nley. "I used to be miserable about poor dear Edward."

Vixen winced. These careless references to the dead hurt her more than
the silence of complete oblivion. To remember, and to be able to speak
so lightly. That seemed horrible.

"I doubt if I shall hunt much this season," pursued Captain Winstanley,
as much as to say that he was not going to be grateful to the new
master of the foxhounds as a public benefactor, however many hundreds
that gentleman might disburse in order to make up the shortcomings of a
scanty subscription. "I shall have a great deal to occupy me. This
place has been much neglected--naturally--within the last few years.
There is no end of work to be done."

"Are you going to pull down the Abbey House and build an Italian villa
on its site?" asked Vixen, her upper lip curling angrily. "That would
be rather a pity. Some people think it a fine old place, and it has
been in my father's family since the reign of Henry the Eighth."

To the Captain's ear this speech had a covert insolence. The Abbey
House was to belong to Violet in the future. Neither he nor his wife
had a right to touch a stone of it. Indeed, it was by no means clear to
him that there might not be ground for a Chancery suit in his cutting
down a tree.

"I hope I shall do nothing injudicious," he said politely.

"My aunt will be back in a week or two, Mrs. Winstanley," said
Roderick. "I shall bring her over to see you directly she settles down
at Ashbourne. And now I think I'd better be off; I've a long walk home,
and you must be too tired to care about talking or being talked to."

"I am very tired," answered Mrs. Winstanley languidly; "but I should
have liked to hear all your news."

"I'm afraid that's not much. I only came home last night; I have been
shooting grouse in Renfrew."

"Plenty of birds this year?" inquired the Captain, with a languid
interest.

"Pretty fair. The rainy spring killed a good many of the young birds."

"Do you remember any year in which that complaint was not made?"
retorted Captain Winstanley.

Rorie took his departure after this, and contrived to give Violet's
hand an encouraging squeeze at parting, accompanied with a straight
steady look, which said as plainly as words: "You have one friend who
will be stanch and true, come what may."

Vixen understood him, and sudden tears welled up to her eyes--the first
that had clouded them since her parting with Bullfinch. She brushed
them away hurriedly,