remains on his
knees when "Amen" raises the rest of the company from theirs, and has to
be privily and heavily kicked to save him from discovery and ruin.
Having administered the regulation embrace to father, and heartily
kissed mother--not but what I shall see her again; she always comes, as
she came when we were little, to kiss us in bed--I turn to find Sir
Roger holding open the swing-door for us.

"Are you quite sure about it to-night?" I say, stretching out my hand to
him to bid him good-night. "_Ours_ on the right--_yours_ on the left--do
you see?"

"_Yours_ on the right--_mine_ on the left," he repeats, "Yes--I see--I
shall make no more mistakes--unless I make one on purpose."

"Do not come without telling us beforehand!" I cry, earnestly. "I mean
_really_: if you hold a vague threat of paying us a visit over our
heads, you will keep us in a state of unnatural tidiness for days."

I make a move toward retiring, but he still has hold of my hand.

"And about our walk?"

The others--boys and girls--have passed us: the servants have melted out
of sight; so has mother; father is speaking to the butler in the
passage--we are alone.

"Yes? what about it?" I ask, my eyes calmly resting on his.

"You will not forget it?"

"Not I!" reply I, lightly. "I want to hear the end of the anecdote about
father's nose! I cannot get over the idea of him in a stiff white
petticoat: I thought of it at dinner, whenever I looked at him!"

At the mention of father, his face falls a little.

"Nancy," he says, abruptly, taking possession of my other hand also,
"why did you answer your father so shortly to-day? Why did you look so
scared when he tried to joke with you?"

"Ah, why?" reply I, laughing awkwardly.

"You are not _afraid_ of him, surely?"

"Oh, no--not at all!"

"Why do you speak in that sneering voice? It is not your own voice; I
have known you only twenty-four hours, and yet I can tell that."

"I will not answer any more questions," reply I, recovering both hands
with a sudden snatch: "and if you ask me any more, I will not take you
out walking! there!"

So I make off, laughing.

CHAPTER V.

"A peck of March dust is worth a king's ransom," say I slowly next
morning, as I stand by the window, trying to see clearly through the
dimmed and tearful pane. "The king would have to do without his ransom
to-day."

It is raining _mightily_; strong, straight, earnest rain, that harshly
lashes the meek eart