'I am very sorry for everything I have ever done to displease you,' she
began again; 'and I only hope you will not be so unhappy, as I am afraid
you will be.'

'This is too exhausting!' muttered Mr Gwynne, sinking back in his chair.
'Freda, you really do talk too much. Will you ring for Perkins? I must
take a dose of that cordial.'

When the cordial was mentioned, Freda knew that all conversation was at
an end. She rang the bell, and when Perkins came, left the room.

She went at once to her writing desk, and wrote the following note:--

'MY DEAREST SERENA,--What you and I have sometimes feared is about
to come to pass. My father is going to marry Lady Mary Nugent. Of
course I can no longer live here; will you and Mr Jones give me
shelter for a time whilst I arrange my thoughts and plans? I will
give as little trouble as I can, but I know you will bear with
me.--Your loving friend,

'WINIFRED GWYNNE.'

Freda sealed and directed her letter, and then went to the open window,
and stood there for some time. A slight shower of rain was falling and
a few light clouds were struggling with the afternoon sunbeams. Strong
shadows fell from the trees in the Park, equally strong lights were on
the distant hills. The river looked hot and hazy, and the cattle had
congregated under the arch of the bridge--the only cool spot--as if for
shelter from the sun. A shrill, blithe, distant whistle sounded, and the
bells of Llanfawr church pealed in the far-away town, just sending their
faint echoes across the river.

'What are those bells ringing for?' said Freda, as she wiped away some
large tears that were gathering in her eyes. 'They ring for everything;
soon it will be for these odious marriages. Why was I ever born? Why,
above all, was I born in such a place as this? And to leave it! Yes,
Frisk' (to her terrier, that was barking and jumping outside the
window), 'you and I must go away. No more quarrels with Jerry; no more
fights with Gelert?; no more hunts in the brook. Will you come with me
to smoky London? Yes, and hate it as much as I shall. Sleep away your
life by a city fire, and grow fat and old, instead of racing after me
and Prince. But we shall not live long in a town, Frisk. We shall soon
die of sheer laziness, and so much the better--for who will care for us?
Lion and Jerry and even Gipsy will forget you; and every one has
forgotten me already. Why am I so foolish as to cry so? I never knew h