“Solomon!” exclaimed Philippa, looking up with a start, “how have you—” But the rest of the words died on her lips, for there before her stood Solomon’s master, his eyes fixed on her in astonishment, not unmingled with concern, which latter detail, however, at the moment escaped her notice.

Alarmed and indignant at what seemed to her an unjustifiable intrusion, Philippa sprang to her feet, making a futile effort to remove the traces of her tears. She was brushing past the young man with the one idea of escaping from the room, when the housekeeper, recovering from her own first start of annoyance, stopped her.

“My dear,” she began, “my dear young lady—as—as Mr Michael is here, will you not wait a moment? Perhaps it may be the best opportunity of—”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mrs Shepton,” replied the girl, haughtily. “I would not have come to see you if I had thought any one else—”

“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Michael, recollecting himself, as he realised that he was the culprit.—“I will come back again, nurse,” he added to his old friend.

But now it was on him that the housekeeper’s detaining hand was laid.

“Stay a moment, Master Michael,” she began; and acting on a sudden impulse, she again appealed to Philippa. “Will you give me leave,” she said, “to consult Mr Michael about—about this difficulty, as we have reason to think that he knows so much already? May it not be better to tell him all?”

Philippa turned upon her with flaming cheeks, too angry now to care whether the young man saw her tear-stained face and swollen eyes or not.

“Mrs Shepton,” she said, indignantly, “you leave me no choice. What you have said now is equivalent to telling everything! Say what you like, I don’t care, but I cannot stay to hear it. And remember if—if Mr Gresham agrees to what I know you mean to ask him, he will do so for your sake, not for mine.—I make no appeal to you,” she ended, coldly, glancing at the young man, as she determinedly crossed the room and disappeared, closing the door behind her.

The two she had left looked at each other in consternation. Then Michael gave a short laugh.

“What a whirlwind of a girl!” he ejaculated. “What does it all mean, Mrs Shepton, ma’am? I suppose you must tell me now, and I suppose I’ve got to listen. But why is your young friend so furious with me—whatever have I done?” and in his tone, beneath its lightness, Mrs Shepton perceived a considerable spice of indignation.

The housekeeper, though sharing his indignation, looked ready to cry.

“What have you done, sir?” she repeated. “Nothing, of course nothing, except that you have been very kind and considerate about a self-willed, headstrong young lady—for a young lady she is, as you suspected from the first. And never in all my life have I heard of such a wild scheme as she has planned and carried out. If she had fallen into some hands, a nice scandal there would have been! But yet,” she went on, her voice softening, “I am so sorry for her too, for her motives were good and most unselfish. And when she goes home, she will have to face her parents’ great displeasure.”

Michael Gresham raised his eyebrows.

“I am glad to hear that,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder what sort of people they could be to countenance such a proceeding, for this very moment I had come to tell you what I had grown sure of, that this most eccentric young lady’s-maid is no other than Mrs Marmaduke’s own sister—Miss Raynsworth.” And he hastily recapitulated the various twos and twos which had offered themselves to be made fours of, without any special efforts at detection or very great exercise of acuteness on his part.

Mrs Shepton looked considerably relieved, for the having acted on her impulse had already begun to frighten her a little.

“I shall be glad to tell Miss Raynsworth that you had found it all out,” she said, “when she has calmed down a little, and then she will not be vexed with me. She was sure you suspected something, and that was what brought it all out to-day. She is terribly frightened, and no wonder! And yet her pride makes her angry at the very idea of appealing to any one—to you, Mr Michael—to keep her secret, you see?”

“Yes, naturally; but what I don’t see is why I should be expected to do so. A girl who can behave so wildly, and in defiance of her parents, should be pulled up for it, and the sooner the better, I should say.”

His tone was hard; all the softness and geniality seemed to have melted out of his face. Mrs Shepton looked distressed. She began to feel as if by her appeal to him she had let the genii out of the bottle—not that she, good woman, would have thus expressed it—there was a look in her “boy’s” face which she had encountered more than once before in his progress from babyhood to manhood, and which meant a good deal beyond what she was able to cope with.

“Master Michael, my dear,” she began, sitting down as she spoke, and motioning him to a seat beside her, “you don’t understand. Wait till you hear the whole, and all that the poor, dear young lady had in her mind;” and trying not to seem too eager in her defence of Philippa, for she was not without experience in the “little ways” of the sterner sex, the housekeeper related with considerable detail all that she had learnt from Miss Raynsworth as to the home life of her family, her sisterly devotion and not unreasonable anxiety about Evelyn at the present crisis, all—down even to the little difficulties which had attended the efforts to find a suitable attendant to accompany Mrs Marmaduke Headfort to Wyverston. She drew, too, a touching picture of Philippa’s anguish of mind on receiving the sternly disapproving letter from her parents.

“Poor dear, I couldn’t but feel for her, however rash and foolish she may have been, when she looked up at me so piteous-like through her tears, and said, ‘Don’t speak of mamma; she has never been really angry with me before in my life.’ It quite went to my heart, Master Michael, but of course that’s a woman’s way of looking at it, I know,” she added, diplomatically.

