obert, who had been sitting on the other side of the room, rose
abruptly and came towards them. There was something very like a smile
on her face,--although it wasn't really a smile--as she bent over and
kissed her mother-in-law on the cheek.

"I am glad to hear you are interested in--charities, Miss Leffingwell,"
she said.

Honora's face grew warm.

"I have not so far had very much to do with them, I am afraid," she
answered.

"How should she?" demanded Mrs. Holt. "Gwendolen, you're not going up
already?"

"I have some letters to write," said Mrs. Robert.

"Gwen has helped me immeasurably," said Mrs. Holt, looking after the
tall figure of her daughter-in-law, "but she has a curious, reserved
character. You have to know her, my dear. She is not at all like Susan,
for instance."

Honora awoke the next morning to a melody, and lay for some minutes in
a delicious semi-consciousness, wondering where she was. Presently she
discovered that the notes were those of a bird on a tree immediately
outside of her window--a tree of wonderful perfection, the lower
branches of which swept the ground. Other symmetrical trees, of many
varieties, dotted a velvet lawn, which formed a great natural terrace
above the forested valley of Silver Brook. On the grass, dew-drenched
cobwebs gleamed in the early sun, and the breeze that stirred the
curtains was charged with the damp, fresh odours of the morning. Voices
caught her ear, and two figures appeared in the distance. One she
recognized as Mr. Holt, and the other was evidently a gardener. The gilt
clock on the mantel pointed to a quarter of seven.

It is far too late in this history to pretend that Honora was, by
preference, an early riser, and therefore it must have been the
excitement caused by her surroundings that made her bathe and dress
with alacrity that morning. A housemaid was dusting the stairs as she
descended into the empty hall. She crossed the lawn, took a path through
the trees that bordered it, and came suddenly upon an old-fashioned
garden in all the freshness of its early morning colour. In one of the
winding paths she stopped with a little exclamation. Mr. Holt rose from
his knees in front of her, where he had been digging industriously with
a trowel. His greeting, when contrasted with his comparative taciturnity
at dinner the night before, was almost effusive--and a little pathetic.

"My dear young lady," he exclaimed, "up so early?" He held up
forbiddingly a