would rather endure such a liberty from him than be crushed to death. There was nothing in her face to show if she understood what those moments meant for him.

She watched the fire with increased eagerness now she was shielded from the pushing of the people around; and he watched her, the wavy black hair nestling low on her forehead beneath the small hat; the straight eyebrows-the curling lashes that hid the blue-grey eyes from his wistful gaze-the delicate little nose, and small sensitive mouth and chin-one and all of the girlish features were the dearest and sweetest the world held for him.

Margery, tearing her eyes for an instant from the fascination of that roaring, crackling furnace, glanced now and then from her sister to the man beside her, who had plainly forgotten the fire and all around in the dear delight of having Drusy close to him, within the shelter of his arm. Margery knew that Reginald Warre would gladly have forfeited half his worldly possessions to win her sister; and she knew also that Drusy, yielding in most respects, could be very obstinate when she chose, and when she had the noted Weston pride to help her. For centuries past the Westons had prided themselves on being yeomen; and as such, they considered any advance beyond mere neighbourliness on the part of the lord of the manor and his family as intended patronage, and therefore to be scorned and returned on their hands.

Drusy refused to believe in the genuineness of Captain Warre's interest in her sweet self. When Margery showed a disposition to argue the point, she had always the same answer ready.

"You will never convince me, Margery. You know as well as I do that old Mr. Warre is anxious for his son to marry one of us. If Captain Warre is dutifully disposed to be sacrificed to his father's conscience, it is no affair of mine."

Whereupon Margery would express a desire to shake her unbelieving sister.

"He worships the ground you walk on, you blind little bat! Sacrifice himself to his father's conscience, indeed! I haven't patience with you!"

"Haven't you? Suppose it were you instead of me, Margery? Would you encourage him to think you would have him?"

"Not likely!"-for Margery, too, possessed a share of the family pride. "I never said I wanted you to have him, you little goose! only you might believe he is not such a donkey as to pay you attention just because his father tells him to."

"I really don't see that it matters what I believe or disbelieve," Drusy would say, with an imperceptible little sigh. "We are both agreed that it wouldn't do at any price; and so, what is the use of talking about it ?"

Margery thought of these occasional arguments, and their inevitably unsatisfactory conclusion, as she watched the light on Reginald Warre's face--a light not occasioned by the red glare that touched all the eager faces in that human crowd.

"Poor fellow!" she said to herself; "I half wish we were not so abominally proud. I wonder if Drusy cares-just a little bit? She is as close as wax, bless

her heart! If she does care, I hope to goodness something will happen to vanquish our horrid pride."

Then, availing herself of a slight opening in the crowd to advance a step or so, her eyes returned to the fire, and she missed seeing an expression of firm determination that suddenly stole into Captain Warre's face. which was the result of a vow he had just mentally vowed to himself in these words:

"I will win her-in spite of her pride-please God!" And what had produced this determined frame of mind was a simple little incident enough.

A big fellow, working his way through the crowd with his fists and elbows, had come perilously near Captain Warre's precious charge. To guard her the more effectually, Reginald clasped his other arm about her for an instant, covering her left shoulder with his right hand and not a moment too soon, for the great burly intruder brought his elbow down on that slender shoulder with a force that must have bruised it sadly had not Captain Warre's hand received the blow. Drusy glanced up hastily. "Did he hurt you?

"Nothing to mention. The great brute! He wouldn't have cared if it had come on your shoulder." "How thoughtful you are! Are you sure it doesn't pain you much?

And then the blissful thought entered his brain that her heart beat faster than usual because they two stood so for the first time-close together, and as one, in that increasing surging mass of humanity. Could it be possible that she cared for him-that it was only her pride that kept them apart?

And that possibility, which he chose to think was already a certainty, made him vow to himself then and there

“I will win her-in spite of her pride-please God!" Presently, when the fire had been got under a little by the unceasing exertions of the firemen and their voluntary assistants, Drusy suggested going home.

"I suppose the best of it is over!" sighed Margery regretfully. "I really am sorry for Mr. Davis; but I do love a good fire."