Michael emitted an indefinite sound, something between a “humph,” and a “pshaw,” but the lines of his face had softened; there was a touch of amusement, too, in his eyes as he glanced up.

“She is a very silly girl,” he said, at last, “and a very bad actress, though I don’t know that I like her any the less for that.—Eh, Solomon, what do you say to it, old boy? You saw through her from the first, didn’t you?—Solomon is very fastidious in his friendships, you know, Mrs Shepton, ma’am, and he took to her at once, as I have told you.”

His old nurse’s spirits rose. Master Michael wouldn’t speak like that, she thought, if he was going to be hard and unsympathising, but she was wise enough not to show her elation.

“Of course, sir,” she agreed, “silly is no word for it! It was perfectly wild, but the wilder it was, the more mischief may come of it if we cannot help her. That is what she is now so wretched about; she thought of how it might turn our ladies, here, indeed, the whole family, against poor Captain Marmaduke and his wife, little as either deserves it,” for Mrs Shepton had not forgotten to exculpate Evelyn from all concerted share in the mad freak.

Michael’s face darkened a little.

“I don’t understand that young woman altogether,” he said; “either she is a better actress than her sister, or extraordinarily childish.”

“She is quite straightforward,” said the housekeeper, “but her sister has not allowed her to take it up deeply. She knows nothing of the angry letter from their home, or of all this trouble just now. And she has not nearly the strength of character of her sister, I am sure. Miss Raynsworth tells me that Mrs Marmaduke really forgets about it from time to time! And it must be so, or she would never have been so incautious. Why, it’s mainly thanks to her that there’s all this now.”

The smiles which had been lurking somewhere in the corners of Michael’s physiognomy now made itself visible, and broadened as he caught sight of the dubious expression it called forth on his old friend’s face.

“I can’t help thinking,” he began, half apologetically, “of the scene there might be here if it all came out. I mean nothing disrespectful to this family, nurse, when I say that they are not remarkable for their sense of humour. Christine, perhaps, has the most of it, of a rather blunt kind, but Mrs Headfort’s face would grow so long that it would never shorten again, and Felicia would certainly faint and be more melancholy than ever, if they once discovered the trick that had been played upon them.”

“Indeed, yes, sir,” Mrs Shepton replied, gravely, too decorous to join in his smile. “It would be no laughing matter.”

“But what have I to do with it,” said Michael, reverting to the earlier part of their conversation. “What do you—or she—want me to do, or not to do?”

“Oh, that is quite easy to explain, sir,” replied the housekeeper, briskly. “It is not to do that we ask of you. Just to keep her secret, in short, for the two or three days that remain.”

Michael again raised his eyebrow’s.

“And after that—shall I be at liberty to tell anybody who cares to hear? It is rather like giving the burglars time to escape; does Miss Raynsworth intend leaving the country?”

But Mrs Shepton did not smile. On the contrary, she shook her head.

“It is no joking matter, sir,” she repeated, dolefully; “it is not, indeed. I wish I saw a clear end to it, that I do. No, Master Michael—of course I did not mean what you say. She will depend on you never to betray her, I feel sure. I only mentioned the two or three days she will still be here, because once they are over, it is not likely the poor young lady or her troubles will ever come into your mind again—there would be no difficulty in keeping her secret after that.”

From behind her own spectacles the old woman eyed the young man with a somewhat curious expression. But he was looking down; his face was perfectly composed, almost stolid. Only his old nurse knew that when he “put on that face,” it was often more as a mask than as indicating indifference.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, with a slightly cynical lightness of tone. “I have not the very least doubt that she will keep out of my way—she took a dislike to me from the very first, even in the train; a case of natural antipathy, probably. But fate has a nasty little trick of meddlesomeness in these cases sometimes; just because she would prefer giving me the widest berth possible, your young lady, my good Mrs Shepton, may find herself hurled in my way some day when she least expects it. It is by no means improbable; once Duke Headfort is back again, he and his wife will naturally see something of the people here, and Bernard and I are often about Wyverston.”

“But Miss Raynsworth is not Captain Marmaduke’s wife—I am quite sure she will not want to come here again, sir,” said Mrs Shepton.

“Well, no; perhaps not. But there are other possibilities—Mrs Duke and my cousin have struck up a great friendship—I told you, you know, that I heard them planning a visit in which the sister was to be included. And I don’t see why I should stay away from Merle at the best of the shooting for any silly girl in the world. Do you?”

“Nobody asked such a thing,” said the housekeeper, feeling for once rather cross with her adored nursling. “Miss Raynsworth would never dream of it—once you have given your promise, her mind, so far as you are concerned, will be quite at rest, Master Michael, I can assure you.”

“I daresay,” said Michael, grimly, “once I have given my promise.”

He was in a very teasing mood.

But his words failed this time in their effect.

“My dear Master Michael,” said the housekeeper, with a smile, “you are talking for talking’s sake, just to get a ‘rise out of me,’ as you used to say. Of course I know it is all right, and I can assure poor Miss Raynsworth that the matter will be perfectly safe in your hands.”

