After to-day Lucy and Mrs. Rebell would surely become friends. Even within the last few days Barbara had said to him, "I should like to see more of Miss Kemp. It was a pity she and her mother called when I was away." He liked to think of these two in juxtaposition. If the thought of life without Barbara was intolerable, not indeed to be considered,--once she was free from that West Indian brute, his great love must, in the long run, win return,--the thought of existence with no Lucy Kemp as friend was distinctly painful. He, Barbara, and Lucy, would all be happy; and then, not yet, but in some years to come, for she was still so young, his and Barbara's friend would marry some good honest fellow--not Laxton, no, but such a man as he himself had been till Mrs. Rebell came to the Priory, one to whom Lucy's fortune would be useful in promoting a public career. At last, about twelve, he reluctantly rose, and Lucy went with him to the door. Suddenly it struck him that she looked very tired, "Lucy," he exclaimed--they had just said good-bye, but he still held her hand--"promise me that you will rest all this afternoon. Perhaps you would be wiser to go to bed, and then no one--not even Miss Vipen--can come and trouble you!" He spoke with his usual friendly--one of those near and dear to Lucy would have described it as priggish--air of authority. She drew away her hand, and laughed nervously,--but he again repeated, "Please promise me that you will have a good rest." "I promise," said Lucy. * * * * * "I promise"--Lucy, sleeping restlessly through the winter afternoon and evening, found herself repeating the two words again and again. What had she promised? That she would rest. Well, she was fulfilling that promise. As soon as Oliver had left her, she had gone up, full of measureless lassitude, to bed. Then she would wake with a start to hear Mrs. Rebell's imploring voice, "Promise--if I die--" and then, "No one must know--" How would Mr. Berwick take the piteous message? Lucy had always felt afraid of him, but she had promised-- Then came the comforting recollection of Doctor McKirdy's gruff whisper. Oh no, poor Mrs. Rebell was not going to die, and she, Lucy, would never have to redeem her promise. But if Mrs. Rebell cared for Mr. Berwick, would not Oliver be unhappy? And Lucy, sitting up in bed, pushed her fair hair off her hot forehead. The whole thing seemed so unreal! Barbara Rebell was not free to care for anyone. Of course there were horrid women in the world who cared for other people than their own husbands, though Lucy had never met any of them, but she knew they existed. But those were the sort of women who rouged and were "fast"--not gentle, kindly souls like poor brave Mrs. Rebell. General and Mrs. Kemp, paying a short visit to Anglo-Indian friends who had taken a house in the neighbourhood, little knew the physical and mental ordeal to which their absence had exposed their darling.