umn night when they
sat together in the heather, and his figure and hers became huge with
portent. She had thought he was the tinker, and so, indeed, he was, and
he no doubt had mistaken her for Miriam, as latterly he had mistaken his
own needs. No, she was not altogether responsible. And why had Rupert
told her that tale? And why, if she must have a tinker, could she not
desire him as Eliza had desired hers?

"Oh, no, no!" she said aloud and very quickly, and she folded her arms
across her breast and held her shoulders, shrinking.

"I don't think so either," Miriam said.

CHAPTER XXVII

Uncle Alfred in a trap and Rupert on foot arrived at the same moment on
Saturday, and while Rupert asked quick questions about Mildred Caniper,
the other listened in alarm.

He was astonished to feel Helen's light touch leading him to the corner
where the hats were hanging, to hear her low voice in his ear.

"Pretend that's why you've come!"

He whispered back, "Where is she?"

"In bed."

"Miriam?"

"No, no. Dressing up for you!"

"Ah," he said, relieved, but he felt he was plunged into melodrama.
Nothing else could be expected of a family which had exiled itself
mysteriously in such a wilderness, but he felt himself uncomfortably out
of place and he straightened his tie and gave his coat a correcting pull
before he went into the schoolroom, where John and Lily were sitting by
the fire.

"We're all waiting for the doctor," Helen explained.

"Ah!" Uncle Alfred said again, on a different note. He clasped his hands
behind his back and nodded, and in spite of this inadequate contribution
he conveyed an impression of stiff sympathy, and gave the youthful
gathering the reassurance of his age as they made a place for him by the
fire.

"I'm jolly glad you're here," Rupert said cordially, and Uncle Alfred,
not used to a conspirator's part, stole a glance at Helen. She was
standing near him; her stillness was broken by constant tiny movements,
like ripples on a lake; she looked from one face to another as though
she anticipated and watched the thoughts behind, and was prepared to
combat them.

"I wish you'd sit down," Lily said, as Helen went to the window and
looked out.

"Yes, sit down, sit down," said Uncle Alfred, and he stood up, pointing
to his chair.

"No; I'm listening, thank you," Helen said.

The nurse's heavy tramp thudded across the room above, and her steps had
something in them of finality, of the c