e encountered on the threshold of the inn by George
Elgood, who for once seemed anxious to enter into conversation.

"You have been to see your sister. Did she--er--was she well enough to
send any message before we go?"

"Oh, she's all right--quite quiet and sensible again, but doesn't bother
herself much about what is going on. I told her you were off, but she
didn't seem to take much notice. Expect she's so jolly thankful to feel
comfortable again that she doesn't care for anything else."

"Er--quite so, quite so!" repeated the Editor hastily; and Ron passed on
his way, satisfied that he had been all that was tactful and
considerate, and serenely unconscious that he had eclipsed the sun of
that summer's day for two anxious hearts!

There was little sleep for poor Margot that night, and in the morning
Edith noticed with alarm the flushed cheeks and shining eyes which
seemed to predict a return of the feverish symptoms. She drew down the
blind and seated herself by the bedside, determined to guard the door
and allow no visitors. The child had evidently had too much excitement
the day before, and must now be kept absolutely quiet. But Margot
tossed and fidgeted, and threw the clothes restlessly about, refusing to
shut her eyes, and allow herself to be tucked up, as the elder sister
lovingly advised. Her eyes were strained, and every now and then she
lifted her head from the pillow with an anxious, listening movement. At
last it came, the sound for which she had been waiting--the rumble of
wheels, the clatter of horses' hoofs, the grunts and groans of the
ostler as he lifted the heavy bags to their place. Margot's brown eyes
looked up with a piteous entreaty.

"They are going! You must be quick, Edie. Run down quickly and say
good-bye!"

"It isn't necessary, dear. I saw them before coming upstairs. Ron is
there, and father."

"But you must! I want you to go. Quickly, before it is too late.
Edie, you _must_!"

There was no denying so vehement a command. Edith turned silently away,
confirmed in a growing suspicion, and yearning tenderly over the little
sister's suffering. It was the younger brother, of course!--the tall,
silent man, whose lips had been so dumb, whose eyes so eloquent, during
the critical days of Margot's illness, and who had been the girl's
companion on the misty moor. What had happened during those hours of
suspense and danger? What barriers had been swept aside; what new
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