rough in his play, and his frolics brought a
remonstrance from his little mistress; "Down, Nero! down, good dog!"
exclaimed a fresh young voice; "now we must race fairly," and the next
moment there were twinkling feet coming over the crisp short turf,
followed by Nero's bounding footsteps and bark.

But the game ended abruptly as a sudden turn in the shrubberies
brought the tall, fair-bearded stranger in view.

"Oh! I beg your pardon,' exclaimed the same voice, rather shyly; and
Hugh took off his hat suddenly in some surprise, for it was no child,
but an exceedingly pretty girl, who was looking up in his face with
large wondering blue eyes.

"I hope I have not startled you," returned Hugh, courteously, with one
of his pleasant smiles. What a diminutive creature she was; no wonder
he had taken her at first sight for a child; her stature was hardly
more than that a well-grown child of eleven or twelve, and the little
white frock and broad-brimmed hat might have belonged to a child too.

But she was a dainty little lady for all that, with a beautifully
proportioned figure, as graceful as a fairy, and a most lovely,
winsome little face.

"Oh!" she said, with a wonderful attempt at dignity that made him
smile--as though he saw a kitten on its best behavior, "I am not at
all startled; but of course Nero and I would hardly have had that race
if we had known any one was in the shrubbery. Have you lost your way?"
lifting those wonderful Undine-like eyes to his face, which almost
startled Hugh with their exceeding beauty and depth.

"Is Nero your dog?" returned Sir Hugh, patting the retriever absently;
"he is a fine fellow, only I am afraid he is rather rough sometimes;
he nearly knocked you down just now in his play. I see you do not
remember me, Miss Mordaunt. I am Sir Hugh Redmond. I have come to call
on you and your aunt."

"Oh!" she said, becoming very shy all at once, "I remember you now;
but you looked different somehow, and the sun was in my eyes; poor Sir
Wilfred--yes, we heard he was dead--he came to see Aunt Griselda once
before he went away. It must be very lonely for you at the Hall," and
she glanced at his deep mourning, and then at the handsome face that
was looking so kindly at her. What a grand-looking man he was, she
thought; it must have been his beard that altered him so and prevented
her from recognizing him; but then, of course, she had never seen him
since she was a little girl, when her father was