Wynyard had not once seen her since their never-to-be-forgotten walk, and the news of her departure came as a shock--although his outward composure was admirable--when he was informed that Miss Morven had left home, to be followed by her father. The Rector would return in three weeks, but Ottinge was not likely to see his daughter for a considerable time. Miss Davis had taken over the surplices, Miss Jones the girls’ sewing-class, and Miss Norris the altar flowers. Wynyard put artful and carefully guarded inquiries, respecting her niece, to his friend, Miss Susan, who was never reticent, and talked as long as she found a sympathetic and intelligent listener. “Well, indeed, Owen, I must confess Miss Morven’s going was a great surprise,” she volunteered, in a burst of confidence, as she swiftly snipped off dead leaves. “I’d no idea of it till she came to me on Wednesday, and asked me to help her pack, and take over some of her parish accounts. She looked pale and not a bit like herself; though she said she was all right, I didn’t believe her. It struck me she had had some sort of shock, she looked as if she hadn’t slept, but she wouldn’t see the doctor, and was quite vexed at the idea. Dr. Boas told me it was really the reaction of the dreadful tragedy that she and I witnessed. So I’m glad she’s gone, though I miss her terribly!” And what was her loss to his? Wynyard had believed he was on the point of establishing a firm if inarticulate understanding--at least he had shown his colours, and she had said “Perhaps.” This morsel of comfort was all that remained to him; and oh, the many, many things that he could and should have said during that memorable walk! These unspoken sentences tormented him with cruel persistency. Had he wasted the opportunity of a lifetime? CHAPTER XXVII SCANDAL ABOUT MISS SUSAN Before Aurea had departed--and her departure was, as we know, in the nature of a flight--she had paid the necessary visit of ceremony to her Aunt Bella, who imagined herself to be busy making plum jam, but was really obstructing the operations and straining the forbearance of the new cook to a dangerous limit. The old lady trotted into the drawing-room with sticky outstretched fingers, and announced-- “Susan is out laying the croquet ground--the old bowling-green; you may go and find her.” “If you don’t mind sending for her, Aunt Bella.” “Oh, I know you like giving your orders! Then ring the bell. Well, and so you are off to-morrow?” “Yes, father will come up later; he has a good deal of work in hand, and he wants to go over to Hillminster once or twice.” “I know; I’m lending him my car on Friday.” “Aunt Bella, I do wish you’d sell it!” said Aurea, speaking on an irrepressible impulse; “do get rid of it.”