which the Psalmist spoke--she could not
know. She could only hope; but hope seemed to have dwindled during that
painful journey.

They entered the Park. The trees rose dark and blurred about them,
deeper shadows on the pale grey shadow of the night. They gave forth a
soft, seething sound in the gentle wind. It was as if they sighed in
their sleep. A scent of dead leaves blew from the coverts--fresh and
bitter. A wholesome autumn smell, mingling oddly with the sound of
summer leafage. They passed the chapel, in which service was held every
Sunday for the family and servants of Dynehurst. There all the Chesneys
were buried. There Cecil would lie some day, and die, and little
Bobby--Bobby grown to be a man, an old man maybe, with children and
grandchildren of his own to follow. She imagined the dank crypt, and the
coffins ranged there. It seemed a horrid way to be buried. She pressed
closer to Cecil. She remembered how she had once wished that he would
die....

Now the severe, dark mass of the house came into sight, pierced by
squares of dusky orange. Against the skyey beach of cloud-shells it
reared like a grim cliff. The front door stood wide. Gerald was waiting
for them. He came forward to assist Cecil.

"Sorry, old man," he said shyly, holding out his hand. "Have a
shoulder?"

"Thanks," said his brother, "but I'm not a cripple, you know."

His tone was good-humoured. He got out first, being nearest the door,
then turned to help Sophy.

"How d'ye do, Sophy?" said Gerald. His face lighted up as he saw her.
"Glad Cecil seems so fit. Thought the journey might knock him up a bit."

They went into the huge, oppressive hall. The skylight that ran from end
to end of its hundred feet looked curiously blind in the glow from lamps
and candles. There was a fire burning in the big fireplace at one end.

"Thought you might get chilly driving up," explained Gerald. He was a
slight, dark man, rather Celtic in appearance. He was like the
great-grandfather, for whom he was named, and who also had been a
scholar and a dreamer.

"Good old chap!" said Chesney, expanding in the bright blaze. "Deuced
thoughtful of you!" He was as fond of artificial warmth as a cat.

"And I had tea served--though it's only an hour to dinner," continued
Gerald. He was much pleased at finding his brother so amiable. He had
thought that illness might make him quite unbearable. It was for Sophy's
sake that he was so glad. He himself merely kept out of