en they parted, he realized that he had never
known more of her than an outer self, which offered but little clue to
the self within.

Rachel walked back to the farm with Miss Shenstone's note in her pocket.
She had told the vicar that her land-girls should certainly come to the
Shepherds' servants' party--but she said nothing about it to them--till
Janet Leighton had safely bicycled away in the early afternoon. The
invitation, however, was a godsend. For Rachel had begun to realize that
there was a good deal of watching going on--watching of the farm, and
watching over herself. She understood that Halsey had been scared by some
tramp or other whom he took for the ghost; and she saw that Janet was
unwilling that any one should be alone after dark in the farm. Nobody
had talked to her--Rachel--about it--no doubt by Ellesborough's
wish--because she was supposed to be out of sorts--run down. She had
accepted the little conspiracy of silence as a proof of his tenderness,
and had obediently asked no questions.

And it had not yet occurred to her to connect the stories floating
about the farm with Delane's reappearance. The stunning fact of the
reappearance, with all that it might mean to her, absorbed her mind--for
a few hours yet.

But as soon as Janet was safely off the premises, she hurried across to
the shippen, where Betty and Jenny were milking.

"Girls!--would you like to go to the Shepherds' dance to-night? I've got
an invitation for you?"

Stupefaction--and delight! The invitations had been very sparing and
select, and the two little maidens had felt themselves Cinderellas
indeed, all the sorer in their minds seeing that Dempsey and Betty's
young man were both going.

But _frocks_! Jenny at least had nothing suitable. Rachel at once offered
a white frock. The milking and dairy work were hurried through, and then
came the dressing, as the dance began at seven. Betty, knowing herself to
be a beauty, except for her teeth, had soon finished. A white blouse, a
blue cotton skirt, a blue ribbon in her mop of brown hair--and she looked
at herself exultantly in Miss Henderson's glass. Jenny was much more
difficult to please. She was crimson with excitement, and the tip of her
little red tongue kept slipping in and out. But Rachel patted and
pinned--in a kind of dream. Jenny's red hair, generally worn in the
tightest wisps and plaits, was brushed out till it stood like a halo
round her face and neck, and she was secret