ow. Let me introduce you, Miss Thorn; this is Colonel Hawkes,
an old friend.'

For some minutes he and Miss Rayner carried on an animated conversation
with one another. They seemed to have known each other in the past
very intimately.

Presently Miss Rayner asked,--

'And where are you staying now?'

He hesitated; then said, slowly, 'With Ratcliffe--Charlie Ratcliffe.
You remember him?'

Miss Rayner turned white to her lips; then said, in a cold, hard voice,
'I thought he was in the wilds of Africa?'

'He returned the end of last year. He finished the piece of work out
there so satisfactorily for the Government that they want to send him
out to another part, but he has refused. He says he wants to settle
down quietly now, and has just bought a house somewhere in Surrey. He
is a good fellow, but odd, you know. Since his return he has been
slumming in the East End of London like a parson. I am staying with
him at his chambers in town. We are such very old chums that I put up
with his religious crotchets. He doesn't force them down one's throat,
that's one comfort, and, I'm bound to admit, he lives them out.'

Miss Rayner changed the subject, and a few minutes after we rode away,
very silent both of us, and we hardly exchanged a word till we reached
home. All the evening Miss Rayner was very subdued and unlike herself.
Susan had very truly described her to me as 'a fresh breeze coming in
and out.' From the minute she set foot in a place, you were conscious
of her cheery presence. Sometimes whistling to her dogs, chatting
briskly to any in her path, and always full of energy and spirit; but
now she sat with a dreamy, absent look in her eyes, and started if I
addressed her on any topic. Later in the evening, as we sat over the
drawing-room fire with our books, she suddenly looked up and said,
'Play to me, child; I am out of sorts. Colonel Hawkes brought up old
scenes and memories which are best forgotten. Your music has always a
soothing effect on me.'

I took my violin up, and leaning against the mantle-piece opposite to
her, I began to play in the firelight. I played, as I loved to play,
without notes before me, and soon I was in a dream myself. My
favourite verse running through my head, I sought to bring it out of my
violin, and as the last note died away I became conscious that Miss
Rayner's eyes were glistening with tears. Knowing how utterly devoid
of sentiment she generally seemed, I was t