there's a cloud. It is not
long since I lost my mother, and--now, now--I know the squire is much
more ill than Frances thinks. Oh, I know it! What shall I do if the
squire really gets very ill--if he--he dies? Oh, I'm so awfully afraid
of death!"

Her cheeks paled visibly, her large, wide-open blue eyes dilated; she
was acting no part--her terror and distress were real. A kind of
instinct told Arnold what to say to her.

"You are standing under these great shady trees," he said. "Come out
into the sunshine. You are young and apprehensive. Frances is much more
likely to know the truth about Squire Kane than you are. She is not
alarmed; you must not be, unless there is really cause. Now is not this
better? What a lovely rose! Do you know, I have not seen this
old-fashioned kind of cabbage rose for over ten years!"

"Then I will pick one for you," said Fluff.

She took out a scrap of cambric, dried her eyes like magic, and began to
flit about the garden, humming a light air under her breath. Her dress
was of an old-fashioned sort of book-muslin--it was made full and
billowy; her figure was round and yet lithe, her hair was a mass of
frizzy soft rings, and when the dimples played in her cheeks, and the
laughter came back to her intensely blue eyes, Arnold could not help
saying--and there was admiration in his voice and gaze:

"What fairy godmother named you so appropriately?"

"What do you mean? My name is Ellen."

"Frances called you Fluff; Thistledown would be as admirably
appropriate."

While he spoke Fluff was handing him a rose. He took it, and placed it
in his button-hole. He was not very skillful in arranging it, and she
stood on tiptoe to help him. Just then Frances came out of the house.
The sun was shining full on the pair; Fluff was laughing, Arnold was
making a complimentary speech. Frances did not know why a shadow seemed
to fall between her and the sunshine which surrounded them. She walked
slowly across the grass to meet them. Her light dress was a little
long, and it trailed after her. She had put a bunch of Scotch roses into
her belt. Her step grew slower and heavier as she walked across the
smoothly kept lawn, but her voice was just as calm and clear as usual as
she said gently:

"Supper is quite ready. You must be so tired and hungry, Philip."

"Not at all," he said, leaving Fluff and coming up to her side. "This
garden rests me. To be back here again is perfectly delightful. To
appreciate an