of the words pierced her heart.

The Squire raised himself a little, and spoke more firmly.

'Why should there be any change yet awhile? Only stay with us. Use
my land--use me and all I possess--for the country--for what Desmond
would have helped in--and done. Show me what to do. I shall do it
ill. But what matter? Every little helps. "We have our backs to the
wall." I have the power to give _you_ power. Teach me.'

Then reaching out, he took her hand in his. His voice deepened and
strengthened.

'Elizabeth!--be my friend--my children's friend. Bring your poor
mother here--and your sister--till Pamela goes. Then tell me--what
you decide. You shall give me no pledge--no promise. You shall be
absolutely free. But together let us do a bit of work, a bit of
service.'

She looked up. The emotion, the sweetness in her face dazzled him.

'Yes,' she said gravely--'I will stay.'

He drew a long breath, and stooping over the hands she had given
him, he kissed them.

Then he released her and, rising, walked away. The portrait of
Desmond had been brought back, but it stood with its face to the
wall. He went to it and turned it. It shone out into the room, under
the westering sun. He looked at it a little--while Elizabeth with
trembling fingers began to re-arrange her table in the old way.

Then he returned to her, speaking in the dry, slightly peremptory
voice she knew well.

'I hear the new buildings at the Holme Hill Farm are nearly ready.
Come and look at them to-morrow. And there are some woods over there
that would be worth examining. The Air Board is still clamouring for
more ash.'

Elizabeth agreed. Her smile was a gleam through the mist.

'And, on the way back, Pamela and I must go and talk to the
village--about pigs and potatoes!'

'Do you really know anything about either?' he asked, incredulously.

'Come and hear us!'

There was silence. The Squire threw the window open to the April
sunset. The low light was shining through the woods, and on the
reddening tops of the beeches. There was a sparkle of leaf here and
there, and already a 'livelier emerald' showed in the grass.
Suddenly a low booming sound--repeated--and repeated.

'Guns?' said the Squire, listening.

Elizabeth reminded him of the new artillery camp beyond Fallerton.

But the sounds had transformed the April evening. The woods, the
grass, the wood-pigeons in the park had disappeared. The thoughts of
both the on-lookers had gone across t