May Churchill lingered in the room a few minutes, and then when the squire began to talk of the stud and their accommodation, she went out, and John Temple saw her once more enter the garden. But he did not see her again during his visit to the farm. The farmer was intent on his different breeds of horses, and had made a good bargain with the government during the last months for mounts for the troops. John got a little weary, it must be confessed, to all this, but the squire was interested. John was thinking of the sunny garden not far away, and wishing he was wandering with fair May among the flowers. However, he made no sign of this. He left Mr. Churchill with the impression that he was a sensible, well-bred young man, and likely to make a good landlord, and this last idea was an important point to Mr. Churchill's mind. The uncle and nephew left Woodside in time to be back to the Hall for lunch, and when they entered the dining-room, to their great surprise they found Mrs. Temple awaiting their arrival. It was the first time that she had been down-stairs since her boy's death, and the squire went forward with some emotion, and took her hand when he saw her. "My dear," he said, "I am very glad you are able to come down to-day--this is John Temple, my nephew." John bowed low, and Mrs. Temple fixed her dark eyes on his face, but did not speak, or make any allusion to their meeting on the corridor the day before. "We have had a long walk," continued the squire, a little nervously, "and you must be hungry, John?" "Please sit down, then," said Mrs. Temple, still looking at John with her restless eyes, and waving him to take a seat at the table. "It's a fine day outside, isn't it?" "A charming day," answered John. "Do you think you will feel well enough to venture out a little?" "I don't know," she replied; "I am weary of being indoors. I feel as if I can not breathe, and yet to go out so soon, so soon"--and she covered her face with her hand. "My love, I entreat you not to agitate yourself," said the squire, yet more nervously. She took her hand from her face; her eyes were dry and hard, and she smiled a bitter smile. "I did not mean to make a scene," she said. "I meant to be as if nothing had happened--as if I had still something to live for. I apologize to you, Mr. Temple." Again John bowed low his comely head. "I wish you could understand," he said, "how deeply and truly I sympathize with your grief--I do, indeed, Mrs. Temple." There was the ring of truth in his voice; the gleam of truth in his gray eyes, and Mrs. Temple seemed to understand this. "Do not let us speak of it," she said, and as she spoke she seated herself at the table. "Now, tell me where you have both been?" "We have been over some of the farms," answered the squire, hastily, and John understood that for some reason or other he did not wish to speak of their visit to Woodside to his wife.