"How independent you are!" said Reginald Warre, watching her elbow her way skilfully to the edge of the crowd. From that hour he looked upon her with brotherly eyes and much as men like their sweethearts to lean on their masculine strength, they do not object, as a rule, to any amount of independence in their sisters.

"I am used to looking after myself," replied Margery, glancing back at him with a contented smile. "Phil and Drusy are the two timid ones of the family. Now Phil is married, and will always have someone to look after her: and, of course, Drusy will marry some day."

St. Ouans was about half a mile farther up the hill which led past Long Reach. In the old days when Gregory Warre signed away his right to St. Ouans, the manor-house and the farm were both quite in the country, Winchmore being at that time an insignificant little fishing village. But time, which changeth all things, had worked wonders at Winchmore: first the village became a town, by the addition of several streets, the only original one being lengthened, and paved, and rebuilt, and lighted, out of all semblance to its ancient self. Then suburbs were begun and added to the more aristocratic houses nestling, as by common consent, under the shelter of the hill where grew the picturesque woods which wound round St. Ouans, and formed a background for the fine old house. As a natural result of suburbs, there appeared, eventually, an esplanade, which in due course was improved by the addition of a pier, replacing the little jetty that had done duty so many years. And thus it came to pass that Long Reach was not far now from other houses, and that made it more cheerful as a residence for the girls, who were too much attached to it to leave it for anything less than for the sake of a husband, to whom they might be even more attached. Captain Warre's newly born hopes were somewhat damped when he observed that Drusy yawned again and again on the way home. He told himself that he never felt less like yawning than when in her society. They began to ascend the hill, and Drusy dropped behind.

"I cannot go so fast!" she said plaintively.

Reginald's heart smote him even while it rejoiced : the poor child was tired out, of course, with the excitement and the unearthly hour, and all the rest of it and that was why she had yawned. He slipped behind Margery to Drusy's further side, and coolly took her arm, saying

"Now, Miss Margery, you take her other arm, and we shall get along splendidly. You step out as if you were made of cast-iron."

"I believe I am!" Margery was proud of her powers of endurance and of her perfect health. With all the arrogance and ignorance of twenty-one, she failed to sympathise with her more fragile sister, though she was always ready to help her.

Long Reach was less than a quarter of a mile up the hill; a very few minutes' climbing brought them to the gate, with its pretty arch of Virginian creeper : similar arches were placed at short intervals up the sloping path leading to the lower entrance, which was always used by the girls themselves: their snuggest sittingroom, where they took their meals, and usually sat of a winter evening-for all it was called breakfastroom-being on the ground floor. Just inside the gate some steps on the left led to an upper garden and to the hall door proper, and up those steps Captain

Warre had always felt compelled to go on the rare occasions when he had called with his father on the Misses Weston: visits the girls never returned, owing to the absence of a mistress at St. Ouans-at least, so they said; though when Mr. Warre's sister stayed with him for a month or two at a time, which she did every year, there was no inducing the Westons to so much as call at St. Ouans; much more accept invitations to dinner.

"Lady Vanborough cannot possibly desire to receive a farmer's daughters," the girls would say to the discomfited "squire."

"My dear young ladies, when will you remember that the same blood runs in your veins as in ours?"

"Not all the same, Mr. Warre; we are half Westons, you know."

66

'Well, the Westons were gentlefolks before they took to farming, and I know of no law which forbids a farmer being a gentleman."

"But there is a social law which forbids his ranking as one," was the unanswerable reply of a pride that was not to be vanquished.

Remembering the distance at which he had always been kept by these haughty young neighbours, Captain Warre glanced wistfully up the dark pathway under the arches, but did not offer his escort to the door.

Margery was in a wicked mood that night; she produced the latch-key as Drusilla was about to shake hands and thank Captain Warre for his "kindness."

"It is fearfully rusty; I shall never get the door open. I meant to have it oiled to-day, and I forgot it. Do you mind coming up and insuring our getting in, Captain Warre? I don't feel inclined to pass the remainder of the night with earwigs and spiders."

Smiling broadly with pleasure-all unnoticed in the darkness-Reginald took the key, and accompanied them up the path Drusy's feet had trodden nearly every day of her life-that thought alone made him long to kiss the ground he walked on with reverent step.

