"There is the cottage," she said, pointing with her whip. "The poor old soul who lives in it loves me best in the world, and I think I return it with interest! She was my nurse when I was a child, helped my mother nurse my father through his long illness, then nursed her to her death, and only left me because she felt too helpless to be of any use!" "And now you make her life happy by seeing her now and then," he said, gazing passionately at the pure, white, girlish profile under the felt hat. "She can hardly be happy--doubled up with rheumatism, lonely, poor--it is ridiculous to suggest such a thing!" she said, disgustedly--then, touching Nora’s flank lightly with her heel, she rode off; he followed, springing down to assist her to alight. But she frowned at him. "You had better hold her, please," she suggested. "Where is that groom of mine? Oh, there he is! I shall be quite half an hour. You might inspect the neighbourhood." "Thanks for the suggestion, perhaps I shall!" he good humouredly returned, with a scrutinizing glance at a stern old face framed by the cottage window panes, which disappeared as he looked; and as Joan slipped nonchalantly off her panting steed and went within, congratulating herself upon having furnished herself with a good chance of losing or evading him and returning alone, he decided to remain well out of sight of the cottage, but only where he could keep his eye on the groom and the horses. "Well, Nana, here I am, you see," said Joan, entering and embracing the worn old crone who stood leaning on her stick in the middle of the kitchen and parlour combined. It was a dark, low room, filled with some old-fashioned furniture--remnants of Joan’s vicarage home. A big old arm-chair stood by the fireplace, where there was a bright little fire, although in a few weeks it would be midsummer. "Sit down at once!" She led her gently back to her chair. "Poor old dear! You have been bad this time, haven’t you? You mustn’t spare the doctor--send his bill to me! You got that chicken panada and jelly? That’s right! I’ve brought some money for little things----" "Never mind money, dearie! but tell me who’s the gentleman?" said the old woman, whose large, shining eyes shone living in her emaciated, deathly face--shading her eyes with her skinny, clawlike hand, and gazing anxiously at Joan, who had drawn a low folding chair near and was seated opposite the fire. "I like his face, that I do! I saw him as you got down from your horse." "It is Lord Vansittart," said Joan, frowning slightly. The old woman bent forward, and scrutinized her nursling’s expressive features. "You like him?" she suddenly asked. "Oh, if you do, may the Lord be praised!" Joan gave a bitter, hopeless laugh. "What good would it do me if I did?" she mournfully said.