king straight into the baffling eyes.

The two women, all at once antagonistic and suspicious of each other,
shook hands formally, and Elisabeth took her way through the woods,
while Audrey rejoined her neglected guests and used her best endeavours
to convert an entertainment that threatened to become a failure into,
at least, a qualified success. By dint of infinite tact, and the loyal
cooperation of Miles Herrick, she somehow achieved it, and the majority
of the picnickers enjoyed themselves immensely.

Only Sara felt as though a shadow had crept out from some hidden place
and cast its grey length across the path whereon she walked, while
Miles and Audrey, discerning the shadow with the clear-sighted vision
of friendship, were filled with apprehension for the woman whom they had
both learned to love.

CHAPTER XXVI

A MIDNIGHT VISITOR

Judson crossed the hall at Far End and, opening the front door, peered
anxiously out into the moonlit night for the third time that evening.

Neither he nor his wife could surmise what had become of their master.
He had gone away, as they knew, with the intention of joining a picnic
party in Haven Woods, but he had given no instructions that he wished
the dinner-hour postponed, and now the beautiful little dinner which
Mrs. Judson had prepared and cooked for her somewhat exigent employer
had been entirely robbed of its pristine delicacy of flavour, since it
had been "keeping hot" in the oven for at least two hours.

"Coming yet?" queried Mrs. Judson, as her husband returned to the
kitchen.

The latter shook his head.

"Not a sign of 'im," he replied briefly.

Ten minutes later, the house door opened and closed with a bang, and
Judson hastened upstairs to ascertain his master's wishes. When he again
rejoined the wife of his bosom, his face wore a look of genuine concern.

"Something's happened," he announced solemnly. "Ten years have I been in
Mr. Trent's service, and never, Maria, never have I seen him look as he
do now."

"What's he looking like, then?" demanded Mrs. Judson, pausing with a
saucepan in her hand.

"Like a man what's been in hell," replied her husband dramatically.
"He's as white as that piece of paper"--pointing to the sheet of cooking
paper with which Mrs. Judson had been conscientiously removing the
grease from the chipped potatoes. "And his eyes look wild. He's been
walking, too--must have walked twenty miles or thereabouts, I should
think, for he