l of the Mill now hung a turbine and Raymond,
Estelle and others had assembled to see it in operation for the first
time. Bride was bottled here, and instead of flashing and foaming over
the water wheel as of yore, now vanished into the turbine and presently
appeared again below it.

Raymond explained the machine with gusto, and Estelle mourned the wheel,
yet as one who knew its departure was inevitable.

It was summer time, and after John Best had displayed the significance
of the turbine and the increased powers generated thereby, Raymond
strolled down the valley beside the river at Estelle's invitation.

She had something to show him at the mouth of the stream--a sea garden,
now in all its beauty and precious to her. For though her mind had
winged far beyond the joys of childhood and was occupied with greater
matters than field botany, still she loved the wild flowers and welcomed
them again in their seasons.

Their speech drifted to the people, and he told how some welcomed the
new appliance and some doubted. Then Raymond spoke of Sabina Dinnett in
sympathetic ears.

For now Estelle understood the past; but she had never wavered in her
friendship with Sabina, any more than had diminished her sister-like
attachment to Raymond. Now, as often, he regretted the attitude his
child preserved towards him and expressed sorrow that he could not break
down Abel's distrust.

"More than distrust, in fact, for the kid dislikes me," he said. "You
know he does, Chicky. But I never can understand why, because he's
always with his mother and Uncle Ernest, and Sabina doesn't bear me any
malice now, to my knowledge. Surely the child must come round sooner or
later?"

"When he's old enough to understand, I expect he will," she said. "But
you'll have to be patient, Ray."

"Oh, yes--that's my strong suit nowadays."

"He's a clever little chap, so Sabina says; but he's difficult and
wayward. He won't be friends with me."

Raymond changed the subject and praised the valley as it opened to the
sea.

"What a jolly place! I believe there are scores of delightful spots at
Bridetown within a walk, and I'm always too busy to see them."

"That's certain. I could show you scores."

"I ought to know the place I live in, better. I don't even know the soil
I walk on--awful ignorance."

"The soil is oolite and clay, and the subsoil, which you see in the
cliffs, is yellow sandstone--the loveliest, goldenest soil in the
world," declar