old schoolfellow, Miss Sinnet.

He was already ransacking the still faintly-perfumed dining-room for
matches, and had just succeeded in relighting the still-warm lamp, when
he heard her quiet step in the porch, even felt her peering in, in the
gloom, with all her years' trickling customariness behind her, a little
dubious of knocking on a wide-open door.

But the lamp lit Lawford went out again and welcomed his visitor. 'I am
alone,' he was explaining gravely, 'my wife's away and the whole house
topsy-turvy. How very, very kind of you!'

The old lady was breathing a little heavily after her ascent of the
steep steps, and seemed not to have noticed his outstretched hand. None
the less she followed him in, and when she was well advanced into the
lighted room, she sighed deeply, raised her veil over the front of her
bonnet, and leisurely took out her spectacles.

'I suppose,' she was explaining in a little quiet voice, 'you ARE Mr
Arthur Lawford, but as I did not catch sight of a light in any of the
windows I began to fear that the cabman might have set me down at the
wrong house.'

She raised her head, and first through, and then over her spectacles she
deliberately and steadfastly regarded him.

'Yes,' she said to herself, and turned, not as it seemed entirely with
satisfaction, to look for a chair. He wheeled the most comfortable up to
the table.

'I have been visiting my old friend Miss Tucker--Rev W. Tucker's
daughter--she, I knew, could give me your address; and sure enough she
did. Your road, d'ye see, was on my way home. And I determined, in spite
of the hour, just to inquire. You must understand, Mr Lawford, there
was something that I rather particularly wanted to say to you. But
there!--you're looking sadly, sadly ill; and,' she glanced round a
little inquisitively, 'I think my story had better wait for a more
convenient occasion.'

'Not at all, Miss Sinnet; please not,' Lawford assured her, 'really. I
have been ill, but I'm now practically quite myself again. My wife and
daughter have gone away for a few days; and I follow to-morrow, so if
you'll forgive such a very poor welcome, it may be my--my only chance.
Do please let me hear.'

The old lady leant back in her chair, placed her hands on its arms and
softly panted, while out of the rather broad serenity of her face she
sat blinking up at her companion as if after a long talk, instead of
at the beginning of one. 'No,' she repeated reflectively, 'I