eed which
surprised herself, and reached the ferry just as the Bristol clocks
struck six.

When she found herself at Dowry Square she first recognised how faint
and worn out she was--she had not tasted food since breakfast. She could
hardly totter into the little lobby, and when she tried to tell the
footboy to let Mrs Lambert know she was too tired to come into the
parlour, she fell prone upon the floor, and remembered nothing till she
found herself on the couch in the parlour, the twilight deepening, and
Madam Lambert sitting by her like a gaoler, with a glass of brandy on
the little table, which she insisted on Bryda sipping.

It was all like a dreadful dream. Bryda's head ached, and she was too
bewildered to say much.

Madam Lambert poured out a string of questions. Had she seen her sister?
What was the bad news? Was the poor old man dead, or had he had a
stroke? Had the Squire put bailiffs into the house? What was wrong at
the farm?

But Bryda had just presence of mind enough to keep back the real facts
of the case. It had struck her that Jack Henderson would be in danger of
his life if, indeed, it turned out that the Squire was dead--in danger,
too, if he were seriously hurt. So she parried all questions, and went
feebly to the door murmuring,--

'I am so tired. May I go to bed?'

'To bed, sure you may, and I will get Mrs Symes to bring you up some hot
posset. I don't wish to pry, Miss Palmer, but I should like to hear what
has upset you? I think it is my due.'

'To-morrow--to-morrow,' Bryda said. 'I cannot talk now. I cannot--'

'There is some mystery, depend upon it,' Mrs Lambert said, as she folded
her mittened hands and twirled her thumbs one over the other, in a
meditative mood; 'but I'll ring for Symes to get her a hot posset, poor
thing.'

CHAPTER XV

THE LAST EVENING.

Bryda rose and went about her accustomed duties the next day with a wan,
white face and wistful, anxious eyes.

She was longing for news, and yet dare not ask a question lest she
should betray Jack Henderson's share in the scene on the hillside the
day before. She was haunted by the memory of that rigid upturned face on
which the hail beat so mercilessly. It was always before her; and there
was no one near with whom to share her fears. It happened that Mr
Lambert was called away on business to Bath, and bustled off to the
coach office immediately after breakfast, and had only time to say to
Bryda,--

'You look as i