rance. But you will know better
the next time, and no such excuse will be accepted."

As Mr. Ablethorpe passed me he nodded his blonde curly head at me,
twinkled his eye, and said: "Tell your father that I am going to look
him up one of these days. I want a subscription for our Organ Fund,
but I won't say anything about where I found you--I promise you that."

He looked at Elsie, too, as if he had meant to say something jokingly
to her also, but thought better of it. Then he lifted his hat and
passed away across the green lawn side by side with Miss Orrin. They
wove their way among the clumps of lilies till they were lost to view,
and I could see that they were talking earnestly together.

And from the barn, very lonesome across the black water of the moat,
came the indignant hooting of the mad sisters still shut up behind the
barred door, with the black altar and the little coffins.

CHAPTER IX

ELSIE'S VISITOR

It was a night or two after our first and (for the time being) last
visit to Deep Moat Grange. Elsie and I had arrived back at Nance's,
our hands and even our arms laden with flowers. For Nance had been at
home all day, and so Elsie and I had been taking a holiday--I from
lessons, and Elsie from looking after the house. We had gone wandering
over the long whinny knowes which stretch away to the south, till, from
the top of Brom Beacon, one can see the ships crowding into the docks
of East Dene and Thorsby, collier and tug and tall sea-going brig,
every ship after her kind.

It was a day to be remembered, and as a matter of fact neither of us
has forgotten it. We crossed Brom Water where it was as broad as a
lake. Our conveyance was a penny flatboat, running on a chain, which
chain hauled itself up wet and dripping from the bed of the river. A
little farther on we stretched ourselves out on the greensward upon a
green knoll above a railway cutting. We talked. We were silent, and
listened to the the wind among the leaves and the hum of insects among
the lime trees and meadow plants. Mr. Mustard was not at all in our
thoughts. Nor yet my father in mine. Only one thing troubled me--the
knowledge that in the autumn I must leave Breckonside and go to
college. College itself I did not mind about. There was a certain
amount of fun in being a student--or so I had always been told. What I
really did mind about was leaving Elsie.

It would be--I knew it by instinct--like cutting off a part