ry peaceful trio, and as the weeks slipped on
it almost seemed as if the quiet home life they lived were destined to
endure indefinitely. Grange spoke occasionally of leaving, but Daisy
would never entertain the idea for an instant, and he certainly did
not press it very strongly. He was not returning to India before
September, and the long summer months that intervened made the date
of his departure so remote as to be outside discussion. No one ever
thought of it.

But the long, quiet interval in the sleepy little country town,
interminable as it might feel, was not destined to last for ever. On
a certain afternoon in March, Grange and Muriel, riding home together
after a windy gallop across open country, were waylaid outside the
doctor's gate by one of the Ratcliffe boys.

The urchin was cheering at the top of his voice and dancing
ecstatically in the mud. Olga, equally dishevelled but somewhat more
coherent, was seated on the gate-post, her long legs dangling.

"Have you seen Dad? Have you heard?" was her cry. "Jimmy, come out of
the road. You'll be kicked."

Both riders pulled up to hear the news, Jimmy squirming away from
the horses' legs after a fashion that provoked even the mild-tempered
Grange to a sharp reproof.

"You haven't heard?" pursued Olga, ignoring her small brother's
escapade as too trifling to notice at such a supreme moment. "But you
haven't, of course, if you haven't seen Dad. The letter only came an
hour ago. It's Nick, dear old Nick! He's coming home at last!" In
her delight over imparting the information Olga nearly toppled over
backwards, only saving herself by a violent effort. "Aren't you glad,
Muriel? Aren't you glad?" she cried. "I was never so pleased in my
life!"

But Muriel had no reply ready. For some reason her animal had become
suddenly restive, and occupied the whole of her attention.

It was Grange who after a seconds hesitation asked for further
particulars. "What is he coming for? Is it sick leave?"

Olga nodded. "He isn't to stay out there for the hot weather. It's
something to do with his wound. He doesn't want to come a bit. But he
is to start almost at once. He may be starting now."

"Not likely," put in Jimmy. "The end of March was what he said. Dad
said he couldn't be here before the third week in April."

"Oh, well, that isn't long, is it?" said Olga eagerly. "Not when you
come to remember that it's three years since he went away. I do think
they might have giv