"

"Just to scare away the bogies," she made answer, with a lightness that
scarcely veiled a deeper feeling. "And when you've done that--quite
thoroughly--perhaps--" She stopped.

"Perhaps--" whispered Piers.

"Perhaps I'll tell you a secret," she said still lightly. "By the way,
dear, I found a letter from Mr. Crowther waiting for me. I put it in your
room for you to read. He writes so kindly. Wouldn't you like him to be
our first visitor?"

There was a moment's silence before Piers made answer.

"To be sure," he said then. "We mustn't forget Crowther. You wrote and
told him everything, I suppose?"

"Yes, everything. He seems very fond of you, Piers. But you must read his
letter. It concerns you quite as much as it does me. There! I am going.
Good-bye! Come up soon!"

She patted his shoulder and turned away. Somehow it had not been easy to
speak of Crowther. She had known that in doing so she had introduced an
unwelcome subject. But Crowther was too great a friend to ignore. She
felt that she had treated him somewhat casually already; for it was only
the previous week that she had written to tell him of her marriage.

Crowther was in town, studying hard for an examination, and she felt
convinced that he would be willing to pay them a visit. She also knew
that for some reason Piers was reluctant to ask him, but she felt that
that fact ought not to influence her. For she owed a debt of gratitude to
Crowther which she could never forget.

But all thought of Crowther faded from her mind when she found herself
once more in that eerie, tapestry-hung bedroom. The place had been
lighted with candles, but they only seemed to emphasize the gloom. She
wondered how often the last Lady Evesham--the warm-blooded, passionate
Italian woman with her love of the sun and all things beautiful--had
stood as she stood now and shuddered at the dreary splendour of her
surroundings. How homesick she must have been, Avery thought to herself,
as she undressed in the flickering candle-light! How her soul must have
yearned for the glittering Southern life she had left!

She thought of Sir Beverley. He must have been very like Piers in his
youth, less fierce, less intense, but in many ways practically the same,
giving much and demanding even more, restless and exacting, but withal so
lovable, so hard to resist, so infinitely dear. All her love for Piers
throbbed suddenly up to the surface. How good he was to her! What would
life be with