wheels of a carriage were heard laboring slowly up the
snow-laden drive.

"Why, here's some one coming!" cried Janey, rushing to the window. "Two
horses! and a gentleman all in furs. Oh, Margaret, this must be for
you!"

CHAPTER V.--Flown.

Maitland's reflections as, in performance of the promise he had
telegraphed, he made his way to the Dovecot were deep and distracted.
The newspapers with which he had littered the railway carriage were left
unread: he had occupation enough in his own thoughts. Men are so made
that they seldom hear even of a death without immediately considering
its effects on their private interests. Now, the death of Richard
Shields affected Maitland's purposes both favorably and unfavorably. He
had for some time repented of the tacit engagement (tacit as far as the
girl was concerned) which bound him to Margaret. For some time he had
been dimly aware of quite novel emotions in his own heart, and of a
new, rather painful, rather pleasant, kind of interest in another lady.
Maitland, in fact, was becoming more human than he gave himself credit
for, and a sign of his awakening nature was the blush with which he had
greeted, some weeks before, Barton's casual criticism on Mrs. St. John
Deloraine.

Without any well-defined ideas or hopes, Maitland had felt that his
philanthropic entanglement--it was rather, he said to himself, an
entanglement than an engagement--had become irksome to his fancy.
Now that the unfortunate parent was out of the way, he felt that the
daughter would not be more sorry than himself to revise the relations
in which they stood to each other. Vanity might have prevented some men
from seeing this; but Maitland had not vitality enough for a healthy
conceit. A curious "aloofness" of nature permitted him to stand aside,
and see himself much as a young lady was likely to see him. This
disposition is rare, and not a source of happiness.

On the other hand, his future relations to Margaret formed a puzzle
inextricable. He could not at all imagine how he was to dispose of so
embarrassing a _protegee_. Margaret was becoming too much of a woman to
be left much longer at school; and where was she to be disposed of?

"I might send her to Girton," he thought; and then, characteristically,
he began to weigh in his mind the comparative educational merits of
Girton and Somerville Hall. About one thing only was he certain: he must
consult his college mentor, Bielby of St. Gatien's, as