as, you remember," in a meaning tone. Then Miss Jacobi flushed a
little as she took it from his hand.

"I must have dropped it in the tent-there was such a crush," she
murmured. "Good-bye, Mr. Herrick, I am much rested now."

"Good-bye, Herrick," observed Mr. Jacobi in a familiar tone that grated
on Malcolm; "we shall be very glad to see you at Beechcroft when young
Templeton is with us. It is Telemachus and Mentor over again, is it
not?" and here he broke into a little cackling laugh. "Well, ta-ta.
Come along, Leah;" and taking his sister by the arm, Mr. Jacobi quickly
crossed the lawn with her.

"He is a cad if ever a man was," mused Malcolm as he followed them
slowly; "and if I do not mistake there is a touch of the Tartar about
him. She may be a devoted sister, as Mrs. Sinclair observes, but she is
afraid of him all the same."

"What a strange girl she seems," he continued--"woman rather, I should
say; for there is little of the girl about her. Somehow she interests
me, and she puzzles me too. She is so beautiful--why is she still Miss
Jacobi?" He stood still for a minute to ponder over this mystery; then
he walked on very thoughtfully. "I am a bit bothered about it all--I
wish Cedric had never made their acquaintance;" and Malcolm looked so
grave when he rejoined his friends that Mrs. Godfrey thought he was
bored and hastened her adieux.

Malcolm did not undeceive her, neither did he speak of the Jacobis
again to her; but he made himself very pleasant all that evening, and
the next day he left the Manor House.

CHAPTER XX

A WHITE SUN-BONNET

My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery:
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived.
--AROERS

One lovely morning in August, about a fortnight after the garden-party
at Glebelands, Malcolm Herrick sauntered slowly down the woodland path
which the Templetons always called "the lady's mile." His face was set
towards Rotherwood, and in spite of his loitering pace there was an
intent and watchful look in his eyes; but what his purpose or design
might be was best known to himself; for wonderful and devious are the
ways of man, and who can fathom them? Presently a tempting tangle of
honeysuckle attracted him, and he clambered up the bank in search of
it. The bank was dry and slippery, and the honeysuckle was difficult to
reach, but Malcolm was not to be conquered. He had just caught hold of
the branc