My good aunt, who loves me so dearly, would not
wish me to enter this forbidden land,' you would, I _hope_, have paused,
and come back here. But you did not. You went recklessly on, and trod
upon ground where your foot is _unwelcome_."

"Dear Aunt Penelope, do not talk like that," says Monica, entreatingly,
slipping her arm around her.

"And this to his poor old aunts who love him so fondly!" says Miss
Penelope, in so dismal a voice that the two Misses Blake break into
sobs.

"It wouldn't seem so bad if he hadn't equivocated about it," says Miss
Priscilla, presently. "But he purposely led us to believe that he had
not set his foot on that detested land."

"He has indeed been much to blame," says Miss Penelope. "Terence, what
was it it said about _lying_ in the Bible this morning? I am afraid your
chapter to-day--that awful chapter about Ananias and Sapphira--did you
little good."

A growl from Terence.

"He will be more careful for the future, auntie," says Monica,
interpreting the growl after her own gentle fashion. "And now you will
forgive him, won't you? After all, any one, even _you_, might forget
about forbidden lands, if you were racing after a rabbit."

The idea of the Misses Blake racing through rushes and gorse after a
rabbit strikes Kit as so comical that she forgets everything, and laughs
aloud. And then the Misses Blake, who are not altogether without a sense
of fun, catching "the humor of it," laugh too, and, drying their eyes,
give Terence to understand that he is forgiven.

Just at this moment the door is opened, and Timothy enters, bearing not
only an air of mystery with him, but a large envelope.

"Why, what is this at this time of night?" says Miss Priscilla, who is
plainly under the impression that, once the lamps are lighted, it is
verging on midnight. She takes the envelope from Timothy, and gazes at
the huge regimental crest upon it with a judicial expression.

"A sojer brought it, miss. Yes, indeed, ma'am. A-hossback he come, all
the way from the Barracks at Clonbree."

Redcoats at Rossmoyne are a novelty, and are regarded by the peasantry
with mixed feelings of admiration and contempt. I think the contempt is
stronger with Timothy than the admiration.

"From the Barracks?" says Miss Priscilla, slowly, turning and twisting
the letter between her fingers, while Monica's heart beats rapidly. It
is, it _must_ be the invitation; and what will be the result of it?

"Yes, indeed, miss.