ain carry with you. Rest
quietly at home; it may be Humphrey will be coming to let us know if Mr
Sidney has arrived at Penshurst. Why such haste, little sister?'

'Because I do covet a place where I can witness the grand tourney at
Whitehall. It may suit your mood, Mary, to live always on this hilltop,
with naught to see and naught to do; with no company but a cross-grained
stepmother, and the cows and sheep. I am sick of it. Even a run down to the
village is a change. Yes, I am going; one hour, and I will be back.'

Mary Gifford laid a detaining hand on her young sister's shoulder.

'Have a care, dear child, nor let your wild fancies run away with your
discretion. Am I not one who has a right to caution you? I who have come
back as a widow to my old home, bereft and lonely.'

'Because you married a bad man, and rued the day, it is no reason that I
should do the same. Trust me, good sister. I may be young, but I have my
wits about me, and no soft speeches catch me in a net.'

The elder sister's beautiful face, always grave and mournful in its
earnestness, grew even more mournful than was its wont, as she looked down
into her sister's lovely eyes, and kissed her forehead.

'Child, I pray God to keep you safe; but the net you speak of is not spread
in the sight of any bird, and it is captured all unawares.'

Lucy's answer was to return her sister's kiss with a quick, warm embrace,
and then she was off, with the basket on her arm, and her glad, young voice
ringing out,--

'Good-bye! good-bye! I'll be back in an hour.'

Mary Gifford stood under the old stone porch, watching the light figure as
it tripped away, and then was turning into the house again, when a sharp
voice she knew too well called,--

'Lucy! Lucy! Where's that hussy? There's two pails of milk to set for cream
in the pans, and the cakes are scorching before the fire. Lucy! Where's
Lucy?'

Mary Gifford did not reply to the question, but said,--

'I will go to the dairy, mother, and see to the milk.'

'And take your boy with ye, I'll warrant, who will be up to mischief. No,
no; it's Lucy's work, and she shall do it. It will be bedtime before we
know it, for the sun is going down. Lucy!'

This time a child's voice was heard, as little feet pattered along the
terrace outside Ford Manor.

'Aunt Lou is gone,' the child said. 'I saw her running down the hill.'

'Is she? She shall repent it, then, gadding off like that. More shame to
you,' Mrs Forres