perfectly safe. The evening glow was almost gone,
the stars faintly gleaming out in the blue above; a gentle sea breeze
stirred the branches and went along with Faith on her errand. Now was
this errand grievously unpleasing to Faith, simply because of the
implication of that _one year_ of reprieve which she must ask for. How
should she manage it? But her way was clear; she must manage it as she
could.

Spite of this bugbear, she had gone with a light free step all along
her road, walking rather quick; for other thoughts had kept her
company, and the image of her little flying packet shot once and again
through her mind. At length she came to Mr. Stoutenburgh's gate, and
Faith's foot paused. Light shone through the muslin curtains; and as
her step neared the front door the broken sounds of voices and laughter
came unwelcomely through. A most unnecessary formality her knock was,
but one of the children came to the door and ushered her at once into
the tea-room, where the family were waiting for their late tea. Mrs.
Stoutenburgh--looking very pretty in her light summer dress--was half
reclining on the sofa, professing that she was tired to death, but
quite failing to excite any sympathy thereby in the group of children
who had not seen her since morning. The Squire himself walked leisurely
up and down, with his hands behind him, sometimes laughing at the
children sometimes helping on their play. Through the room was the full
perfume of roses, and the lamplight could not yet hide the departing
glow of the western horizon. Into this group and atmosphere little
Linda brought the guest, with the simple announcement, "Mother, it's
Miss Faith."

"Miss Faith!" Mrs. Stoutenburgh exclaimed, starting up and dispersing
the young ones,--"Linda, you shall have a lump of sugar!--My dear other
child, how do you do?--and what sweet corner of your little heart sent
you up here to-night? You have not--no, that can't be,--and you
wouldn't come here if you had. But dear Faith, how are you?"--and she
was rescued from the Squire and carried off to the sofa to answer at
her leisure. With a sort of blushing, steadfast grace, which was common
with her in the company of friends who were in her secret, Faith
answered.

"And you haven't had tea yet,"--she said remorsefully. "I came to give
Mr. Stoutenburgh some trouble--but I can do it in three minutes." Faith
looked towards the Squire.

"My dear," he said, "it would take you three years!"

"