"Some tea, Timothy?" said Lady Mary.

"If you please, my dear," said Sir Timothy, dropping his letters into the box.

"I am afraid the tea will be little better than poison, brother," said
Lady Belstone, in warning tones; "it has stood so long."

"Perhaps dear Mary intends to order fresh tea, Isabella," said Miss
Crewys.

"It hasn't stood so very long," said Lady Mary, looking appealingly at Sir Timothy; "and you know Ash is always cross if we order fresh tea."

"Excuse me, my love," said Miss Crewys. "I am the last to wish to trouble poor Ash unnecessarily, but the tea waited for ten minutes before you came down."

"My dear Mary," said Sir Timothy, "will you never learn to be punctual? No; I will take it as it is. Poor Ash has enough to do, as Georgina truly says."

Lady Mary sighed rather impatiently, and it occurred to John Crewys that Sir Timothy spoke to his wife exactly as he might have addressed a troublesome child. His tone was gentler than usual, but this John did not know.

"I should have liked to take a turn about the grounds with you," said Sir Timothy to his cousin, "if it had been possible; but I am afraid it is getting too dark now."

"Surely there will be time enough to-morrow morning for that, brother," said Lady Belstone.

Sir Timothy had walked to the oriel window, but he turned away as he answered her.

"I may be otherwise occupied to-morrow."

"But I hope the opportunity may arise before very long," said John, cheerfully. "I should like to explore these woods."

"You will have to come with me, then," said Lady Mary, smiling. "Timothy hates walking uphill, and I should love to show our beautiful views to a stranger."

"I do not like you to tire yourself, my dear," said Sir Timothy.

"A walk through Barracombe woods means simply a climb, Mary," said
Lady Belstone; "and you are not strong."

"I am perfectly robust, Isabella. Do allow me at least the use of my limbs," said Lady Mary, impatiently.

"No woman, certainly no lady, can be called robust," said Miss
Crewys, severely.

The sudden clanging of a bell changed the conversation.

"Visitors. How tiresome!" said Lady Mary.

"My dear Mary!" said Sir Timothy.

"But I know it can't be anybody pleasant, Timothy," said his wife, with rather a mischievous twinkle, "for I owe calls to all the nice people, and it's only the dull ones who come over and over again."

"You owe calls, Mary!" said Lady Belstone, in horrified tones.

"I am afraid," said Miss Crewys, considerately lowering her voice as the butler and footman crossed the hall to the outer vestibule, "that dear Mary is more than a little remiss in civility to her neighbours."

"My dear admiral never permitted me to postpone returning a call for more than a week. Royalty, he always said, the same day; ordinary people within a week," said Lady Belstone.

"When royalty calls I certainly will return the visit the same day," said Lady Mary, petulantly. "But I cannot spend my whole life driving along the high-roads from one house to another. I hate driving, as you know, Isabella."

"What did Providence create carriages for but to be driven in?" said
Lady Belstone.

"You will give John a wrong impression of our worthy neighbours, Mary," said Sir Timothy, pompously. "Personally, I am always glad to see them."

"But you don't have to return their calls, Timothy," said Lady Mary.

The canon inadvertently laughed. Sir Timothy looked annoyed. Miss
Crewys whispered to Lady Belstone, unheard save by the doctor—

"How very odd and flippant poor Mary is to-night—worse than usual!
What can it be?"

"It is just the presence of a strange gentleman that is upsetting her, poor thing," said her sister, in the same whisper. "Her head is easily turned. We had better take no notice."

The doctor muttered something emphatic beneath his breath.

"Mrs. and Miss Hewel," said Ash, advancing into the hall.

"Is it only you and Sarah, after all? What a relief! I thought it was visitors," cried Lady Mary, coming forward to greet them very kindly and warmly. "Did you come across in the ferry?"

"No, indeed. You know how I dislike the ferry. I have the long drive home still before me. But we were so close to Barracombe, at the Gilberts' tea-party. I thought we should be certain to meet you there," said Mrs. Hewel, in rather reproachful tones. "Sarah, of course, wanted to go back in the ferry, but I am always doubly frightened at night—and in one's best clothes. It was quite a large party."

