ilent, Peggy sitting with her head on her mother's
shoulder, and Mrs Saville's arms clasped tightly round her. Every now
and then she stroked the smooth brown head, and sometimes Peggy raised
her lips and kissed the cheek which leant against her own, but the
sentences came at long intervals.

"If I were ill, mother--a long illness--would you come?"

"On wings, darling! As fast as boat and train could bring me."

"And if you were ill?"

"I should send for you, if it were within the bounds of possibility--I
promise that! You must write often, Peggy--long, long letters. Tell me
all you do, and feel, and think. You will be almost a woman when we
meet again. Don't grow up a stranger to me, darling."

"Every week, mother! I'll write something each day, and then it will be
like a diary. I'll tell you every bit of my life..."

"Be a good girl, Peggy. Do all you can for Mrs Asplin, who is so kind
to you. She will give you what money you need, and if at any time you
should want more than your ordinary allowance, for presents or any
special purpose, just tell her about it, and she will understand. You
can have anything in reason; I want you to be happy. Don't fret,
dearie. I shall be with father, and the time will pass. In three years
I shall be back again, and then, Peg, then, how happy we shall be! Only
three years."

Peggy shivered, and was silent. Three years seem an endless space when
one is young. She shut her eyes, and pondered drearily upon all that
would happen before the time of separation was passed. She would be
seventeen, nearly eighteen--a young lady who wore dresses down at her
ankles, and did up her hair. This was the last time, the very, very
last time when she would be a child in her mother's arms. The new
relationship might be nearer, sweeter, but it could never be the same,
and the very sound of the words "the last time" sends a pang to the
heart.

Half an hour later the carriage drove up to the door. Mr and Mrs
Asplin came into the room to say a few words of farewell, and then left
Peggy to see her mother off. There were no words spoken on the way, and
so quietly did they move that Robert had no suspicion that anyone was
near, as he took off his shoes in the cloak-room opening off the hall.
He tossed his cap on to a nail, picked up his book, and was just about
to sally forth, when the sound of a woman's voice sent a chill through
his veins. The tone of the voice was low, almost