y pearly dawn, before the first
bird-twitter was heard, to take his watch beside the fever-stricken
stranger. The Carlyons were men whose left hand did not know what their
right hand did, and the Rev. Rupert Carlyon's ministry had been a
record of humble, unobtrusive acts of good-will and kindness to man,
woman, and child; nay, the very dumb animals knew their friend, and
would come to him for protection.

The Carlyons took their leave soon after this. Elizabeth walked down to
the gate with them. Malcolm thought she looked rather grave when she
returned, as though something troubled her, but she would not hear of
the party breaking up, and promised Malcolm that she would sing all his
favourite songs to his friends, and she kept her word. Malcolm sat in a
trance of beatitude while the beautiful voice floated out into the
darkness, startling some night-bird in the copse; and Verity's eyes
were wet, and she stole closer to her husband, for it seemed to her as
though the shadows from the old life were creeping round her; and
unseen by any one but Dinah, she leant her cheek against Amias's hand.

"Oh, how can you sing like that!" exclaimed Verity in her naive way,
when Elizabeth joined them on the terrace. "You sing right down into
people's hearts. Oh, I felt so sad, and then so happy, and the world
did not seem wide enough to contain me."

"You must not flatter me," returned Elizabeth, but she was evidently
gratified. Then she turned her head to Malcolm, who was behind her, and
said in an undertone, "You were quite right, the Jacobis are coming to
our party. I have sent them a card this afternoon."

"I hope Miss Templeton approved of my suggestion?"

"Yes, she thought with you that it would be an excellent opportunity of
taking stock of the enemy. And Cedric was so pleased. Mr. Herrick," she
continued, as they walked down the terrace, "I must tell you that we
are charmed with Mrs. Keston. She is a dear little thing, and so
fascinating and original, and she looks really pretty to-night."

"No, she is not pretty," returned Malcolm, "but her dress becomes her.
We call it Keston's chef d'oeuvre. He always designs her gowns. He is
very aesthetic in his tastes, and he knows exactly what suits her. If
Verity were left to her own devices, she would be very crude and
unfinished."

"He is very proud of her," observed Elizabeth. "It is good to see two
such happy people. We like them immensely, and shall hope to see a
great dea