Lady Belstone, dejectedly.

"Of course he knew," said Lady Mary, in a low voice, "that Peter's
house would be always open to us all, as my boy said himself."

"Dear boy! he has said it to us too," said the sisters, in a breath.

"I don't say that, in my opinion," said Lady Mary, "it would not be
wiser to leave a young married couple to themselves; I have always
thought so. But Peter would not hear of your turning out of your old
home; you know that very well."

"Peter would not; but nothing would induce _me_ to live under the
same roof as that red-haired minx," said Lady Belstone, firmly. "And
besides, as you say, my dear Mary, you could not very well live by
yourself at the Dower House."

"Since Mary has been so kind as to mention it, there would be many
advantages in our accompanying her there, in case Sarah should succeed
in her artful aims," said Miss Crewys. "It would be near Peter, and
yet not _too_ near, and we could keep an eye on _her_."

"If she does not succeed, somebody else will," said Lady Belstone,
sensibly; "and, at least, we know her faults, and can put Peter on his
guard against them."

A host of petty and wretched recollections poured into Lady Mary's
mind as she listened to these words.

Poor Timothy; poor little hunted, scolded, despairing bride; poor
married life--of futile reproaches and foolish quarrelling.

How many small miseries she owed to those ferret searching eyes, and
those subtly poisonous tongues! But such miseries lurked in the dull
shadows of the past. Standing now in the bright sunshine of the
present, she forgave the sisters with all her heart, and thought
compassionately of their great age, their increasing infirmities,
their feeble hold on life.

Not to them did she owe real sorrow, after all; for nothing that does
not touch the heart can reach the fountain of grief.

Peter's hand--the hand she loved best in the world--had set the waters
of sorrow flowing not once, but many times; but she had become aware
lately of a stronger power than Peter's guarding the spring.

She looked from one sister to the other.

Despite the narrowness of brow, and sharpness of eye and feature,
they were both venerable of aspect, as they tottered up and down the
terrace where they had played in their childhood and sauntered through
youth and middle age to these latter days, when they leant upon
silver-headed sticks, and wore dignified silk attire and respectable
poke-bonnets.

"Don't y