ts in the open air, and
nibbling a sponge cake half forgotten and suddenly found in a drawer
with her handkerchiefs. But in justice to her it ought to be added that
she seemed only to care for the kind of provender which yielded the
largest increment in the way of crumbs.

As she sat and nibbled an uneasy recollection stole across her mind.

This recollection was becoming more disconcerting day by day. And yet
she had acted for the best. That fact did not insure to her immunity
from blame on the part of that awful personage, her sister Mary. Good
intentions had never yet received their due as extenuating circumstances
in Lady Blore's sweeping judgments.

If a certain secret chivalrous action of Aunt Aggie's "turned out
wrong," she knew well the intonation in which Lady Blore would ask her
why she had been such a fool. Nevertheless she, Aunt Aggie, had only
done with consummate tact what Mary herself had contemplated doing in
her rough way, and had been persuaded not to do.

Some weeks ago Aunt Aggie had concocted in secret, recopied about twenty
times, and had finally despatched a letter to Lord Lossiemouth anent
Magdalen. It had been the boldest action of her life. At first, even
after she had seen that she was the only person able to deal adequately
with so delicate a matter, she had feared that she would not have the
strength to perform her mission. But strength had apparently been lent
to her for the occasion. The letter had actually been posted.

The moment it was irrevocably gone Aunt Aggie fell into a panic.
Supposing it failed in its object, and that Algernon or Mary discovered
what she had done. She could not even face such a possibility. But then,
supposing on the other hand that her missive united two loving,
estranged hearts, and that dear Magdalen owed her happiness--and a
titled happiness--to her. Then Algernon and Mary would be forced to
admit that she had shown a courage and devotion greater than theirs. "We
only talked, you acted," they would both say, and she would thenceforth
be recognised in her true light, as an incomparable counsellor, and a
judicious, far-seeing friend.

But three weeks had elapsed since Aunt Aggie, stealing out alone, had
dropped that momentous letter into the village post-box. Nothing had
happened. She had not even received an answer. She was becoming
frightened and anxious. _Was he secretly married?_ She wished she had
thought of that possibility before she posted the let