om corner and curtain; and, turning
on the pillow, her face nestled in her hair, she fell asleep.

Nothing of this had Mrs. Ferrall told her husband.

For the first time in her life had Sylvia suffered the caresses most
women invite or naturally lavish; for the first time had she attempted
confidences, failing because she did not know how, but curiously
contented with the older woman's arms around her.

There was a change in Sylvia, a great change stealing in upon her as she
lay there, breathing like a child, flushed lips scarcely parted. Through
the early slanting sunlight the elder woman, leaning on one arm, looked
down at her, grey eyes very grave and tender--wise, sweet eyes that
divined with their pure clairvoyance all that might happen or might fail
to come to pass in this great change stealing over Sylvia.

Nothing of this could her husband understand had she words to convey it.
There was nothing he need understand except that his wife, meaning well,
had meddled and regretted.

And now, turning in her saddle with a pretty gesture of her shoulders:

"I meddle no more! Those who need me may come to me. Now laugh at my
tardy wisdom, Kemp!"

"It's no laughing matter," he said, "if you're going to stand back and
let this abandoned world spin itself madly to the bow-wows--"

"Don't be horrid. I repent. The mischief take Howard Quarrier!"

"Amen! Come on, Grace."

She gathered bridle. "Do you suppose Stephen Siward is going to make
trouble?"

"How can he unless she helps him? Nonsense! All's well with Siward and
Sylvia. Shall we gallop?"

All was very well with Siward and Sylvia. They had passed the
rabbit-brier country scathless, with two black mallard, a jack-snipe,
and a rabbit to the credit of their score, and were now advancing
through that dimly lit enchanted land of tall grey alders where, in the
sudden twilight of the leaves, woodcock after woodcock fluttered upward
twittering, only to stop and drop, transformed at the vicious crack of
Siward's gun to fluffy balls of feather whirling earthward from mid-air.

Sagamore came galloping back with a soft, unsoiled mass of chestnut and
brown feathers in his mouth. Siward took the dead cock, passed it back
to the keeper who followed them, patted the beautiful eager dog and
signalled him forward once more.

"You should have fired that time," he said to Sylvia--"that is, if you
care to kill anything."

"But I don't seem to be able to," she said. "I