ed a light, elastic step, and Piers came into
view at the other end of the hall. He moved swiftly as though he trod
air. His head was thrown back, his face rapt and intent as though he saw
a vision. He did not see the lonely figure sitting there before the
hearth, but turned aside ere he neared it and entered an unlighted room,
shutting himself gently in.

Again the silence descended, but only for a few seconds. Then softly it
was dispelled, as through it there stole the tender, passionate-sweet
harmonies of a Chopin nocturne.

At the first note Sir Beverley started, almost winced as at the sudden
piercing of a nerve. Then as the music continued, he leaned rigidly back
again and became as still as before.

Very softly the music thrilled through the silence. It might have come
from somewhere very far away. There was something almost unearthly about
it, a depth and a mystery that seemed to spread as it were invisible
wings, filling the place with dim echoes of the Divine.

It died away at last into a silence like the hush of prayer. And then the
still figure of the old man before the fire became suddenly vitalized. He
sat up abruptly and seized with impatience a small hand-bell from the
table beside him.

David made his discreet appearance with the coffee almost at the
first tinkle.

"Coffee!" his master flung at him. "And fetch Master Piers!"

David set down the tray at his master's elbow, and turned to obey the
second behest. But the door of the drawing-room opened ere he reached
it, and Piers came out. His dark eyes were shining. He whistled softly
as he came.

David stood respectfully on one side, and Piers passed him like a man in
a dream. He came to his grandfather, and threw himself on to the settle
by his side in silence.

"Well?" said Sir Beverley. "You took that chattering monkey back,
I suppose?"

Piers started and seemed to awake. "Oh yes, I got her safely home. We had
to dodge the Reverend Stephen. But it was all right. She and the boy got
in without being caught."

He stirred his coffee thoughtfully, and fell silent again.

"You'd better go to bed," said Sir Beverley abruptly.

Piers looked up, meeting the hard grey eyes with the memory of his dream
still lingering in his own.

Slowly the dream melted. He began to smile. "I think I'd better," he
said. "I'm infernally sleepy, and it's getting late." He drank off his
coffee and rose. "You must be pretty tired yourself, sir," he remarked.
"Ti