e walk would do me good, so came out
to meet you."

"But--er,"--Maud hesitated uncertainly. She did not wish to appear
inconsiderate towards her beloved Nan, but, remembering her mother's
instruction, she could not bring herself to stay away from home longer
than was necessary. She looked at her sister appealingly, and slid a
hand through her arm.

"But--I've finished my shopping, dear, and mother said I was to go
straight back. Wouldn't it do just as well to sit in the garden? You
would get the air without fatigue, and I'd make you so cosy in the deck
chair. You know, Nan, I--I want to go back!"

Nan turned her head aside, and spoke in a queer, muffled tone.

"Very well; but we'll go round the back way. It's only five minutes
longer, and it's quiet. I don't want to meet any one. You'll do that
to oblige me, won't you, Maud, as you have finished your shopping?"

Of course she would. Maud gave a little grip to her sister's arm, and
turned willingly enough up the side street which led off the high road.
As in all small towns, the change from town to country came surprisingly
quickly. Three minutes' walk took the sisters into a pretty lane
running parallel with the High Street, and commanding a sweeping view
over the countryside. Here were no houses, only an avenue of beeches,
with here and there a seat in a position of welcome shade. Maud often
returned home by this quieter route, and seated herself on one of the
benches to make up her accounts and enjoy the view at one and the same
time. It was a favourite spot; but after this morning she could never
pass it without a shrinking of the heart, a sickly remembrance of
misery. At the first seat Nan slackened her pace insinuatingly, while
Maud marched ahead, intentionally obtuse; but at the second a hand was
laid on her arm, and such a trembling voice besought her to stop, that
she forgot herself in sympathetic alarm.

"Nan, you _do_ look ill! As white as a sheet. Lean forward and put
your head on your knee, as low as you can get it! That is the best
thing to do if you feel faint. Sit still for a minute, and then we will
make another dash for home. You ought to lie down!"

But Nan sat bolt upright, clasping her fingers in nervous misery.

"I'm not faint. I'm thinking of you, not myself!--Maud darling; it's
been a mistake--we were all mistaken; but you are so good, you will be
brave for our sakes, if not your own. It would break our hearts to see