ing myself, for being as much
master of my mind as I am of my actions?'

'Surely I do, Mr. Athel.'

'You are going to the house? It is nearly five o'clock your conscience
tells you that a civilised being must drink tea. I think I shall walk
over to Greenhaws; I may as well save Mrs. Winter the trouble of
bringing back the children.'

He hesitated before moving away.

'How little that cloud has changed its form! I should like to stay here
and watch it till sunset. In a week I suppose I shall be looking at some
such cloud over Mont Blanc. And you, in Dunfield.'

'No, there we have only mill-smoke.'

She smiled, and passed from the hollow to the road.

CHAPTER II

BEATRICE REDWING

Midway in breakfast next morning, at a moment when Mrs. Rossall was
describing certain originalities of drawing-room decoration observed on
the previous day at a house in town, the half-open door admitted a young
lady who had time to glance round the assembled family before her
presence was observed. In appearance she was very interesting. The tints
of her fine complexion were warmed by exercise in the morning air, and
her dark eyes brightened by pleasurable excitement; she carried her hat
in her hand, and seemed to have been walking bare-headed, for there were
signs of wind-play in her abundant black hair. But neither face nor
attire suggested rusticity: the former was handsome, spirited, with a
hint of uncommon things in its changeful radiance; the latter was the
result of perfect taste choosing at will among the season's costumes. At
her throat were fastened two blossoms of wild rose, with the dew still
on them, and the hand which held her lace-trimmed sunshade carried also
a spray of meadow-sweet.

Mr. Athel, looking up from the end of the table, was the first to
perceive her.

'_Guardami ben: ben son, ben son Beatrice_!' he exclaimed, rising and
moving from his place. 'But how in the world has she got here?'

'Beatrice!' cried Mrs. Rossall, following the general direction of eyes.
'Here already! But you surely haven't come from town this morning?'

'But indeed I have,' was the reply, in a joyous voice, whose full, rich
quality took the ear captive. 'Will you let me sit down just as I am?
Patty, here's a rose for you, and, Minnie, another for you.' She took
them from her dress. 'How do you do, Mr. Wilfrid?'

The governess was mentioned to her by name; Beatrice looked at her
steadfastly for a moment.

'But how have