rprised to hear the old sharp tone in Aunt Philippa's
voice:

'My dear Jocelyn, why have you put on that old gown? Surely your new
cream-coloured dress with coffee lace would have been more suitable. What
was Draper thinking about?'

'I was in too great a hurry; I did not wait for Draper,' returned Jill
candidly. 'Draper was dreadfully cross about it, but I ran away from her.
What does it matter, mamma? They have all seen my cream-coloured dress,
except--' But here Jill laughed: the naughty child meant Mr. Tudor.

'I am afraid there is not time to change it now; but I am very much vexed
about it,' returned Aunt Philippa, in a loud whisper. 'You are really
looking your worst to-night.' But Jill only laughed again, and asked her
cousin Clarence when he took her down to dinner if it were not a very
pretty gown.

'I don't know much about gowns,' drawled the young man,--Mr. Tudor and
I were following them: 'it looks rather flimsy and washed out. If I were
you I would wear something more substantial. You see, you are so big,
Jocelyn; your habit suits you better.'

We heard Jill laughing in a shrill fashion at this dubious compliment,
and presently she and Mr. Tudor, who sat next to her, were talking as
happily as possible. I do not believe he noticed her unbecoming gown: his
face had lighted up, and he was full of animation. Poor Lawrence! he was
five-and-twenty, and yet the presence of this girl of sixteen was more to
him than all the young-ladyhood of Heathfield. Even charming little Lady
Betty was beaten out of the field by Jill's dark eyes and sprightly
tongue.

It was a very pleasant evening, and we were all enjoying ourselves: no
one imagined anything could or would happen; life is just like that: we
should just take up our candlesticks, we thought, and march off to bed
when Aunt Philippa gave the signal. No one could have imagined that there
would be a moment's deadly peril for one of the party,--an additional
thanksgiving for a life preserved that night.

And then no one seemed to know how it happened; people never do see,
somehow.

There was music going on. Agatha Chudleigh--the Chudleighs were Aunt
Philippa's belongings--was playing the piano, and her brother Clarence
was accompanying her on the violoncello. There was a little group round
the piano. Jill was beating time, standing with her back to a small
inlaid table with a lamp on it. Mr. Tudor was beside her. Jill made a
backward movement in her forgetf