confusion. I did not know whether to tell my godmother or not what I had
overheard. She had a straight way of going to the root of things.
Supposing that she did as she had threatened, and went to Dawson himself
for the truth, might she not exasperate him into making public the thing
which had so much power to frighten Lord and Lady St. Leger? I had
gathered that there was disgrace hanging over us, disgrace, and
homelessness for Theobald and me. Aghadoe Abbey was dear to us as flesh
and blood. Was it possible that it could pass away from us into the
possession of the Dawsons? Why, I would a thousand times rather that
fire had it and that it should be consumed to ashes.

It should have been a small thing by comparison that my grandfather had
said I was to go to the Dawsons' dinner-party, but I had so violent an
aversion to going that the matter really bulked large in the list of
troubles. I should not mind so much if Richard Dawson were not present,
and of course it might be that already he had found us too dull and had
gone away on his wanderings.

But this little hope of mine was destined very soon to be extinguished.

I have not said that old Dido was with me, but, since she was my
constant companion this was to be expected. She had followed me to the
glade, and was lying with her head on the end of my skirt, at peace,
since she was with me. Away from me or my grandmother or Miss Champion
she would whimper and shiver like a lonely old ghost in a world of
living things.

Suddenly as I sat there, thinking, she crept close to me with a low
growl. I had not heard a sound except the songs of the birds and the
stir of the south wind in the leaves that was like the placid flowing of
waters. I put my hand on her head and she bristled under my hand, but
she was quiet. She would always be quiet with my hand upon her head.

I wondered if it were a wild cat or a weazel or a stoat that had so
excited her. But I was not long in suspense. There came a murmur of
voices and a man's laugh. Then there were footsteps. I had a vague
alarm. Who could it be that walked in our woods and set Dido bristling?
She was a gentle creature and knew her friends; and the people about
were all kind and friendly to "Master Luke's" old dog.

I threw a fold of my skirt over her head to keep her from hearing, and,
with my hand on her collar, I moved as close as I could to the leafy
screen that separated the glade from the wood-path.

There was a co