t even if he were in any way the cause of
her sorrow, he could do nothing to help her. But Lady Dacre had spoken
to him at the moment, and before he could answer her he had seen a
servant go up to Elizabeth, and had perceived that she was coming into
the house.

This morning also it was Lady Dacre's voice that broke in upon him. She
was hurrying through the hall with eyes on the open door.

"Good morning," she said. "Has Madam Archdale gone into the garden yet?
I told her I should be there first this morning, and now she has stolen
a march upon me." Archdale was startled. Yes, his mother was in the
garden, he saw her now. Was the other only a vision? "Will you follow,
Temple?" cried her ladyship. Her husband, who had been coming down
stairs as his wife spoke, greeted Archdale hastily and accepted her
invitation, for some one else stood in the hall, having entered it, his
observer supposed, from the library, for he had not seen him on the
stairs. This other one was coming forward to his host when Sir Temple
passed, and in another moment he stood face to face with Archdale.

"Good morning," he said with a bow. His expression had changed from the
sneer it had worn as he stood in the shadow covertly watching Archdale's
face. "Friends, is it not?" he added, and he smiled and held out his
hand tentatively. His host hesitated in the least, then took it. He had
been obliged to remind himself first that instinct was not an autocrat
of one's manners. Edmonson perceived the hesitation, slight as it was,
and the shadow in his heart sprang up and darkened his face for a
moment. Then he gave a short laugh, and turned toward the sunshine.
"That's right," he said; "let us part on good terms; it's luck, not I,
that you find against you."

"It was about this very thing that I was waiting here to speak to you
this morning," returned Stephen. "I was going to beg you to remain until
we can look into things a little; you, and my father, and I, you
understand? It can be done more conveniently here than anywhere
else,--and I trust I need not assure you that you are welcome. Of
course, I don't pretend to like the turn of affairs."

"Not necessary," interposed the other, the covert impertinence under his
frank smile making Archdale flush, and return haughtily:

"I was merely going to say that we must accept with the best grace
possible the consequences of things that happened so long before our
day."

"This philosophy is delightful on yo