t, you shall go in by yourself."

She looked at him gratefully. "You are not offended with me now, Mr.
Linley," she said. "You are like your kind self again."

They ascended the steps which led to the door. Linley took the key from
his pocket. It acted perfectly in drawing back the lock; but the door,
when he pushed it, resisted him. He put his shoulder against it, and
exerted his strength, helped by his weight. The door remained immovable.

Had one of the servants--sitting up later than usual after the party,
and not aware that Mr. Linley had gone into the garden--noticed the
door, and carefully fastened the bolts on the inner side? That was
exactly what had happened.

There was nothing for it but to submit to circumstances. Linley led the
way down the steps again. "We are shut out," he said.

Sydney listened in silent dismay. He seemed to be merely amused; he
treated their common misfortune as lightly as if it had been a joke.

"There's nothing so very terrible in our situation," he reminded her.
"The servants' offices will be opened between six and seven o'clock; the
weather is perfect; and the summer-house in the French Garden has one
easy-chair in it, to my certain knowledge, in which you may rest and
sleep. I'm sure you must be tired--let me take you there."

She drew back, and looked up at the house.

"Can't we make them hear us?" she asked.

"Quite impossible. Besides--" He was about to remind her of the evil
construction which might be placed on their appearance together,
returning from the garden at an advanced hour of the night; but her
innocence pleaded with him to be silent. He only said, "You forget that
we all sleep at the top of our old castle. There is no knocker to the
door, and no bell that rings upstairs. Come to the summer-house. In an
hour or two more we shall see the sun rise."

She took his arm in silence. They reached the French Garden without
another word having passed between them.

The summer-house had been designed, in harmony with the French taste of
the last century, from a classical model. It was a rough copy in wood of
The Temple of Vesta at Rome. Opening the door for his companion, Linley
paused before he followed her in. A girl brought up by a careful mother
would have understood and appreciated his hesitation; she would have
concealed any feeling of embarrassment that might have troubled her at
the moment, and would have asked him to come back and let her know
when the ris