go wherever they like, except the child herself, who must be kept in a
warm room for two days, when she will probably be quite well again."

"I am glad, dear, there is nothing to put a stop to your visit; it would
have been such a pity," said Marion, in her blindness, to her sister
afterwards.

So the fates had a game of pitch and toss with Vera's future, and settled
it amongst them to their own satisfaction, probably, but not, it will be
seen, for Vera's own good or ultimate happiness.

On the afternoon of the 3rd day of January, therefore, Eustace
Daintree drove his sister-in-law over to Shadonake in the open
basket pony-carriage, and deposited her and her box safely at the
stone-colonnaded door of that most imposing mansion, which she entered
exactly ten minutes before the dressing-bell rang, and was conducted
almost immediately upstairs to her own room.

Some twenty minutes later there are still two ladies sitting on in the
small tea-room, where it is the fashion at Shadonake to linger between
the hours of five and seven, who alone have not yet moved to obey the
mandate of the dressing-bell.

"What _is_ the good of waiting?" says Beatrice, impatiently; "the train
is often late, and, besides, he may not come till the nine o'clock
train."

"That is just what I want to wait for," answers Helen Romer. "I want
just to hear if the carriage has come back, and then I shall know for
certain."

"Well, you know how frightfully punctual papa is, and how angry it makes
him if anybody is late."

"Just two minutes more, Beatrice; I can dress very quickly when once
I set to work," pleads Helen.

Beatrice sits down again on the arm of the sofa, and resigns herself to
her fate; but she looks rather annoyed and vexed about it.

Mrs. Romer paces the room feverishly and impatiently.

"What did you think of Miss Nevill?" asks Beatrice.

"I could hardly see her in her hat and that thick veil; but she looked as
if she were handsome."

"She is _beautiful_!" says Beatrice, emphatically, "and uncle Tom
says----"

"Hush!" interrupts Helen, hurriedly. "Is not that the sound of
wheels?--Yes, it is the carriage."

She flies to the door.

"Take care, Helen," says Beatrice, anxiously; "don't open the door
wide, don't let the servants think we have been waiting, it looks so
bad--so--so unlady-like."

But Helen Romer does not even hear her; she is listening intently to the
approaching sounds, with the half-opened door in her