ssured by the comfortable
knowledge that her dear, gracious ladies would see her through any
trouble, however much the fact that her country was at war with England
might prejudice the police against her.

CHAPTER XXX

It was late afternoon in the same day, a bright, sunny golden afternoon,
more like a warm May day than a day in March.

The bride and bridegroom, each feeling more than a little shy, had
enjoyed their late luncheon, the first they had ever taken alone
together. And Major Guthrie had been perhaps rather absurdly touched to
learn, from a word dropped by Howse, that the new mistress had herself
carefully arranged that this first meal should consist of dishes which
Howse had told her his master particularly liked. And as they sat there,
side by side, in their pleasant dining-room--for he had not cared to
take the head of the table--the bridegroom hoped his bride would never
know that since his blindness he had retained very little sense of
taste.

After luncheon they had gone out into the garden, and she had guided his
footsteps along every once familiar path. Considering how long he had
been away, everything was in very fair order, and she was surprised to
find how keen he was about everything. He seemed to know every shrub and
plant there, and she felt as if in that hour he taught her more of
practical gardening than she had ever known.

And then, at last, they made their way to the avenue which was the chief
glory of the domain, and which had certainly been there in the days when
the house had stood in a park, before the village of which it was the
Manor had grown to be something like a suburb of Witanbury.

There they had paced up and down, talking of many things; and it was he
who, suggesting that she must be tired, at last made her sit down on the
broad wooden bench, from where she could see without being seen the
long, low house and wide lawn.

They both, in their very different ways, felt exquisitely at peace. To
his proud, reticent nature, the last few days had proved
disagreeable--sometimes acutely unpleasant. He had felt grateful for,
but he had not enjoyed, the marks of sympathy which had been so freely
lavished on him and on his companions in Holland, on the boat, and since
his landing in England.

In those old days which now seemed to have belonged to another
existence, Major Guthrie had thought his friend, Mrs. Otway, if
wonderfully kind, not always very tactful. It is a mista