la, and I feared--I mean, I thought
it would save you the trouble."

"Trouble in winding a clock! What trouble could there be in that? And it
is _never_ wound until Saturday evening. For twenty years I have wound
it on Saturday evening. A good eight-day clock nearly fifty years old
can't bear being tampered with. Now, Penelope, why did you do that? You
know that I can't endure old rules to be upset."

"But, my dear Priscilla, I only thought as I was passing----"

"You _thought_, Penelope; but I wish you _wouldn't_ think. There are
other things you ought to think about that you often neglect; and----"

"Now, Priscilla, is that just? I think--I _hope_ I seldom neglect my
duty; and I must say I didn't expect this from _you_."

Here Miss Penelope dissolves into tears, to Monica's grief and dismay.

"Oh, Aunt Priscilla, I am sure Aunt Pen only meant to save you trouble,"
she says, earnestly, putting her arms round Miss Penelope, who sobs
audibly on her shoulder.

"And who says I thought anything else?" says poor Miss Priscilla,
fiercely, though her voice trembles with emotion: it is terrible to her
to see her faithful friend and sister in tears of her causing.
"Penelope, I meant nothing, but I have heard something that has grieved
and disturbed me: so I must needs come home and avenge my ill-temper on
the best creature in the world. Alas! I am a wicked woman."

"Oh, no, no," cries Miss Penelope. "My dear Priscilla, you will break my
heart if you talk thus. My good soul, come in here and tell me what has
happened to distress you."

In truth it is quite plain now that something has happened during her
drive to take Miss Priscilla's well-balanced mind off its hinges.

"Where is Terence?" she asks, looking from one to other of the group in
the hall.

"Here," says Terence himself, coming leisurely towards her from a
side-passage.

"Come in here with me," says Miss Priscilla; and they all follow her
into the morning-room.

Here she turns and faces the unconscious Terence with a pale,
reproachful face.

"When I tell you I have just come from Mitson the coast-guard, and that
I thanked him for having lent you his gun, you will understand how I
have been grieved and pained to-day," she says, a tremor in her voice.

Terence is no longer unconscious; and Monica feels that her heart is
beating like a lump of lead.

"Oh! what is it, Priscilla?" asks Miss Penelope, greatly frightened.

"A tale of craft and cunning," sa