of Agatha in the greatest distress of mind, and quite shaken out of her usual composure.

'Oh, Clare, whatever shall I do? I have lost a most important little packet, and I am dreadfully afraid it has been stolen from me.'

'What packet?'

'A small packet Mr. Lester gave to me. I did not say anything about it, because he did not wish me to. I put it in my dressing-case, which always stands on my dressing-table, and I placed it in the secret drawer. The drawer is empty, and the paper gone. I was to give it to his son when he returned, and I promised to keep it safely. I cannot imagine what can have become of it! What shall I do? I wonder how any one could have found it. It is a perfect mystery to me!'

'You must have forgotten where you put it,' said Clare; 'let me come and look. It is quite impossible for any one to have stolen it.'

But Clare's search was quite as unsuccessful as Agatha's, and the latter became almost tearful in her agitation and distress.

'Mr. Alick Lester will be sure to call, and it was his father's wish he should open the cupboard. How can he do it, when I have lost the directions?'

'Is that all the packet contained?' asked Clare, looking relieved. 'I had no idea you possessed the key to it! How quiet you have kept it! And now I will surprise you by telling you that I have found out myself the way to open that cupboard, so am quite independent of any written instructions!'

Agatha certainly was surprised, and though thankful when Clare related her experience to her, did not feel more at ease.

'I have been careless of my charge,' she said. 'What will Mr. Alick think of me? And it is alarming to think that some one has got possession of the secret. They may have opened the cupboard already, for all I know, or may be going to do it this very night. I wonder if our maids are to be trusted! Perhaps Jane has been tampering with my case.'

'I am sure she wouldn't. You don't walk in your sleep, do you?'

Agatha gave a little laugh.

'No, you know I do not. I remember looking at it only a week ago, and putting it carefully back again.'

'Was any one in the room when you did it?'

'No—at least Jane came in, I remember, for she startled me, but she would never know what it was.'

There was silence; then Agatha said more slowly, 'It does look rather suspicious, now I have remembered about Jane, because she has been such friends lately with Major Lester's valet. You know she always walks home from church with him. Elfie was laughing about it, and saying she had soon picked up a follower.'

'I don't see the connection between those two threads,' said Clare, 'unless you think Major Lester is a thief himself!'

'I don't know what I think,' said Agatha hopelessly, sitting down on a chair, and looking the picture of woe; 'I only know I have lost what I promised to keep safely, and I know that Major Lester's great desire has been to get at that cupboard. We won't say anything about it to the maids, Clare, but I will write a little note to Mr. Alick, asking him to come and see me the first thing to-morrow morning. I will tell him exactly what has happened, and then with your help he can open the cupboard, and we shall no longer have the responsibility of it.'

With this wise decision Agatha brightened up, and Clare, who loved nothing better than a mystery, grew quite animated in discussing the matter, and offering her advice. Elfie was taken into counsel, and the three resolved to say nothing till they laid the facts before Alick Lester.

One of the maids was despatched with a note to the Hall, and Agatha received a polite reply from the young man, saying that he hoped to call on her about eleven o'clock the next morning.

But Agatha could get no sleep that night; she was anxious and ill at ease, and after tossing about in bed, long after the rest of the household were deep in sleep, she rose to pace her room, as she sometimes did when wakeful.

Her lips were moving in prayer, and she was endeavouring, as was her custom, to commit her trouble to One above, when she was distinctly conscious of stealthy footsteps treading the gravel path below her window. It was a bright moonlight night, and she had no light burning. For one moment she hesitated; then quietly she walked to the window, which was partly open, and cautiously moving the blind looked out.

The shadow of a man turning the corner of the house towards the study window met her gaze, and Agatha realized that the time had come for immediate action. She was naturally a brave woman; yet for an instant, when she remembered they were but a houseful of women, her courage faltered. Only for an instant. Her motto, 'Trust in the Lord,' flashed like a light across her path, and throwing on her dressing gown, she left her room with quiet, steady steps. She roused Clare, who slept in the next room, and who, full of nerves and fancies as she was, delighted in any nocturnal adventure.

'We really ought to have revolvers,' she said, as she rapidly prepared to follow Agatha downstairs. 'What have you got in your hand? A poker?'

'Don't make a noise; I think we shall frighten any one away without rousing the whole house.'

Clare valiantly seized both poker and tongs in her room, and crept downstairs. Agatha led the way, a candle in hand. They reached the study, and Agatha threw open the door. To her horror the French window was wide open, and a man was on his knees by the cupboard, a lantern on the ground. He started to his feet; then, bewildered and utterly unprepared for their sudden intrusion, dashed out on the verandah and disappeared, but not before both Agatha and Clare had plainly recognised him. He was Major Lester's valet!



Agatha hastily closed the window and shutters, then looked at Clare, who was now white and trembling.

'This looks bad, Clare,' she said gravely. 'This window and shutters must have been purposely left unfastened. He could never have unfastened them from outside.'

But now the danger was over Clare's courage had vanished. She grasped hold of Agatha's arm.

'Come upstairs, quick! He may come back and murder us! I won't stay downstairs another minute.'

'There is nothing to fear now. He has gone. I don't think he would dare face us after being recognised. Wait a minute. Look! He has left an envelope lying by his lantern, and I believe—yes, it is mine. And in Mr. Lester's handwriting. Jane must be at the bottom of this!'