ou will give me your arm, I think I will go
upstairs at once, for I am certainly a little tired.--Come, Ursula.'

'We met Mr. Cunliffe in the Pemberley Road, and drove him back,' I
observed carelessly, when Miss Darrell was out of hearing. I thought it
better to allude to Max in case Atkinson mentioned it to one of the
servants.

'You should have brought him in to dinner,' was Mr. Hamilton's only
comment. 'By the bye, Miss Garston, when do you intend to honour us with
your company downstairs? Your patient is convalescent now.'

'I have just awoke to that fact,' was my reply, 'and I have told Mrs.
Barton that she will soon see me back at the White Cottage. Miss Watson
leaves next Tuesday: I think Gladys could spare me by then.'

Gladys shook her head. 'I shall never willingly spare you, Ursula; but of
course I shall have no right to trespass on your time.'

'No, of course not,' returned her brother sharply; 'Miss Garston has been
too good to us already: we cannot expect her to sacrifice herself any
longer. We will say Tuesday, then. You will come downstairs on Sunday,
Gladys?'

'Yes,' with a faint sigh.

'We need not talk about my going yet, when Gladys is tired,' I returned,
feeling inclined to scold Mr. Hamilton for his want of tact. Tuesday, and
it was Wednesday now,--not quite a week more; but, looking up, I saw Mr.
Hamilton regarding me so strangely, and yet so sorrowfully, that my
brief irritability vanished. He was sorry that I was going; he seemed
about to speak; his lips unclosed, then a sudden frown of recollection
crossed his brow, and with a curt good-night he left us.

'What is the matter with Giles?' asked Gladys, rather wearily: I could
see she was very tired by this time. 'Have you and he quarrelled,
Ursula?'

'Not to my knowledge,' I replied quietly, turning away, that she should
not see my burning cheeks. 'There is Chatty bringing the tea: are you not
glad, dear?' And I busied myself in clearing the table.

CHAPTER XLIII

'CONSPIRACY CORNER'

Gladys went to bed very early that night: her long drive had disposed her
for sleep. The summer twilight was only creeping over the western sky
when I closed her door and went out into the passage: the evening was
only half over, and a fit of restlessness induced me to seek the garden.

The moon was just rising behind the little avenue, and the soft rush of
summer air that met me as I stepped through the open door had the breath
of a thousan