k at must be always there, or his
temper was unbearable. Pamela made various blunders; the household
knew hunger for the first time; and the servants began to give
warning. Captain Dell could do nothing with his employer, and the
timber business was hung up.

Then came Pamela's outbreak after a tirade from the Squire bitterly
contrasting his lost secretary's performances, in every particular,
with those of his daughter. The child had disappeared, and a message
from the station was all that remained of her. Well, who could
wonder? Mrs. Gaddesden reflected, with some complacency, that even
she had spoken her mind to her father that night, conveniently
forgetting some annoying retorts of his about herself, and the
custom she had developed of sitting for hours over the fire
pretending to knit, but really doing nothing. After her enormous
exertions in the cause of the war--she was accustomed to say--of the
year before, she was in need of a rest. She was certainly taking it.
Since Pamela left, indeed, she had been obliged to do the
housekeeping, and considered it very hard work. She had never yet
been able to calculate the food coupons correctly.

So she, like all the rest, was looking eagerly for Elizabeth.

Yes!--that was the cracked horn of the village taxi. Mrs. Gaddesden
poked the fire with energy and rang for Forest. But his quick ears
had heard the signal before hers, and he was already hurrying
through the hall to the front door.

And there was the library door opening, so her father too had been
on the watch. Voices in the vestibule, and as the outer door of the
hall opened, the Squire appeared at the further end. Alice Gaddesden
had an odd feeling that something important--decisive--was going to
happen.

Yet nothing could have been more unassuming than Elizabeth's entry.
It was evident, indeed, that Forest was overjoyed to see her. He
shouldered her modest boxes and bags with a will, and a housemaid,
all smiles, came running half way downstairs to take some of his
burden from him. Elizabeth followed the butler and took Mrs.
Gaddesden's hand.

'My train was late. I hope you've not waited tea?'

'Why, of course we have,' said the Squire's voice. 'Forest!--tea at
once.'

Elizabeth, not having perceived his approach in the dimness of the
February twilight, turned with a start to greet the Squire. He
looked, to her eyes, lankier and thinner and queerer than ever. But
it was a distinguished queerness. Elizabet