meal, after which the sisters took her back to her room to rest. She slept deeply during the afternoon, only awaking when the shadows were beginning to grow long. Then, looking forth from her window, there came to her the sudden memory of the letter she had forgotten. A gleam of something white under the cedar-tree where her couch had been caught her eye, and she realized immediately that it must have fallen there when they gathered up her rugs.

There was no one to send for her letter, and that sense of shame with which the bare thought of Rotherby now inspired her urged her strongly not to leave it for any chance comer to discover. She got up from her bed and slipped on her shoes. She was already dressed, and she only paused to throw around her a shawl that Dolly had left handy. Then, with an odd feeling of guilt, she opened her door and went out into the dark oak passage.

The stairs were steep and winding. The dizziness of weakness came upon her as she reached them, and she hung upon the rail of the banisters to gather her forces.

N those moments of semi-helplessness there came to her the sound of voices talking in the kitchen below. Resolutely she summoned her strength, and, conquering her giddiness, began to descend. Her heart was thumping uncontrollably, and her legs were almost refusing to support her by the time she reached the last stair. It was necessity rather than expediency that induced her to sit down there at the foot to gather her forces afresh.

So sitting, there came to her words at first dimly, then with a growing meaning which, too late she realized, were never intended for her ears to hear.

"I'd do it in a minute-you know I would ”—it was Maggie's voice, but strangely devoid of its customary cheery lilt-" if it weren't for mother. But I believe it would kill her if another of us went wrong."

"I'm not asking you to go wrong! Swift and decided came the answer in Oliver's voice. "I wouldn't do such a thing. I love you too much for that. Good heavens! Don't you think your honour is as dear to me as it is to your mother or Arthur?"

"Yes, but" Unmistakable distress sounded in Maggie's rejoinder. She gave a little sob and left it at that.

** Well, then!” said Oliver, in the tone of one who scores a triumph.

There was a brief pause, then a sudden movement, followed by a muffled whisper from Maggie that was half protest and half appeal. "I don't know what Arthur would say. He'd half-kill you."

There came a pause, then Oliver's cheery voice. There now! Don't you fret yourself! You may take it from me it is right. And I'm going into Fordestown to-morrow to get it settled."

Broken sounds came from Maggie that brought Frances to an abrupt realization of her position. She straightened herself and got up. Her knees were still trembling, but she forced them into action. She tottered down the passage to the nearest door and out on to the brick path that led to the garden.

The lawn lay beyond. It was farther than she had thought, and her strength was failing her. She came upon a rough bench set against the wall out of sight of the house, and dropped down upon it with a feeling that she could go no farther.

How long she had sat there she could not have said, for she was very near to fainting, when there came the sound of a man's feet on the path beside her, and, looking up, she

and she felt that against her will she had been drawn into it. She would have given anything not to have overheard that talk in the kitchen, but she found it impossible to forget it.

Of her own affairs, of Montague Rotherby, she thought but little that night. The inner voice that had so urgently warned her no longer spoke within her soul. The need was past. Inexplicably, the attraction of the man had gone with it. The loss of her letter had vexed her temporarily, but now she had almost forgotten it. By her silence

she would sever all connection with him.

With the early morning came sleep that lasted till the sun was high, and Ruth came in to perch on her bed while she breakfasted. She had been out in the cornfields, she said. They were cutting the corn in the field below the Stones. Perhaps they might go there to-day if Uncle Arthur would take them in the dog-cart. The idea attracted Frances, though she only smiled. The day was hot, and she was feeling better.

She did not know that the child had read acquiescence in her silence till later, when Dolly suddenly announced that the cart would be round in half an hour, and they must hurry.

It had evidently been all talked over and arranged beforehand, and Frances had no objection to raise. In fact, the prospect delighted her.

"I should like to take my sketching-block," she said. “And I shall be quite happy."

So, armed with her beloved box of pain's and brushes, she presently descended to find Arthur waiting somewhat moodily at the door with a cob harnessed to a light dog-cart. His dark face brightened at the sight of her.

Better this morning?" he asked, as she came out.

She smiled at him, panting from her descent of the stairs, but resolutely ignoring her weakness. "Yes, I am much better. I am as strong as a horse to-day."

Almost before she knew it, Frances found herself lifted on to the high seat, where Arthur wrapped a rug about her knees and pushed a cushion behind her.

They were out in the winding lane before she found breath to ask for Ruth. 'Won't she come with us? Have you forgotten her?

"We never trouble about Ruth," he

replied. She finds her own way everywhere. She will probably go across the stepping-stones and get there first."

direction she had never explored, and presently turned off up a wide track that seemed to wind into the very heart of the hills. They came presently to a track crossing the one they were following.

He reined in as if he had reached his destination. Frances looked about her. The place was lonely beyond description, Here and there vast boulders pushed through the short grass, surrounded by tufts of heather that seemed to be trying to hide their nakedness. They were closely surrounded by hills, and the gurgle of an invisible stream filled the air with music.

Arthur pointed suddenly with his whip along the track they faced. "You and Roger!" he said. "Don't you remember She uttered a gasp of surprise. Why yes! But was it here?

It was round the curve of that hill," he said. "Afterwards, you came on here alone, and lost your way, took the wrong turning. Remember?

"I wanted to get to Fordestown," she said. "But I was tired. I fell asleep."

He nodded. And then you wandered up to the Stones."

She felt herself colour. With an effort she answered him. It wasn't quite like that. I met a friend, or rather he found me here. We got lost in the fog. That was how it happened."

"Yes," said Arthur.

They went on up the lonely track. She tried to picture her walk with Montague through the blinding fog, Here she had slipped into bog, there she had stumbled among stones. Then as now, the vague sounds of running water had filled the desolation as with eerie, chanting voices.

She experienced a swift, almost overwhelming desire to turn back.

It must have communicated itself to the man beside her, for he checked the animal with a curt word and brought the swaying cart to a standstill.

Miss Thorold, what is it? Have I brought you too far?

The concern in his voice reassured her. She met his look with a smile.

No! I am quite all right. It is only my foolish imagination-playing tricks with me. I am longing to see the Stones. I think this is rather a dreadful place, don't you? It makes one think of "-she stumbled a little--" of human sacrifice. Do you hold your father's theory about the Stones?

"I seldom agree with my father about anything," he returned, sombrely. “Yes, you are right. This is a dreadful place. It has a bad name, as I told you before."

They went on up the grassy track, mounting steadily. The rocky nature of the ground became more and more