In spite of Margery's fears, the door was opened easily; and when he had been vouchsafed one glance at the dimly lit hall, he had to wish them goodnight and take his departure.

And then Drusilla turned on her sister.

Margery, what possessed you to do that?"

"What, dear?" Margery had tossed off her hat, and was drawing hair-pins from the massive brown coils which adorned her head.

"What possessed you to ask Captain Warre into the garden?"

"Didn't you hear? The latchkey wanted oiling; it was so difficult to turn the last time I used it." She gave herself a little shake, and the coils fell and spread themselves over her shoulders and below her waist.

"As if it was not enough to invite him to take care of us, without

This was turning the tables with a vengeance, and Drusy had not a word to say in self-defence. She walked up-stairs in meekest silence, partly as a token of defeat, and partly to hide a pair of conspicuously red cheeks.

Margery nodded triumphantly at her retreating form, and followed; magnanimously saying not another word.

Superstitious people fully expected a third excitement to follow on the fire, for that had been the second great event of the day before it had come the wedding, when sweet Philippa Weston-sister to Drusilla and Margery-had given her life into the keeping of Dr. Theo Kershaw.

There had been a reception at Long Reach in the afternoon, attended by many friends and acquaintances, who had assembled to congratulate the young couple; not the least important of these being Mrs. Algernon Pearson, of clerical descent-as she liked to remind people who had so far forgotten her duty to society as to marry a wealthy tradesman. An ironmonger in a large way of business was her husband.

A little later there arrived two gentlemen who generally went about together: one was Mr. George Harrison, retired solicitor, with a weakness for rocking-chairs; and the other Mr. Thomas Maver, formerly a pawnbroker, who had never succeeded in curing himself of a boyish affection for hardbake. The former was a widower, the latter a bachelor; both were well off,

-P. 11.

At the gate of Long Reach they came face to face with three ladies who were leaving, one of whom planted herself in front of Mr. Maver, saying severely

"You enticed my dog away again yesterday; he was absent over two hours."

"Twist is a friendly little brute," was the evasive reply.

But he was not to escape without receiving a bit of Miss Fraser's mind, the others listening in somewhat awed silence; albeit they were used to such scenes. Mr. Maver amused himself occasionally by purposely aggravating Miss Fraser, who was capable of showing much irritation. That lady was shortish and stoutish, compared with her companions. Possibly she was the eldest of the three, though she never said so. Her hair was as grisly as Mr. Maver's own, and she possessed an irrepressible moustache-very short, but very bristly.

Yet, in spite of the moustache and the frequent angry light in Miss Fraser's eyes, she was not so aweinspiring at a second glance as Miss Foster, who was tall and gaunt, and utterly colourless-hair, cheeks, lips, and eyes.

Miss Fagan, the youngest of the trio, was small in every way; she had thin lips, and was much given to knitting. It went without saying that Miss Fagan kept a cat.

When Miss Fraser had finished with Mr. Maver, he and Mr. Harrison disappeared up the garden path,

and the three ladies departed for South Terrace, where they all lived-at Nos. 30, 31, and 32 respectively.

No. 30 was Miss Foster's residence; there they paused with one accord.

Miss Paule will have arrived by now," said Miss Foster, as they entered the garden gate.

Miss Paule was her new companion, who was expected that afternoon, and had arrived while they were all at Long Reach; so Miss Foster herself had not seen her yet, the engagement having been by letter.

"My goodness!" was the mental exclamation of all three ladies when they entered the drawing-room; and if they had said it aloud it would not have been much wonder, considering that the companions formerly engaged by Miss Foster had been of the depressed and anxious sort, with limited wardrobes, and painfully anxious to please.

Miss Paule, by way of contrast, was elegantly dressed in a tailor-made grey cloth; she had a quantity of hair on her small head, arranged in the newest fashion, and she stood in perfect self-possession as her employer advanced and scrutinised her fashion-plate form in undisguised amazement.

You aren't exactly what I expected to see, Miss Paule!"

