lling airs floated over the tops of the hedges from
the fields beyond, and now and then a few stray notes of a blackbird's
song stole out from a plantation near at hand, breaking off suddenly and
dying down into drowsy, contented little cluckings and twitterings.

Across the bay the sun was dipping towards the horizon, flinging along
the face of the waters great shafts of lambent gold and orange, that
split into a thousand particles of shimmering light as the ripples
caught them up and played with them, and finally tossed them back again
to the sun from the shining curve of a wave's sleek side.

It was all very tranquil and pleasant, and Sara strolled leisurely
along, soothed into a half-waking dream by the peaceful influences of
the moment. Even the manifold perplexities and tangles of life seemed
to recede and diminish in importance at the touch of old Mother
Nature's comforting hand. After all, there was much, very much, that was
beautiful and pleasant still left to enjoy.

It is generally at moments like these, when we are sinking into a placid
quiescence of endurance, that Fate sees fit to prod us into a more
active frame of mind.

In this particular instance destiny manifested itself in the unassuming
form of Black Brady, who slid suddenly down from the roadside hedge,
amid a crackling of branches and rattle of rubble, and appeared in front
of Sara's astonished eyes just as she was nearing home.

"Beg pardon, miss"--Brady tugged at a forelock of curly black hair--"I
was just on me way to your place."

"To Sunnyside? Why, is Mrs. Brady ill again?" asked Sara kindly.

"No, miss, thank you, she's doing nicely." He paused a moment as
though at a loss how to continue. Then he burst out: "It's about Miss
Molly--the doctor bein' away and all."

"About Miss Molly?" Sara felt a sudden clutch at her heart. "What do you
mean? Quick, Brady, what is it?"

"Well, miss, I've just seed 'er go off 'long o' Mr. Kent in his big
motor-car. They took the London road, and"--here Brady shuffled his feet
with much embarrassment--"seein' as Mr. Kent's a married man, I'll be
bound he's up to no good wi' Miss Molly."

Sara could have stamped with vexation. The little fool--oh! The
utter little _fool_--to go off joy-riding in an evening like that! A
break-down of any kind, with a consequent delay in returning, and all
Monkshaven would be buzzing with the tale!

For the moment, however, there was nothing to be done except to put