ndow might flit its way out again. On
a cold grey morning she stood waiting, with her boxes already stowed in
the farm cart, till the last of the market produce should be ready, for
the train she was to catch was of less importance than the chickens and
butter and eggs that were to be offered for sale. From where she stood
she could see an angle of the long latticed window that was to have been
cosy with curtains and gay with bowls of flowers. Into her mind came the
thought that for months, perhaps for years, long after she had been
utterly forgotten, a white, unheeding face would be seen peering out
through those latticed panes, and a weak muttering voice would be heard
quavering up and down those flagged passages. She made her way to a
narrow barred casement that opened into the farm larder. Old Martha was
standing at a table trussing a pair of chickens for the market stall as
she had trussed them for nearly fourscore years.

THE LULL

"I've asked Latimer Springfield to spend Sunday with us and stop the
night," announced Mrs. Durmot at the breakfast-table.

"I thought he was in the throes of an election," remarked her husband.

"Exactly; the poll is on Wednesday, and the poor man will have worked
himself to a shadow by that time. Imagine what electioneering must be
like in this awful soaking rain, going along slushy country roads and
speaking to damp audiences in draughty schoolrooms, day after day for a
fortnight. He'll have to put in an appearance at some place of worship
on Sunday morning, and he can come to us immediately afterwards and have
a thorough respite from everything connected with politics. I won't let
him even think of them. I've had the picture of Cromwell dissolving the
Long Parliament taken down from the staircase, and even the portrait of
Lord Rosebery's 'Ladas' removed from the smoking-room. And Vera," added
Mrs. Durmot, turning to her sixteen-year-old niece, "be careful what
colour ribbon you wear in your hair; not blue or yellow on any account;
those are the rival party colours, and emerald green or orange would be
almost as bad, with this Home Rule business to the fore."

"On state occasions I always wear a black ribbon in my hair," said Vera
with crushing dignity.

Latimer Springfield was a rather cheerless, oldish young man, who went
into politics somewhat in the spirit in which other people might go into
half-mourning. Without being an enthusiast, however, he was a fai