stood at the
door, in spite of the frosty air, and watched his little maid climb
the hilly road with the elastic step and untiring breath of happy
youth.

It was then only eight o'clock. No one at her home had thought the
hour too early. But when she reached Burrell Court Elizabeth had not
come downstairs and breakfast was not yet served. She was much annoyed
and embarrassed by the attitude of the servants. She had no
visiting-card, and the footman declined to disturb Mrs. Burrell at her
toilet. "Miss could wait," he said with an air of familiarity which
greatly offended Denas. For she considered herself, as the child of a
fisherman owning his own cottage and boat and lord of all the leagues
of ocean where he chose to cast his nets, immeasurably the superior of
any servant, no matter how fine his livery might be.

She sat down in the small reception-room into which she had been shown
and waited. She heard Elizabeth and her husband go through the hall
together, and the pleasant odours of coffee and broiled meats
certified to the serving of breakfast. But no one came near her. As
the minutes slipped away her wonder became anger; and she was
resolving to leave the inhospitable house when she heard Roland's
step. He came slowly down the polished oak stairs, went to the front
door, opened it and looked out into the frosty day; then turning
rapidly in from the cold, he went whistling softly through the hall to
the breakfast-room.

Just as he entered the footman was saying: "A young person, ma'am. She
had no card, and when I asked her name she only looked at me, ma'am."

"Where did you put her?" asked Elizabeth.

"In the small reception-room."

"Is the room warm?"

"Not very cold, ma'am."

At this point Robert Burrell looked at his wife and said: "It is
perhaps that little friend of yours, called Denas."

"Jove!" ejaculated Roland. "I should not wonder. You know, Elizabeth,
she was always an early visitor. Shall I go and see?"

"Frederick will go. Frederick, ask the young person her name." In a
few moments Frederick returned and said, "Miss Penelles is the name."

Then Robert Burrell and Roland both looked at Elizabeth. She had a
momentary struggle with herself; she hesitated, her brows made
themselves into a point, her colour heightened, and the dead silence
gave her a most eloquent chance to listen to her own heart. She rose
with leisurely composure and left the room. Mr. Burrell and Roland
took no notice of t