f causing Mrs.
Lorton any further anxiety."

"Shall we have another gallop?" she asked, a moment or two afterward.
"We might ride to that farm there"--she pointed to a thatched roof just
visible above a hollow--"and get a glass of milk. I am quite thirsty."

She made the suggestion blithely, as if neither her own nor his words
had remained in her mind; and Drake brightened up as they sped over the
springy turf.

A woman came out of the farm, and greeted them with a cordial welcome in
the smile which she bestowed on Nell, and the half nod, half curtsy, she
gave to Drake.

"Why, Miss Nell, it be yew sure enough," she said pleasantly. "I was
a-thinkin' that 'eed just forgot us. Bobby! Bobby! do 'ee come and hold
the horses. Here be Miss Nell of Shorne Mills."

A barefooted, ruddy-cheeked little man ran out and laughed up at Nell as
she bent down and stroked his head with her whip. Nell and Drake
dismounted, and she led the way into the kitchen and living room of the
farm.

The room was so low that Drake felt he must stoop, and Nell's tall
figure looked all the taller and slimmer for its propinquity to the
timbered ceiling. The woman brought a couple of glasses of milk and some
saffron cakes, and Nell drank and ate with a healthy, unashamed
appetite, and apparently quite forgot Drake, who, seated in the
background, sipped his milk and watched and listened to her absently.
She knew this woman and her husband and the children quite intimately;
asked after the baby's last tooth as she bent over the sleeping mite,
and was anxious to know how the eldest girl, who was in service in
London, was getting on.

"Well, Emma, her says she likes it well enough," replied the woman,
standing, with the instinctive delicacy of respect, with her firm hand
resting on the spotlessly white table; "leastways her would if there was
more air--it's the want o' air she complains of. Accordin' to she, there
bean't enough for the hoosts o' people there be. Oh, yes, the family's
kind enough to her--not that she has much to do wi' 'em; for she's in
the nursery--she's nursemaid, you remembers, Miss Nell--and the mistress
is too grand a lady to go there often. It's a great family she's in, you
know, Miss Nell, a titled family, and there's grand goin's-on a'most
every day; indeed, it's turnin' day into night they're at most o' the
time, so says Emma. She made so bold, Emma did, to send her best
respects to you in her last letter, and to say she hop