hat she understood him better now. But what did
it matter? What did it matter? She was going to marry Dare, and _he_ was
the person whom she must try to understand for the remainder of her
natural life. She thought a little wearily that she could understand
_him_ without trying.

CHAPTER XXI.

The 18th of October had arrived. Slumberleigh Hall was filling. The
pheasants, reprieved till then, supposed it was only for partridge
shooting, and thinking no evil, ate Indian-corn, and took no thought for
the annual St. Bartholomew of their race.

Mabel Thursby had met Ruth out walking that day, and had informed her
that Charles was to be one of the guns, also Dare, though, as she
remembered to add, suspecting Dare admired Ruth, the latter was a bad
shot, and was only asked out of neighborly feeling.

After parting with Mabel, Ruth met, almost at her own gate, Ralph
Danvers, who passed her on horseback, and then turned on recognizing
her. Ralph's conversational powers were not great, and though he walked
his horse beside her, he chiefly contented himself with assenting to
Ruth's remarks until she asked after Molly.

He at once whistled and flicked a fly off his horse's neck.

"Sad business with Molly," he said; "and mother out for the day. Great
grief in the nursery. Vic's dead!"

"Oh, poor Molly!"

"Died this morning. Fits. I say," with a sudden inspiration, "you
wouldn't go over and cheer her up, would you? Mother's out. I'm out.
Magistrates' meeting at D----."

Ruth said she had nothing to do, and would go over at once, and Ralph
nodded kindly at her, and rode on. He liked her, and it never occurred
to him that it could be anything but a privilege to minister to any need
of Molly's. He jogged on more happily after his meeting with Ruth, and
only remembered half an hour later that he had completely forgotten to
order the dog-cart to meet Charles, who was coming to Atherstone for a
night before he went on to kill the Slumberleigh pheasants the following
morning.

Ruth set out at once over the pale stubble fields, glad of an object for
a walk.

Deep distress reigned meanwhile in the nursery at Atherstone. Vic, the
much-beloved, the stoat pursuer, the would-be church-goer, Vic was dead,
and Molly's soul refused comfort. In vain nurse conveyed a palpitating
guinea-pig into the nursery in a bird-cage, on the narrow door of which
remains of fur showed an unwilling entrance; Molly could derive no
comfort from