ious presence. Poor fool--poor blind fool that he was!

Perhaps it was as well that Malcolm stumbled over the root of a tree at
that moment; the rude shock roused him.

"It is a blessing I have not sprained my ankle," he said to himself;
but he had struck his foot rather severely and limped on with
difficulty. The pain sobered him, and he thought how Elizabeth had told
him that they always used lanterns in the grounds; and he made up his
mind to borrow one for his return journey.

"I wonder if Carlyon will be there," he muttered, as he went up to the
front door. He had never seen it closed before, for in summer it was
always open from morning to night. Somehow the sight chilled him: he
was outside in the darkness and the cold, and for him no household
fires would burn warm and bright, and a bitter sigh came to his lips.

He had raised his hand to the bell, when the door opened suddenly, and
the rosy-cheeked housemaid he remembered peered out into the darkness.
She was evidently very much startled when she saw Malcolm.

"Did you ring, sir?" she asked in some confusion, "for no one heard a
bell. The ladies are still in the dining-room, but I will tell Mullins."

"Please do not bring them, I can well wait. I know my way to the
drawing-room." And Malcolm put down his hat and crossed the hall, which
looked warm and cheery with its bright fire.

The lamps had been lighted in the drawing-room, and the fireplace was
heaped with pine logs that spluttered and blazed merrily, and diffused
a sort of aromatic fragrance. There were pleasant tokens of feminine
occupation on the round table: an open book and a knitting basket that
he knew belonged to Dinah, and a piece of embroidery of an
ecclesiastical pattern, over which he had often seen Elizabeth bending.
There were the very gold scissors and thimble that she had once left
down by the Pool, which cost him and Cedric an hour's search before
they could find them. How pleased she had been when he had brought them
back to her! Malcolm felt an irresistible desire to hold them in his
hand a moment--then he turned quickly away.

There was a little side window in the drawing-room that formed a sort
of alcove; it was fitted up very prettily with palms and flowering
plants, and amongst the foliage stood a beautiful marble figure of a
Roman peasant with her pitcher on her shoulder.

Malcolm had often admired it. It was the work of a young German
sculptor, whom the sisters found in so