or the rustling of leaves and a distant murmur from the
plantation, the night was very still. As she meant to go to bed so
early, Mrs. Orban did not have lamps brought out on to the veranda;
she and Eustace sat close together in the gloom, their only light a
faint golden streak from the drawing-room.

Becky had been in bed a long time, and was fast asleep. For a while
they could hear the servants clearing away the dinner; then there
was silence even in that quarter, and they knew that Mary and Kate
had gone to bed.

"We ought to be going too, I think, my man," Mrs. Orban said
softly.

Eustace slipped down on to a stool at her feet and rested his head
against her knee.

"O mummie," he pleaded, "not just yet. Couldn't you tell me a story
first?"

"I could, of course," Mrs. Orban admitted slowly, "but the question
is, Ought I to? It is getting late for you."

"But it is awfully early for you," Eustace argued. "I don't believe
you will sleep if you go now. You always say you can't if you go to
bed too soon. You see, we needn't get up quite so early, as father
isn't here to go out to the plantation."

"That is true," said Mrs. Orban with a laugh. "I really think we
shall have to make a barrister of you, Eustace, you plead a cause
so eloquently. But what kind of story shall I tell you?"

"Oh, one of the old home stories, please," he said instantly. "I
should like to know all I can about it before Aunt Dorothy comes."

"I wonder if there are any I have not told you," Mrs. Orban said
thoughtfully.

"There must be hundreds," Eustace said. "I always think Maze Court
must have stories without end."

"We used to think so, I remember," said his mother; "but I suppose
that is always the case with a house when one family has possessed
and occupied it for so many generations."

"It is a sixteenth-century house, isn't it?" Eustace asked.

"Seventeenth century," was the answer, "built in 1688 by Eustace
Chase, a loyal subject of the king. His father lost everything for
the cause, and the young man was rewarded for following the
Royalist fortunes--or rather misfortunes--soon after the king came
to his own again."

Eustace gave a huge sigh.

"I do like belonging to people like that," he said with
satisfaction.

There was a long silence.

"Mummie--the story," prompted Eustace at last.

"I was just hunting my memory for one," said his mother. "Did you
ever hear how we lost Aunt Dorothy?"

Eustace shook his head an