really think--the past doesn't matter?"

Maud was silent for a few moments. The thought of Saltash was in her
mind, his jesting evasions, his air of careless proprietorship. What was
the thing in this child's past that she desired so earnestly to put away?
She wondered if she ought to ask, but she could not.

A slight terror ran through the small, supplicating figure at her knee,
and quick pity banished doubt. "I think it is entirely in our own hands,
dear," she said gently. "The past can always be left behind if we work
hard enough."

"Oh, thank you," Toby said again, and gathering Maud's hands
impulsively into her own she kissed them. "I'm going to work very hard,"
she said. "You'll help me, I know. I've got to--to leave off turning
somersaults--and learn to--curtsey."

She sent a shy smile into Maud's face, and almost in spite of herself
Maud answered it. There was something oddly appealing, irresistibly
attractive, about the child. She was so young and ardent, yet so
pathetically anxious to please.

"Of course I will help you," she said. "I will always help you, my dear."

And Toby, emboldened, thrust warm arms about her neck, and held her
close.

CHAPTER XI

THE BUTTERFLY

The perfect rose of a June sunset was slanting through the fir-woods of
Burchester Park, making the red trunks glow. At the end of a long grass
ride the new moon dipped to the west, a silver boat uptilted in a green
transparent sea. A very great stillness lay upon all things--the eventide
quiet of a summer day.

The dull thudding of a horse's hoofs along the ride scarcely seemed to
break that magic silence. A frightened rabbit scurrying to cover made no
sound at all. Somewhere a long way off a cuckoo was calling, tenderly,
persistently. Somewhere near at hand a blackbird was warbling to his
mate. But it all went into the enchanted silence, blending with the hush
of the coming night. The man who rode the horse was conscious only of the
peace of his surroundings. He doffed his cap to the moon in mock
reverence, and carried it in his hand.

He came to the end of the ride and checked his animal on the brow of a
steep descent. The park lay below him wrapped in mystery. On another
slope a full mile away stood the Castle, ancient battlemented, starkly
splendid, one westward-facing window burning as with fire. He sat
motionless for a space, gazing across at it, his face a curious mask of
conjecture and regret.

Finally, with great