“Now you are to come out with me,” said the boy. “I have planned our day. My tutor, Mr. Dixon, is not coming at all to-day. Uncle Adrian said I might have two days’ holiday in order to look properly after you, and won’t we have a good time of it! Are you up to a long, long walk?” “Yes, anything,” said Nance. “Anything is better than the house.” “Of course it is, and the day is so lovely. Well, come along, we’ll make for the Rowton Woods. The road is all uphill, remember. You will be pretty dead beat by the time you get there. Suppose we take some luncheon with us?” “Yes, that will be capital,” said Nancy; “much better than coming back to a stately lunch here.” “Oh! much better,” answered Murray, with a gleeful laugh. “I’ll run and order sandwiches and a basket of grapes. Stay where you are, auntie; I’ll be with you soon.” Half an hour later the pair started off. Murray carried the grapes, and Nance the basket of sandwiches. They looked like two children as they crossed the grounds, passed through a stile, and found themselves in a low-lying meadow which led to the opening which by-and-by was to bring them into the famous Rowton Woods. In spite of her grief, in spite of the fact that her husband’s letter, his mysterious letter, lay in her pocket unanswered because it was impossible for her to answer it, Nancy’s spirits rose. Her little companion was too healthy and charming not to exercise a beneficial effect over her. Soon his gay laughter evoked hers, and Nance found it possible to endure life even though Adrian was away. “I wish, Murray,” she said, as presently they turned their steps homeward, “that you and I might have the Heights all to ourselves. I should never be lonely if I had plenty of your society.” “I love to hear you say that,” answered the boy. “Ha! ha!” laughed a voice in their ears. The sound seemed to come from the ground beneath them. They turned instinctively and saw a lady seated under a large tree. She was dressed somewhat peculiarly in a neat little bonnet and mantle of old-world cut, and a black alpaca dress. She wore cotton gloves, and although it was winter and the sun was about to set, held a parasol, made of some light fancy silk, over her head. Nancy first thought that this peculiarly-dressed woman was one of her neighbours. Murray touched her arm, however, and when she glanced at him, she was forced to draw a different conclusion. His handsome little face had turned deadly white. “Go on, auntie,” he said in a whisper. “Don’t be a bit frightened. Just go on quite quietly through the wood. I’ll follow you in a moment.” “But who is that lady, Murray?” “My mother,” answered the boy. “I must speak to her. I am not a bit afraid.” “But I am—it is not safe for you to be alone, I won’t leave you,” said Nancy, her voice shaking in spite of herself.