But the severe tone did not dismay her in the least; she smiled sweetly, revealing some wonderfully white teeth.

"No! But I think you will find that I suit you. You've been to a Reception, your servant tells me ; aren't you awfully tired? Let me take your bonnet and cloak up-stairs. I told the girl to be sure and have tea ready."

Before Miss Foster could remonstrate, her bonnet was off. and her mantle was being carefully unfastened by her new companion.

"Thank you; but I'll go up myself. I want a particular cap; and you won't know where to find it."

66

Humph!" Miss Foster reserved her opinion; she had not decided yet whether or no she liked being taken possession of, as it were, by her new companion.

Miss Paule returned with the cap. and was presented to the other two ladies; then, as tea was brought in, she took her place at the tea-tray as a matter of course, dispensing the beverage with much grace.

"Tell me about the wedding, please, Miss Foster." she implored, when she had settled in a low chair to

enjoy her own cup of tea. "The bells have been ringing like mad ever since I came, and everyone looks more or less excited about it. Who are these Westons? They might be ladies of the manor, by the interest people seem to take in this wedding."

"So they would be but for an unfortunate occurrence which took place nearly a century and a half ago," replied Miss Foster.

Misses Fraser and Fagan nodded their heads, and looked as if they could a tale unfold.

That was sufficient invitation for Miss Paule to beg them to unfold it. "It

You make me so curious," she declared. sounds like a romance hidden somewhere."

"You will think it is a romance when you have heard it," said Miss Foster. "Keep the tea hot; I shall want another cup when I have finished telling the story." She drank what she had, and leant back comfortably against her own particular cushion as she began the history of the Westons.

"As you came along in the train you must have seen a fine old house nestling against the hill, nearly at the top of it-a house that had a covered terrace or verandah running nearly round it, with massive stone pillars supporting it? Well, that is St. Ouans, which has belonged to the Warres for I can't say how many generations. They used to call themselves De Warre, but for the last hundred years they have preferred to drop the 'De Nearly a hundred and fifty years ago the property belonged to a childless widower-Christopher Warre. The heir-apparent was his nephew, Gregory Warre; but the two did not get on well together. Gregory was inclined to be wild, and he was so lazy that he refused to help his uncle in the management of the estate. They quarrelled frequently; and when, at last, Gregory fell in love with and married the daughter of one of his uncle's tenants, old Christopher began to cast about in his mind for some means of disinheriting him. Previous to this, he had married again himself. hoping to have a son; but he was disappointed he was destined to be childless. One day he encouraged his nephew to drink more than usual at dinner; and when he was in a manageable mood-which was only when half-intoxicated-the old man artfully talked him into signing away the entail, promising that the farm tenanted by his wife's father should be his and his heirs' for ever, with all the fields, and so on, then let with it. This meant a tidy little income, and not half the work and responsibility of managing an estate; and young Gregory weakly allowed himself to be talked over. So it fell about that his son, instead of inheriting St. Ouans, found himself merely in possession of Long Reach, and was so disgusted that he challenged his more fortunate cousin-the son of a younger brother of Gregory's, who had been substituted for him-to settle the matter by a duel. They fought. and Gregory's son was killed. As there was no other boy, Long Reach went to his sister, who married someone called Weston, and there have been no lack of Westons ever since; while the Warres have simply existed by the skin of their teeth, as it wereeach Warre since then having only one son to inherit the property after him. The present Mr. Warre is

said to be of opinion that this scarcity of heirs is a judgment on the family for continuing in possession of a property to which they have no moral right; and his son, Captain Reginald Warre, if all accounts are true, not only agrees with him, but is something more than willing to at least share the property with one of the Westons. The three Weston girls have lived alone at Long Reach for the last ten years. Their mother died when the youngest girl was barely twelve months old; and when, ten years later, their father followed her, the girls, acting on his advice, let all the fields and pasturage land, with the larger orchard and the farm buildings, keeping the dwelling-house, smaller orchard, and flower-gardens for their own use. They have sufficient incomeabout £100 a year each-to enable them to live comfortably, their only chaperon being their old nurse. Now the eldest daughter is married, and it remains to be seen whether the other two will like living alone. Perhaps Philippa's example will make the second one, Drusilla-they always call her Drusymore inclined to be civil to Captain Warre. But the Westons were always as proud as Lucifer in some ways, for all they are-or have been until now-only farmers. The youngest is called Margery, and she is my favourite. Another cup of tea, please, Miss

Paule."

