downs in such
weather. But when she saw that the cab was a station cab, and that its
passenger was a tall, thin, elderly man, her heart gave a great jump, and
then suddenly seemed to sink away into her shoes. She felt sure that this
visitor was Mr. Anstruther. She looked at Mrs. Murray, who was just
unfolding the _Times_ and preparing herself for an hour or so of peaceful
enjoyment. She had heard neither the wheels of the cab on the gravel, nor
the ring at the bell, nor did she even look up until Hannah, who had
ushered Mr. Anstruther into the room, crossed it herself, and bending
over her mistress pronounced his name clearly in her ear.

Eleanor meanwhile stood immovable on the hearth-rug, bracing herself to
meet the hour of reckoning that had come so swiftly and in such a totally
unannounced manner upon her. She watched Mrs. Murray greet her old friend
with mingled surprise and pleasure, and then saw her look with perplexity
from him to herself as she stood motionless before the fire. Why, her
face mutely asked, did they not greet one another? Why did he merely
glance at his granddaughter and bow slightly in his stiff, old-fashioned
way as if to a stranger? and why did she give no greeting at all to her
grandfather?

"Margaret," she said at last, when the pause had lasted a full thirty
seconds, "do you not see your grandfather, dear?"

Mr. Anstruther fairly jumped at that, and shot a keen glance at Eleanor,
who still stood rigidly silent with the curious feeling strong on her
that the direction of affairs did not lie with her at all. This stern old
man who was eyeing her so severely would bring them to a crisis far more
swiftly than she was capable of doing. From her expressionless face he
looked straight into Mrs. Murray's puzzled, perturbed one. Obviously his
first thought was that her mind was as deficient as her hearing. What he
saw seemed to convince him that such was not the case, and very
deliberately he bent down and spoke loudly and clearly in her ear.

"That girl," pointing a lean accusing finger at Eleanor, "is not my
granddaughter Margaret. I never saw her before. Where is Margaret?"

[Illustration: "THAT GIRL," POINTING WITH A LEAN ACCUSING FINGER AT
ELEANOR, "IS NOT MY DAUGHTER MARGARET."]

"My dear, is it true?" said Mrs. Murray in a bewildered tone. "I don't
understand. If you are not Margaret Anstruther, who are you, and where is
she?"

"That is precisely what I wish to know," broke in Mr. Ans