"I'm afraid I forgot all about it," said Lady Mary, with a conscience-stricken glance at her husband.

"I hope you sent the carriage round to the stables?" said Sir Timothy.

"No, no; we mustn't stop a minute. But I couldn't help just popping in—so very long since I've seen you—and all this happening at once," said Mrs. Hewel. She was a large, stout woman, with breathless manner and plaintive voice. "And I wanted to show you Sarah in her first grown-up clothes, and tell you about her too," she added.

"Bless me!" said Sir Timothy. "You don't mean to say little Sarah is grown up."

"Oh yes, dear Sir Timothy; she grew up the day before yesterday," said
Mrs. Hewel.

"Sharp work," said the doctor, grimly.

"I mean, of course, she turned up her hair, and let her dresses down. It's full early, I know, but it's such a chance for Sarah—that's partly what I came about. After the trouble she's been all her life to me, and all—just going to that excellent school in Germany—here's my aunt wanting to adopt her, or as good as adopt her—Lady Tintern, you know."

Everybody who knew Mrs. Hewel knew also that Lady Tintern was her aunt; and Lady Tintern was a very great lady indeed.

"She is to come out this very season; that is why I took her to the Gilberts', to prepare her for the great plunge," said Mrs. Hewel, not intending to be funny. "It will be a change for Sarah, such a hoyden as she has always been. But my aunt won't wait once she has got a fancy into her head; though the child is only seventeen."

"At seventeen I was still in the nursery, playing with my dolls," said Lady Belstone.

"Oh, Lady Belstone!" said an odd, deep, protesting voice.

John looked with amused interest at the speaker. The unlucky Sarah had taken a low chair beside her hostess, and was holding one of the soft white hands in her plump gloved fingers.

Sarah Hewel's adoration for Lady Mary dated from the days when she had been ferried over the Youle with her nurse, to play with Peter, in his chubby childhood. Peter had often been cross and always tyrannical, but it was so wonderful to find a playmate who was naughtier than herself, that Sarah had secretly admired Peter. She was the black sheep of her own family, and in continual disgrace for lesser crimes than he daily committed with impunity. But her admiration of Peter was tame and pale beside her admiration of Lady Mary. A mother who never scolded, who told no tales, who petted black sheep when they were bruised and torn or stained entirely through their own wickedness, who could always be depended on for kisses and bonbons and fairy-tales, seemed more angelic than human to poor little Sarah; whose own mother was wrapt up in her two irreproachable sons, and had small affection to spare for an ugly, tiresome little girl.

Sarah, however, had slowly but surely struggled out of the ugliness of her childhood; and John Crewys, regarding her critically in the lamplight, decided she would develop, one of these days, into a very handsome young woman; in spite of an ungainly stoop, a wide mouth that pouted rather too much, and a nose that inclined saucily upwards.

Her colouring was fresh, even brilliant—the bright rose, and creamy tint that sometimes accompanies vivid red hair—and of a vivid, uncompromising red were the locks that crowned Miss Sarah's little head, and shaded her blue-veined temples.

Miss Crewys had, in consequence, long ago pronounced her to be a positive fright; and Lady Belstone had declared that such hair would prove an insuperable obstacle to her chances of getting a husband.

"I know she's very young," said Mrs. Hewel, glancing apologetically at her offspring. "But what can I do? There's no going against Lady Tintern; and at seventeen she ought to be something more than a tomboy, after all."

"You were married at seventeen, weren't you?" said Sarah to Lady Mary, in her deep, almost tragic voice—a voice that commanded attention, though it came oddly from her girlish chest.

"Sarah!" said Mrs. Hewel.

Lady Mary started and smiled. "Me? Yes, Sarah; I was married at seventeen."

"Mamma says nobody can be married properly—before they're one and twenty. I knew it was rot," said Sarah, triumphantly.

"Miss Sarah retains the outspokenness of her recently discarded childhood, I perceive," said Sir Timothy, stiffly.

