otor coming up the Bettws road. Lucy retreated into the inn,
while Helena stood at the gate waiting.

Buntingford waved to her as they approached, then jumped out and followed
her into the twilight of the inn parlour.

"My dear Helena!" He put his arm round her shoulder and kissed her
heartily. "God bless you!--good luck to you! Geoffrey has given me the
best news I have heard for many a long day."

"You are pleased?" she said, softly, looking at him.

He sat down by her, holding her hands, and revealing to her his own
long-cherished dream of what had now come to pass. "The very day you came
to Beechmark, I wrote to Geoffrey, inviting him. And I saw you by chance
the day after the dance, together, in the lime-walk." Helena's start
almost drew her hands away. He laughed. "I wasn't eavesdropping, dear,
and I heard nothing. But my dream seemed to be coming true, and I went
away in tip-top spirits--just an hour, I think, before Geoffrey found
that drawing."

He released her, with an unconscious sigh, and she was able to see how
much older he seemed to have grown; the touches of grey in his thick
black hair, and the added wrinkles round his eyes,--those blue eyes
that gave him his romantic look, and were his chief beauty. But he
resumed at once:

"Well, now then, the sooner you come back to Beechmark the better. Think
of the lawyers--the trousseau--the wedding. My dear, you've no time to
waste!--nor have I. Geoffrey is an impatient fellow--he always was."

"And I shall see Arthur?" she asked him gently.

His look thanked her. But he did not pursue the subject.

Then Geoffrey and Lucy Friend came in, and there was much talk of plans,
and a merry dinner _a quatre_. Afterwards, the rain seemed to have
cleared off a little, and through the yellow twilight a thin stream of
people, driving or on foot, began to pour past the inn, towards the
hills. Helena ran upstairs to put on an oilskin hat and cape over her
white dress.

"You're coming to help light the bonfire?" said Geoffrey,
addressing Philip.

Buntingford shook his head. He turned to Lucy.

"You and I will let the young ones go--won't we? I don't see you climbing
Moel Dun in the rain, and I'm getting too old! We'll walk up the road a
bit, and look at the people as they go by. I daresay we shall see as much
as the other two."

So the other two climbed, alone and almost in silence. Beside them and in
front of them, scattered up and along the twilight fell, were