of Mary, he would do anything in the world
that she wished. She was quite unwell that evening; so he and
aunt had to go out alone; and they met Mr. St. Cloud at a party,
who was said to be engaged to her."

"It wasn't true, then?"

"No, never. He is a very designing man, though I believe he was
really in love with poor Mary. At any rate he has persecuted her
for more than a year. And, it is very wicked, but I am afraid he
spread all those reports himself."

"Of their engagement? Just like him!"

"Uncle is so good-natured, you know; and he took advantage of it,
and was always coming here, and riding with them. And he made
Uncle believe dreadful stories about you, which made him seem so
unkind. He was quite afraid to have you at the house."

"Yes, I saw that last year; and the second coincidence?"

"It happened that very night. Poor uncle was very much troubled
what to do; so, when he met Mr. St. Cloud, as I told you, he took
him aside to ask him again about you. Somehow, a gentleman who
was a friend of yours at Oxford overheard what was said, and came
forward and explained everything."

"Yes, he came and told me."

"Then you know more than I about it."

"And you think Mr. Porter is convinced that I am not quite such a
scamp after all?"

"Yes, indeed; and the boys are so delighted that they will see
you again. They are at home for the holidays, and so grown."

"And Mary?"

"She is very well. You will see her before long, I dare say."

"Is she at home?"

"She is out riding with uncle. Now I will go up and get your
parcel, which I had opened at home before I got aunt's note
asking me here. No wonder we could never find her boot."

Katie disappeared and at the same time Tom thought he heard the
sound of horses' feet. Yes, and they had stopped, too. It must be
Mary and her father. He could not see because of the blinds and
other devices for keeping the room cool. But the next moment
there were voices in the hall below, and then a light step on the
carpeted stair, which no ear but his could have heard. His heart
beat with heavy painful pulsations, and his head swam as the door
opened, and Mary in her riding-habit stood in the room.

CHAPTER L

THE POSTSCRIPT

Our curtain must rise once again, and it shall be on a familiar
spot. Once more we must place ourselves on the Hawk's Lynch, and
look out over the well-known view, and the happy autumn fields,
ripe with the golden harvest. Two people are appr