said Susy, staring in astonishment at Jane, who
had stalked up to her now and was staring her full in the face.

"Well, then, perhaps I'd better tell you, if it is for the last time.
The Towers is beautiful because for hundreds of years brave men have
been born here and gentle noble women have lived here, and their
influence has got somehow into the walls and into the furniture, and it
pervades the rooms inside and out. It's bad to go against that kind of
spirit and you and your father had better be careful when you come here,
or you may rake up ghosts that you won't much care about. Now, if
you'll have the goodness to go back to the others--you'll find them in
the front drawing room. I'll return to my duties, which at the present
moment consist of shelling peas and chucking raspberries. That's your
way, Miss Susan Drummond, through that door, and if you're wise you'll
remember my words."

CHAPTER XXII.

ANTONIA'S GIFT.

When Susan returned to the drawing room she saw no one there but
Antonia, who, squatting on the floor, was absorbed heart and soul in
copying her Chinese dragons. Susy was not in a humour to talk to
Antonia, she therefore proceeded to go further afield. She was anxious
to find Hester and Annie. The Towers, with its old-fashioned rooms and
old-world furniture, had much disappointed her. It needs the sort of
education which nothing could ever give to Susy Drummond, to appreciate
a place like the Towers. Hester and Jane Macalister had also between
them contrived to depress her, and it was a subdued and rather
crestfallen Susy who now crossed the magnificent octagon hall in pursuit
of the rest of her party.

Antonia meanwhile worked at her dragons with a will. If Susy were out of
her element, Antonia was absolutely steeped in hers. The faded
furniture, the subdued light, the rich colour of the magnificent china
filled her really artistic nature with a sense of rejoicing. Behind all
her affectations, Antonia had a soul. It had never been awakened yet.
All her life hitherto poor Antonia had spent her time with the most
empty-headed and frivolous people. Only art seemed great and glorious
and satisfying. She loved it sincerely, and for itself alone; she had no
ambitions with regard to it, ambition was not a part of her queer
nature; she would all her life be a humble votary at a lofty shrine. She
did not imagine that there could be anything greater than art in the
whole world. As yet her soul ha