Lilian Paule had listened very attentively.

Where will she live: the one who is married?"

"At Norwood. Her husband, Dr. Kershaw, has a practice there, or has just gone into partnership with someone who has one."

"Perhaps the other two sisters will go and live with her?"

"Not they. They will never leave Long Reach. Must you go?"

This to Miss Fagan, who was arranging her bonnetstrings.

"Scott will want his tea." Scott was Miss Fagan's cat a handsome Persian, and a most important member of her small household. "Don't trouble to come to the door, Miss Paule; you will find we three run in and out of each other's houses without any ceremony. Are you coming, Miss Fraser ? observe that Twist is eating the cake?"

Do you

"A naughty doggie!" But the tone was not severe; and as his mistress caught him up, the naughty doggie licked her face with assurance of not being repulsed.

CHAPTER II.

"ONLY wish I'd been awake, and caught ye going out in the middle of the night, that's all! You'll be catching your deaths of cold: that's what 'll happen. Please to send in some linseed-meal, Miss Drusilla, in case; and you with your 'ceptional chest, too."

"I am all right, nurse. There is no fear for my ''ceptional' chest, I think, on this occasion; and the fire was worth seeing; wasn't it, Margery?"

"Rather! You should have seen it, nurse!"

But nurse grunted disapproval and retired to the kitchen.

The fire formed the principal topic of conversation at more than one breakfast-table that morning.

Bob, Mr. Pearson's "general man," calling early to drive his master to the station-Mr. Pearson having to be away on business that day-volunteered the information that he "see'd Cap'en Warre at the fire long of the Miss Westons."

"Nonsense, Bob!" said Mr. Pearson.

"Surely you must have been mistaken-erRobert!" Mrs. Pearson glanced reprovingly at her spouse as she laid a stress on the man's baptismal name: she greatly objected to his being called Bob.

"No, ma'am; I didn't make no mistake. There wasn't no chance of making a simple mistake of that sort with that there glare making it seem as if the whole world was afire. The Cap'en it was, sure enough; and the Miss Westons it was, just as certain. Miss Drusilla, she were nestlin' up to 'm terrified like. Miss Margery, she looked to be enjoyin' the flames; she never fears nothin' mortal, she don't. But I make bold to say as Cap'en Warre was a-harming of Miss Drusilla."

"Harming her! In what way, Robert?"

"Like this, ma'am ;" and "Robert " grinned as he hooked his arm round an imaginary waist. "Law! you must have seed it done many's the time in courtin' days. Miss Drusilla, she 'll be followin' Miss Philippa's example afore she 's much older, I reckon, if it's come to that already out-o'-doors: though the quality is, in general, main partic'lar about such things; but I s'pose 't was the fire done it. The Cap'en, 't ain't like as how he'd see her frighted, and not go for to comfort her."

'No, sir: I'll stick to what I says. It happened : and I seed it. But as it seems to strike you as bein' a trifle onexpected like, perhaps I'd better hold my tongue about it t' anyone else. You're the first I've told."

"Just as well, I think, Bob. Miss Weston would not care to have such a report going about, I am sure. Time's up! Good-bye, Matilda. I shall come by the seven o'clock, if I can catch it. You must hurry up, Bob."

It never occurred to Mr. Pearson to put a stopper on his wife's tongue similar to that he had put on "Robert's."

As soon as she could decently call anywhere, Mrs. Pearson put on her bonnet and went to South Terrace. As she approached, not from the town, but from the opposite direction, she came first to No. 32, Miss Fagan's house; but her curiosity to see Miss Foster's new companion made her give No. 30 the honour of her presence on that occasion.

Miss Foster was at home, but not prepared to receive visitors, being still arrayed in the flowered dressing-gown in which she had passed the early hours of every week-day for the last fifteen years.