th a hectic prettiness of bright eyes and cheeks, and
had a following of the young men of the place; and though she always
tried to enforce that to receive attentions from a smart young mate, a
clerk in an office, a doctor's assistant, or the like, was a great
condescension on her part, she enjoyed them all the more. Learning new
songs for their benefit, together with extensive novel reading, were her
chief employments, and it was the greater pity because her health was not
strong. She dreamt much in a languid way, and had imagination enough to
work these tales into her visions of life. Her temper suffered, and
Constance found the atmosphere less and less congenial as she grew older
and more accustomed to a different life.

She was a gentle, ladylike girl, with her brown hair still on her
shoulders, as on that summer Saturday she stood looking along the path,
but with her ears listening for sounds from the house, and an anxious
expression on her young face. Presently she started at the sound of a
gun, which caused a mighty cawing among the rooks in the trees on the
slopes, and a circling of the black creatures in the sky. A whistling
then was heard, and her brother Herbert came in sight in a few minutes
more, a fine tall youth of sixteen, with quite the air and carriage of a
gentleman. He had a gun on his shoulder, and carried by the claws the
body of a rook with white wings.

'Oh, Herbert,' cried Constance in dismay, 'did you shoot that by
mistake?'

'No; Stanhope would not believe there was such a crittur, and betted half
a sov that it was a cram.'

'But how could you? Our uncle and aunt thought so much of that poor dear
Whitewing, and Best was told to take care of it. They will be so vexed.'

'Nonsense! He'll come to more honour stuffed than ever he would flying
and howling up there. When I've shown him to Stanhope, I shall make that
old fellow at Colbeam come down handsomely for him. What a row those
birds kick up! I'll send my other barrel among them.'

'Oh no, don't, Bertie. Uncle Frank has one of his dreadful headaches
to-day.'

'Seems to me he is made of headaches.'

'Yes, Aunt Mary is very anxious. Oh, I would have done anything that you
had not vexed them now and killed this poor dear pretty thing!' said
Constance, stroking down the glossy feathers of the still warm victim,
and laying them against her cheek, almost tearfully.

'Well, you are not going to tell them. Perhaps they won't m