ever
forget those moments on the terrace, when she had paced up and down
beside him, in the pleasant summer darkness; her white neck and arms
gleaming through transparent black tulle; sometimes listening to the
sounds of music and revelry in the village below, and looking at the
rockets that were being let off on the river-banks; and sometimes
asking him of the war, in that low voice which thrilled Peter as it
had already thrilled not a few interested hearers before him?

Those moments had been all too few, because John Crewys also had
monopolized a share of Miss Sarah's attention. Peter did not dislike
his guardian, whose composed courtesy and absolute freedom from
self-consciousness, or any form of affectation, made it difficult
indeed not to like him. His remarks made Peter smile in spite of
himself, though he could not keep the ball of conversation rolling
like Miss Sarah, who was not at all afraid of the great counsel, but
matched his pleasant wit, with a most engaging impudence all her own.

Lady Mary had stood clasping her son's arm, full of thankfulness for
his safe return; but she, too, had been unable to help laughing at
John, who purposely exerted himself to amuse her and to keep her from
dwelling upon their parting on the morrow.

Her thoughtful son insisted that she must avoid exposure to the night
air, and poor Lady Mary had somewhat ruefully returned to the society
of the old ladies within; but John Crewys did not, as he might, and as
Peter had supposed he would, join the other old folk. Peter classed
his mother and aunts together, quite calmly, in his thoughts. He
listened to Sarah's light talk with John, watching her like a man in a
dream, hardly able to speak himself; and it is needless to say that he
found her chatter far more interesting and amusing than anything John
could say.

Who could have dreamt that little Sarah would grow up into this
bewitching maiden? There was a girl coming home on board ship, the
young wife of an officer, whom every one had raved about and called so
beautiful. Peter almost laughed aloud as he contrasted Sarah with his
recollections of this lady.

How easy it was to talk to Sarah! How much easier than to his mother;
whom, nevertheless, he loved so dearly, though always with that faint
dash of disapproval which somehow embittered his love.

He could not shake off the impression of her first appearance, coming
singing down the oak staircase, in her white gown. _His mo