t be the master of the
house.

'You are very kind,' Milly answered, taking off her dripping shawl.
'I did not know that the Priory was occupied except by the old
servants. I fear you must have thought me very impertinent just now
when I talked so coolly of taking shelter here.'

'I am only too glad that you should find refuge in the old place.'

He wheeled a couple of ponderous carved-oak chairs close to the
hearth, and begged us to sit there; but Milly preferred standing in
the noble old gothic window looking out at the rain.

'They will be getting anxious about us at home,' she said, 'if we
are not back before dark.'

'I wish I possessed a close carriage to place at your service. I do,
indeed, boast of the ownership of a dog-cart, if you would not be
afraid of driving in such a barbarous vehicle when the rain is over.
It would keep you out of the mud, at any rate.'

Milly laughed gaily.

'I have been brought up in the country,' she said, 'and am not at
all afraid of driving in a dog-cart. I used often to go out with
papa in his, before he married.'

'Then, when the storm is over, I shall have the pleasure of driving
you to Thornleigh, if you will permit me that honour.'

Milly looked a little perplexed at this, and made some excuse about
not wishing to cause so much trouble.

'I really think we could walk home very well; don't you, Mary?' she
said; and I declared myself quite equal to the walk.

'It would be impossible for you to get back to Thornleigh before
dark,' the gentleman remonstrated. 'I shall be quite offended if you
refuse the use of my dog-cart, and insist on getting wet feet. I
daresay your feet are wet as it is, by the bye.'

We assured him of the thickness of our boots, and gave our shawls to
Mrs. Mills the old housekeeper, who carried them off to be dried in
the kitchen, and promised to convey the order about the dog-cart to
the stables immediately.

I had time now to look at our new acquaintance, who was standing
with his shoulders against one angle of the high oak mantelpiece,
watching the rain beating against a window opposite to him. I had no
difficulty in recognising the original of that portrait which
Augusta Darrell had looked at so strangely. He was much older than
when the portrait had been taken--ten years at the least, I thought.
In the picture he looked little more than twenty, and I should have
guessed him now to be on the wrong side of thirty.

He was handsome still, bu