ese fragrant blossoms,'
replied Monica hastily. 'I will presently conduct you to the Manor
myself, and entertain you.'

"She was in a desperate strait. How could she manage to save her
brother? Now that Sir Humphrey had come, she knew her every movement
would be watched. No one could be trusted, for the servants (so she
feared) had all been bribed. Gathering a bunch of roses, she contrived
unnoticed to slip her little key inside the heart of one of them.

"'I would fain crave the favour of a flower, madam,' said Sir Humphrey,
who was an admirer of fair dames, in spite of his Puritan dress.

"'Take your choice, sir,' replied Monica, boldly holding out her bunch.
'Nay, not this red one; it is overblown, and will fall directly. 'Tis
but fit to be flung away. This pink hath the sweeter scent, an you will
wear it for me.'

"As she spoke she tossed the rose containing the key with apparent
carelessness over the hedge to the foot of the box tree where her
brother was lying concealed; then, leading her unwelcome guest to the
house, she gave orders for his due entertainment.

"Sir Humphrey and his men searched the Manor in vain, but they never
thought of looking in the garden, where the fugitive was waiting till
the darkness should be black enough to hide him. Sir Piers got safely
away to France, and returned in triumph to his estates when Charles II
came to his own again. As a remembrance of his wonderful escape, he
caused his sister's portrait to be painted, with the bunch of roses in
her hand. Ever since the Courtenays have had an almost superstitious
reverence for the picture. There is an old saying that it guards the
safety and fortunes of the family."

"And what became of Monica?" asked Lindsay, who had been deeply
interested in the story.

"She married a cavalier friend of her brother's, and went to live in
Devonshire. I believe she kept one of the roses treasured away in a box,
and it was buried with her when she died."

"I suppose Monica was christened after her?" said Cicely.

"Yes; that has always been a favourite name with the Courtenays, though
I do not think any of them can have more closely resembled the
portrait."

"How can the picture guard your fortunes?" enquired Lindsay.

"I don't know. It is one of those quaint ideas that sometimes linger in
families. Of course it is only a tale, and I am afraid I have been a
long while in telling it. Monica, dear, it is twenty minutes past five.
Lindsay and Ci