ightful
sensation; for though she loved her father's companionship and the care
of looking after his wants, she often felt the time hang heavy on her
hands.

The colonel had a number of old friends to look up, and a great deal of
business to do; and Raby, used to company of some sort, found his
absences lonely. Percy was often at the house, but he in his present
dismal mood was poor company. His one topic was Jeffreys; and that to
Raby was the last topic on which she felt drawn to talk to any one.

When, therefore, a neighbour suggested to her one day to give an hour or
two a week to visiting the poor of the district, Raby hailed the
proposal gladly. It was work she had been used to at Wildtree, and to
which she had already had yearnings in London, though Mrs Rimbolt had
opposed it.

"Mind? Not a bit," said her father, when she broached the subject to
him, "as long as you don't get small-pox or get into mischief. I should
like to be a denizen of a slum myself, for the pleasure of getting a
visit from you."

And so the girl began her work of charity, spending generally an hour a
day, under the direction of her friend, in some of the closely packed
alleys near. As she made a point of being home always to welcome her
father in the afternoon, her visits were generally paid early in the
day, when the men would be away at work and when the chief claimants on
her help and pity would be the poor women and children left behind, with
sometimes a sick or crippled man unable to help himself. It was often
sad, often depressing work. But the brave girl with a heart full of
love faced it gladly, and felt herself the happier for it day by day.

It was on an afternoon shortly after this new work had been begun that
she was overtaken by a sudden October squall as she was hurrying back
through Regent's Park towards home. The morning had been fine, and she
had neither cloak nor umbrella. No cab was within sight; and there was
nothing for it but to stand up under a tree till the rain stopped, or
walk boldly through it. She was just debating this question with
herself when she became aware of an umbrella over her, and a voice at
her side saying,--

"This is most fortunate. Miss Atherton. Who would have thought of
meeting you here?"

It was Scarfe; and Raby would sooner have met any one else in the world.

"Thank you," said she, "I shall be quite sheltered under this tree.
Don't let me detain you."

"Nonsense!" said h