"Sarah!" said her mother, indignantly, "I said not unless they had their parents' consent. I was not thinking of Lady Mary, as you know very well."

"Your people didn't say you were too young to marry at seventeen, did they?" said Sarah, caressing Lady Mary's hand.

Lady Mary smiled at her, but shook her head. "You want to know too much, Sarah."

"Oh, I forgot," said Sarah the artless. "Sir Timothy was your guardian, so, of course, there was nobody to stop his marrying you if he liked. I suppose you had to do what he told you."

"Oh, Sarah, will you cease chattering?" cried her mother.

"I hope you have good news of your sons in South Africa, Mrs. Hewel," said the canon, briskly advancing to the rescue.

Mrs. Hewel's voice changed. "Thank you, canon; they were all right when we heard last. Tom is in Natal, so I feel happier about him; but Willie, of course, is in the thick of it all—and the news to-day—isn't reassuring."

"But you are proud of them both," said Lady Mary, softly. "Every mother must be proud to have sons able and willing to fight for their country."

"We may feel differently concerning the justice of this war," said Sir Timothy, clearing his throat; and Lady Mary shrugged her shoulders, whilst the canon jumped from his chair, and sat meekly down again on catching the doctor's eye.

"But in our sympathy with our brave soldiers we are all one, Mrs.
Hewel."

Sarah sprang forward. "You don't mean to say you're still a pro-Boer, Sir Timothy?" she exclaimed. "Well, mamma—talking of the justice of the war—when Tom and Willie are risking their lives"—she broke into a sudden sob—"and now Peter—"

"Peter!" said Lady Mary.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Sarah, running to her friend. "I didn't mean to hurt you—talking of the war—and—and the boys—when you must be thinking only of Peter." She wrung her hands together piteously.

"Of Peter!" Lady Mary repeated.

"We only heard to-day," said Mrs. Hewel, "and came in hoping for more details. My cousin George, who is also going out with Lord Ferries, happened to mention in his letter that Peter had joined the corps."

"I think I can explain how the mistake arose," said Sir Timothy, stiffly. "Peter wrote for permission to join, and I refused. My son is fortunately too young to be of any use in a contest I regard with horror."

"But Cousin George was helping Peter to get his kit, because they were to sail at such short notice," cried Sarah.

"Sarah," said her mother, in breathless indignation, "will you be silent?"

"What does this mean, Timothy?" said Lady Mary, trembling.

She stood by the centre table; and the hanging lamp above shed its light on her brown hair, and flashed in her blue eyes, and from the diamond ring she wore.

The doctor rose from his chair.

"I am at a loss to understand," said Sir Timothy.

"It means," said Sarah, half-hysterically,—"oh, can't you see what it means? It just means that Peter is going to South Africa, whether you like it or not."

"There must be some mistake, of course," said Mrs. Hewel, in distressed tones. "And yet—George's letter was so very clear."

Dr. Blundell touched the canon's arm.

"Shall I—must I—" whispered the canon, nervously.

"There is no help for it," said the doctor. He was looking at Lady Mary as he spoke. Her face was deathly; her little frail hand grasped the table.

"Sir Timothy," said the canon, "I—I have a communication to make to you."

"On this subject?" said Sir Timothy.

"A letter from Peter."

"Why did you not say so earlier?" said Sir Timothy, harshly.

"I will explain, if you will kindly give me five minutes in the study."

"A letter from Peter," said Lady Mary, "and not—to me."

She looked round at them all with a little vacant smile.

John Crewys, who knew nothing of Peter's letter, had already grasped the situation. He divined also that Lady Mary was fighting piteously against the conviction that Sarah's news was true.

"How could we guess you did not know?" said Mrs. Hewel, almost weeping.

"I am still in the dark," said Sir Timothy, coldly.

"Birch will explain at once," said the doctor, impatiently.

"Peter writes—asking me,—I am sure I don't know why he pitched upon me,—to—break the news to you, that he has joined Lord Ferries' Horse; feeling it his—his duty to his country to do so," said the unhappy canon, folding and unfolding the letter he held, with agitated fingers.

