cipline and flout authority without punishment. The smile
became almost gleeful at the thought of the little surprise that was in
store for her.

The old sportsman took Joan in his arms and held her tight for a
moment. "I've missed you, my dear," he said. "The house has been like a
mausoleum without you. But I've no reproaches. Youth to youth,--it's
right and proper." And he led her into the lofty hall with his arm
round her shoulder.

There was a sinister grin on Gleave's poacher-like face when Joan gave
him a friendly nod. And it was with a momentary spasm of uneasiness
that she asked herself what he and her grandmother knew. It was evident
that they had something up their sleeves. But when, after a tea during
which she continued to fence and play the part of happy bride, she went
out into the scented garden that was like an old and loving friend,
this premonition of something evil left her. With every step she felt
herself greeted and welcomed. Young flowers as guileless as children
waved their green hands. Heads nodded as she passed. The old trees that
had watched her grow up rustled their leaves in affectionate
excitement. She had not understood until that very moment how many true
friends she had or how warm a place in her heart that old house had
taken. It was with a curious maternal emotion that clouded her eyes
with tears that she stood for a moment and kissed her hands to the
right and left like a young queen to her subjects. Then she ran along
the familiar path through the woods to the spot where she had been
found by Martin and stood once more facing the sweep of open country
and the distant horizon beyond which lay the Eldorado of her girl's
dreams. She was still a girl, but she had come back hurt and sorry and
ashamed. Martin might have lost his faith in her. He had gone away
without a word or sign. Gilbert Palgrave held her in such small respect
that he waited with patience for her to come, although married, into
his arms. And there was not a man or a woman on the Round-about, except
Alice, who really cared whether she ever went back again. The greedy
squirrel peeked at her from behind a fern, recognized his old playmate,
and came forward in a series of runs and leaps. With a little cry Joan
bent down and held out her hand. And away in the distance there was the
baying of Martin's hounds. But where was Martin?

XI

"Rather beg than work, wouldn't he? I call him Micawber because he's
always wa