Mr Gresham did not reply. He had transferred his teasing to Solomon, from whom he at last succeeded in extracting a growl, which made Mrs Shepton start. Though if the truth were told, the dachs only growled out of amiable condescension, understanding that his doing so would gratify his master, whose childishness really amused him sometimes.

“All the same,” continued the old woman, when Solomon had subsided again, “I shall be more thankful than I can tell you, when the two ladies are safely off. It makes me that nervous, sir, you’d scarcely believe it. And unless I can persuade Miss Raynsworth to stay in her room with a bad headache this evening, there’s sure to be gossip in the hall; any one with half an eye could see she is quite upset; her poor eyes alone—”

Michael looked up quickly, and this time his old friend had no need to rebuke him for levity.

“Do you mean—” he began. “Are the—all of the servants not—not respectful and civil to her?”

Mrs Shepton bristled slightly.

“Civil, sir; of course they are that, at any rate when I am by, and I don’t think she ever comes much across them at other times. But ‘respectful’—if you mean behaving to her as if she were not one of themselves!—is the very last thing to wish for under the circumstances.”

“Of course, of course—I was forgetting,” said the young man.

“You may be sure I would allow no disrespect to any young girl, above all, a stranger. And as far as our own servants are concerned I think it has been quite pleasant, though even I cannot stop talk among themselves. And the visitors’ servants I know still less about; I had to give Miss—Miss Ray is the name she calls herself—a warning the other day, to be a little more chatty and friendly. There’s a maid of Mrs Worthing’s that I felt uneasy about. She’s a sharp sort of person and inclined to be spiteful to any one younger and better-looking than herself.”

“She takes after her mistress, then. I can’t stand Mrs Worthing,” said Michael, boyishly. “The daughter is a harmless little thing—wax in her mother’s hands, but Mrs Worthing is a bundle of worldliness, just the sort of woman to beware of.”

He had more in his mind than he thought it well to discuss, even with his trusted old friend. It would have required no great acumen to discover the great attraction of Wyverston at the present time to the lady in question, for Bernard Gresham was universally recognised as one of the most desirable partis of the day. And that, not only by reason of his wealth and social position, but on the higher grounds also of his personal character and refinement of taste. And what Michael had overheard of Evelyn’s conversation with his cousin, even one or two remarks accidentally dropped by his cousin himself, had shown that the Miss Raynsworth of Dorriford had made an impression on him, little as he had seen of her.

“Yes,” added Michael aloud, after a little pause, “you are quite right, nurse. Don’t let the Worthings—mistress or maid—get the slightest scent of any mystery. And impress upon the young lady at all costs to keep out of Bernard’s way.”

So saying, he got up and turned to leave the room. “You may depend upon me,” he said, with a slight nod, and without waiting to hear the housekeeper’s fervent thanks, he called to Solomon, who by this time had fallen comfortably asleep by the fire, and the two went off together.

When Evelyn came in from her drive, somewhat to her surprise, no “Phillis” was awaiting her as usual in her room. She had shut and locked the door carefully, for by this time she had in some ways acquired caution, and then hurrying through the dressing-room, she made her way to the small apartment appropriated to her sister, though scarcely expecting to find her there.

“I believe she has gone out for a stroll,” she said to herself. “Phil is always so fond of mooning about in the dusk, and I do so want to see her.”

But her conjecture proved unfounded, for there on the little bed, with a shawl thrown over her, lay Philippa fast asleep. Evelyn stole up beside her, and stooped down to see her face.

“Poor dear,” she thought, “she is looking very pale, and there are dark rings round her eyes; I wonder if there is anything the matter! Anyway I won’t wake her. I must wait till later to tell her of this new complication.”

So if young Mrs Headfort looked a degree less trim than usual when she made her appearance among the circle gathered in the hall for afternoon tea, it was not to be marvelled at. On her way thither, at the corner of the first passage, she almost ran into the arms of the housekeeper. Evelyn started; she was in rather a nervous mood, and it was not often one came across Mrs Shepton in the upper storeys. To her relief the housekeeper was the first to speak.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” she said, “I’m afraid I startled you. I did not know you had come in, and I was on my way to your—maid’s room. She did not come down to tea, and I know her head was aching this afternoon. I thought perhaps she would like a cup of tea up-stairs.”

“Thank you,” said Evelyn, with incautious fervour. “Thank you so very much. She is lying on her bed fast asleep, and she does not look at all well! But I must go down to tea. If you could stay beside her a few minutes I should be most grateful. She may wake; if she does, please tell her that I can manage quite well for myself to-night.”

The new-comer glanced at the young lady approvingly; even the flush which involuntarily rose to Evelyn’s face, much to her own annoyance, for they were standing close to an already lighted lamp, increased Mrs Shepton’s good opinion of Mrs Marmaduke.

“I will certainly say so, ma’am,” she replied, quickly.

“I have a quarter of an hour to spare, and I will see to her. Perhaps the best thing would be for her to go to bed properly. A good night’s sleep will put her quite right, I daresay.”

And Evelyn, her mind more at rest about her sister, hurried off, congratulating herself on the lucky chance which had brought them in contact with such a kindly “unsuspicious” person as the Wyverston housekeeper.