"I knew there would be a satisfactory explanation," said Mrs. Hewel, tearfully. "Dear Lady Mary, having so inadvertently anticipated Peter's letter, there is only one thing left for me to do. I must at least leave you and Sir Timothy in peace to read it. Come, Sarah."

"Allow me to put you into your carriage," said Sir Timothy, in a voice of iron.

Sarah followed them to the door, paused irresolutely, and stole back to Lady Mary's side.

"Say you're not angry with me, dear, beautiful Lady Mary," she whispered passionately. "Do say you're not angry. I didn't know it would make you so unhappy. It was partly my fault for telling Peter in the holidays that only old men, invalids, and—and cowards—were shirking South Africa. I thought you'd be glad, like me, that Peter should go and fight like all the other boys."

"Sarah," said Dr. Blundell, gently, "don't you see that Lady Mary can't attend to you now? Come away, like a good girl."

He took her arm, and led her out of the hall; and Sarah forgot she had grown up the day before yesterday, and sobbed loudly as she went away.

Lady Mary lifted the miniature from the table, and looked at it without a word; but from the sofa, the two old sisters babbled audibly to each other.

"I always said, Isabella, that if poor Mary spoilt Peter so terribly, something would happen to him."

"What sad nonsense you talk, Georgina. Nothing has happened to him—yet."

"He has defied his father, Isabella."

"He has obeyed his country's call, Georgina. Had the admiral been alive, he would certainly have volunteered."

John Crewys made an involuntary step forward and placed himself between the sofa and the table, as though to shield Lady Mary from their observation, but he could not prevent their words from reaching her ears.

She whispered to him very softly. "Will you get the letter for me? I want to see—for myself—what—what Peter says."

"Go quietly into the library," said John, bending over her for a moment. "I will bring it you there immediately."

She obeyed him without a word.

John turned to the sofa. "I beg your pardon, canon," he said courteously, "but Lady Mary cannot bear this suspense. Allow me to take her son's letter to her at once."

"I—I am only waiting for Sir Timothy. It is to him I have to break the news; though, of course, there is nothing that Lady Mary may not know," said the canon, in a polite but flurried tone. "I really should not like—"

"My brother must see it first," said Miss Crewys, decidedly.

"Exactly. I am sure Sir Timothy would not be pleased if—Bless my soul!"

For John, with a slight bow of apology, and his grave air of authority, had quietly taken the letter from the canon's undecided fingers, and walked away with it into the library.

"How very oddly our cousin John behaves!" said Lady Belstone, indignantly. "Almost snatching the letter from your hand."

"Depend upon it, Mary inspired his action," said Miss Crewys, angrily. "I saw her whispering away to him. A man she never set eyes on before."

"Pray are we not to hear the contents?" said Lady Belstone, quivering with indignation.

"I suppose he thinks Lady Mary should make the communication herself to Sir Timothy," gasped the canon. "I am sure I have no desire to fulfil so unpleasing a task. Still, the matter was entrusted to me. However, the main substance has been told; there can be no further secret about it. My only care was that Sir Timothy should not be unduly agitated."

"It is a comfort to find that some one can consider the feelings of our poor brother," said Miss Crewys.

"Do give me your arm to the drawing-room, canon," said Lady Belstone, rightly judging that the canon would reveal the whole contents of Peter's letter to her more easily in private. "The shock has made me feel quite faint. You, too, Georgina, are looking pale."

"It is not the shock, but the draught, which is affecting me, Isabella,—Sir Timothy thoughtlessly keeping the door open so long. I will accompany you to the drawing-room."

"But Sir Timothy may want me," said the canon, uneasily.

"Bless the man! they've got the letter itself, what can they want with you?" said her ladyship, vigorously propelling her supporter out of reach of possible interruption. "Close the door behind us, Georgina, I beg, or that odious doctor will be racing after us."

"He takes far too much upon himself. I have no idea of permitting country apothecaries to be so familiar," said Miss Crewys.