as nothing when the organ began to play. Mr. Holmes, the
organist, was a great musician, and could manage his instrument with a
wizard touch. In the afternoons, between four and five o'clock, he was
wont to practice his voluntaries, and to listen to these took Winona
into a new world of sound. He was a disciple of the extreme modern
school of music, and his interpretations of Debussy, Cesar Franck,
Medtner and Glazounow came to her as a revelation. The glorious weird
harmonies, the strange, unaccustomed chords of these tone-poems stirred
her like the memory of something long forgotten. As Anglo-Indians, whose
knowledge of Hindustani faded with their childhood, yet start and thrill
at the sound of the once familiar language, so this dream-music brought
haunting elusive suggestions too subtle to be defined. It held a
distinct part in Winona's development.

The girl was growing up suddenly. In the almost nursery atmosphere of
Highfield, with nothing to stimulate her faculties she had remained at a
very childish stage, but now, with a world of art, music, science and
literature dawning round her she seemed to leap upward to the level of
her new intellectual horizon. It is a glorious time when we first begin
to reap the inheritance of the ages, and to discover the rich stores of
delight that master minds have laid up for us to enjoy. Life was moving
very fast to Winona; she could not analyze all her fresh thoughts and
impressions, but she felt she could no more go back to her last year's
mental outlook than she could have worn the long clothes of her
babyhood. She was sixteen now, for her birthday fell on the 20th of
January. Somehow sixteen sounded so infinitely older than fifteen! There
was a dignity about it and a sense of importance. In another year she
would actually be "sweet seventeen," and a member of that enviable
school hierarchy the Sixth Form!

Winona could have made herself thoroughly happy at Abbey Close but for
the shadow that existed between herself and Aunt Harriet. Percy's secret
was a perpetual burden on her conscience. At meal times she would often
find her eyes wandering towards the oak cupboard, and would start
guiltily, hoping Miss Beach had not noticed. The more she thought about
the subject the more convinced she became that she ought to give some
hint of the state of affairs, though how to do so without implicating
her brother was at present beyond her calculations. One day, however, a
really hope