imney
corner, side by side, where they could exchange their confidences
unheard.

Lady Belstone still mourned her admiral in black silk and _crepe_,
whilst Miss Georgina's respect for her brother's memory was made
manifest in plum-coloured satin.

Lady Mary, too, wore black to-night. Since the day of Peter's return
she had not ventured to don her favourite white. Her gown was of
velvet; her fair neck and arms shone through the yellowing folds of an
old lace scarf which veiled the bosom. A string of pearls was twisted
in her soft, brown hair, lending a dim crown to her exquisite and
gracious beauty in the tender light of the wax candles.

Candlelight is kind to the victims of relentless time; disdaining to
notice the little lines and shadows care has painted on tired faces;
restoring delicacy to faded complexions, and brightness to sad eyes.

The faint illumination was less kind to Sarah, in her white gown and
blue ribbons. The beautiful colour, which could face the morning
sunbeams triumphantly in its young transparency, was almost too high
in the warmth of the shadowy hall, where her golden-red hair made a
glory of its own.

The October evening seemed chilly to the aged sisters, and even Lady
Mary felt the comfort of her velvet gown; but Sarah was impatient of
the heat of the log fire, and longed for the open air. She envied
Peter and John, who were reported to be smoking outside on the
terrace.

"The very last of the roses," said Lady Mary.

"There will be a sharp frost to-night; they won't stand that," said
Sarah, shaking her head.

"The poor roses of autumn," said Lady Mary, rather dreamily, "they are
never so sweet as the roses of June."

"But they are much rarer, and more precious," said Sarah.

Lady Mary looked at her and smiled. How quickly Sarah always
understood!

Sarah caught her hand and kissed it impulsively. Her back was turned
to the old sisters in the chimney corner.

"Lady Mary," she said, "oh, never mind if I am indiscreet; you know I
am always that." A little sob escaped her. "But I _must_ ask you this
one thing--you--you didn't really think _that_ of me, did you?"

"Think what, dear child?" said Lady Mary, bewildered.

Sarah looked round at the two old ladies.

The head of Miss Crewys was inclined towards the crochet she held in
her lap. She slumbered peacefully.

Lady Belstone was absently gazing into the heart of the great fire.
The heat did not appear to cause her inconvenien